The Spiritual Power of Friendship

“true friendship includes both inspiration and responsibility”

Parashat Shemini begins with joy and anticipation. After months of preparation, the Mishkan (Tabernacle) is finally complete, and the Divine Presence descends in fire before the eyes of the entire nation. But in the midst of this celebration, tragedy strikes. Nadav and Avihu, the sons of Aharon, bring an "eish zarah"--a strange fire--and are instantly consumed by Divine fire.

It’s a perplexing and painful moment, one that has left commentators throughout the ages searching for answers. But one often overlooked element is the role of relationship, not only between individuals and HaShem, but also between friends.

The Midrash teaches that Nadav and Avihu were very close, not just as brothers, but as friends. They shared aspirations, dreams, and a passion for holiness. They longed to connect to the Divine, and they did it together. Yet their story teaches us that shared passion isn’t enough. Friendship doesn’t just mean walking side by side, it means holding one another accountable.

Friendship, in Jewish tradition, is not a peripheral relationship; it is central. Pirkei Avot urges us: "Aseh lecha rav, u'kneh lecha chaver"--"Make for yourself a teacher, and acquire for yourself a friend." Why "acquire"? Because friendship is not incidental--it requires investment, effort, and sometimes sacrifice. True friendship includes both inspiration and responsibility. A real friend doesn’t just cheer you on; they guide you back when you stray, challenge you when you’re off track, and help you grow.

If Nadav and Avihu had stopped to question each other, to wonder aloud whether their offering was appropriate, perhaps the tragedy could have been avoided. Their friendship, while powerful, lacked the pause for reflection and mutual accountability that makes friendship not only meaningful, but life-sustaining. 

In the wake of their death, the Torah tells us, "Vayidom Aharon"--"and Aharon was silent" (Vayikra 10:3). Much has been said about this silence-whether it reflects shock, acceptance, or mourning. But what's often overlooked is what comes immediately after: Moshe speaks to Aharon's cousins, Mishael and Elzaphan, and asks them to remove the bodies of Nadav and Avihu from the sanctuary.

Why them?

It seems that Moshe chooses not the immediate family, who are paralyzed by grief, but two relatives who are close enough to care and distant enough to act. In this moment of heartbreak, it is the extended family--friends, really--who are called upon to support and step in.

Parashat Shemini teaches us that true friends show up in moments of need. They are the ones who carry us, sometimes literally, when we cannot carry ourselves. Mishael and Elzaphan are not center-stage characters. They aren't prophets or priests. But at this moment, they are heroes of kindness. Their friendship is quiet, respectful, and powerful.

In our own lives, Parashat Shemini reminds us that the people we surround ourselves with deeply influence our direction. Are our friendships helping us reach toward our highest selves? Are we the kind of friends who lovingly question and support, not just in moments of joy, but in moments of doubt and decision?

Friendship, like the fire on the Altar, is a sacred energy. When channeled properly, it brings warmth, joy, and holiness. When misused--like the "strange fire" of Nadav and Avihu--it can burn. Part of being a true friend is knowing when to step forward and when to give space. When to act, and when to stand in silent solidarity, like Moshe standing beside Aharon's pain.

May we learn to be the kind of friend who shows up, who supports in silence and in speech, and who honors the sacred role friendship plays in building holy communities. May we be blessed to build friendships that are not only close, but courageous–friendships that reflect both warmth and wisdom, passion and pause. And may those friendships guide us, always, toward a life of deeper connection–with each other and with HaShem.