[This Torah commentary was culled from the writings of Rabbi Matis Weinberg and Rabbi Zalman Sorotzkin.]



This Jewish leap year brings us a seemingly mixed message. Last week, we were told to celebrate, with revelry that includes drinking alcohol "ad d'lo yada", until we lose our powers of reason. Yet, in this week's Torah reading , Aharon is warned, "You and your sons are not to drink wine and other intoxicating beverages when you come into the Ohel Moed." (Tent of Meeting; Vayikra 10:8-9)



The simple answer to this dichotomy is that there is the proper time and place for everything. And indeed, this is part of the answer. But the issue is not so simple as quoting Kohelet: "A time to cry, a time to laugh, a time to eulogize, and a time to dance." (3:4) For do we really know which is the happy day, and which the sad?



The Midrash says that the Almighty was as happy on the eighth day of the Milium, the day of the consecration of the Mishkan (Tabernacle), as on the day of the completion of the creation of the world; this eighth day was obviously a happy day. Yet, the Midrash tells us that for the preceding seven days, Aharon and his sons were secluded, sitting in mourning for a death expected on that eighth day (which leaves the amazing conclusion that before their deaths, Nadav and Avihu sat shiv'a for themselves!).



Moreover, from this seclusion for seven days, and the meeting of Nadav and Avihu with the Shechina (Heavenly Presence) on the next day, the Talmud in Yoma learns the accepted procedure for the Kohen Gadol to prepare for his meeting the Shechina every Yom Kippur. This is utterly puzzling, for the drunken Nadav and Avihu were killed at this meeting; what kind of precedent is that for the joyous, uplifting, yearly entry of the Kohen Gadol into the Holy of Holies on Yom Kippur?



The full answer involves the eerie connection between Purim and Yom Kippur, the Yom HaKiPurim, a day which is like Purim. Obviously, both involved a renewed acceptance of Torah and have many other similarities. But for the our purposes, the reasons for drinking on Purim must be investigated. Among the many explanations, the Sefat Emet is helpful. He says that the Jews on Purim did not deserve to be saved; it was God's irrational love for His Nation Israel that moved Him to save the Jews.



To convey this message to the Jews, Mordechai therefore put on sackcloth - like a mourner - (this was his "Purim costume") and cried out in prayer, carrying on in the streets like a man driven mad and irrational from his pain. A similar thought is seen in the Breslover explanation of how Esther, a Jewess, could willingly consort with King Achashverosh: again, it was a Purim costume, with Esther dressed and masquerading as Queen of Persia, but all the while remaining true to her Jewish roots. And so, we get drunk on Purim. However, as irrational as we get, it's a controlled drunk, under our control, and we are not under its control. By recognizing it's only part of our "Purim costume", for that day only, we don't identify with it, but can use it, or not, as we are ordered by the Almighty and His sages.



And so, after the Purim celebration, we come to the Miluim. Aharon is told by the Lord: "You can drink no wine. You have to differentiate between the holy and the common, and between the impure and the pure. So that you may teach the Jews all the Laws." (Vayikra 10:10-11) Aharon does meet the Shechina now, and similar to every Yom Kippur, we are told that he is in a "Twilight Zone" state somewhat akin to the ad d'lo yada of Purim. He is a man beyond his own particular personhood (dressed as the Ideal Jew, in special Bigdei Kehuna), on a day beyond Time (Yom Kippur), in a place beyond our conception of space (the Holy of Holies). That is quite a "drunken" state. Yet, he must do all this while he's in a mental state of being capable of "differentiating and teaching". This is because the Ideal Jew must, as he goes out of the Sanctuary into the everyday world, realize that moral differentiation and teachings must be a part of his every act.



And more. Rabbi Matis Weinberg mentions an amazing midrash in this context. In Proverbs 31:1-4 we are given a picture of Batsheva, wife of King David, remonstrating her son King Solomon like a biblical Susan B. Anthony Temperance Unionist. "What, my son (whack)?! What, you fruit of my womb (wham)?! It is not for kings to drink wine (whack, again)... lest you forget the Law and change the statutes."



The Lubavicher Rebbe explains that this parsha, Shemini, comes from the word "eighth", but also from the word shemen, "oil". Just as oil floats to the top, so too we, following the law of God's Torah, aspire to that higher octave, the spiritual heights that float above the everyday, physical "seven" (a number that always represents this everyday, physical world, created in six days, but which is maintained and ruled by the One, the spiritual Factor whose additional Presence, Shechina, makes our world of "six" into a "seven"). But the heights of "eight" are the ideal, represented by the Kohen Gadol on Yom Kippur, to which we only aspire, but have not yet reached. Literally , King Solomon's mother was bat sheva, who lives in this world of seven, which is still in a state of imperfection, and she was telling her son, Shlomo, who thought that his name meant he was shalem, "whole", that he had reached perfection: "No, my son. No wine for you. You are still in the realm of seven, you have not reached the heights of eight. You must still perfect yourself and must still constantly be aware, in all you do, of God's moral laws."



Batsheva was telling King Shlomo not to make the same mistake of Nadav and Avihu, thinking that they had reached the lofty heights of shemini.



A final thought, occasioned by this week's informative, stimulating Jerusalem Conference, organized by Arutz-7. One of the speakers, who reached a lofty rank in the army, spoke out against the Disengagement Plan for Gush Katif. He said it is a bad plan, politically and security-wise. He also said that he is against soldiers in the army refusing orders to throw Gush Katif residents out of their homes. When pressed, he said that Disengagement is purely a political decision by the government, with no moral ramifications.



I feel that it is immoral for the Jews backing Disengagement to, in effect, say to the world: "You want concessions by the Jews to the Arabs, fine; but don't take my home, take my fellow Jews' homes, the Gush Katif homes." This back-stabbing treachery is, I feel, the essential issue of our time, preventing us from being one Nation, and preventing the ultimate Geulah (Redemption). To ignore the moral aspect of Disengagement, as if it doesn't exist (with the excuse of "I received army orders" or with any other rationalization) is a negation of the message of this week's parsha - in all we do, we are moral agents "to distinguish between the clean and the unclean." (Vayikra 11:47)