When Our Greatest Weakness Is Our Greatest Strength

By: Rabbanit Sally Mayer

Parashat Masei records the death of Aharon HaKohen on Hor HaHar, offering an opportunity to reflect on who he was—and what it cost him to be that person.

Hillel teaches in Pirkei Avot: “Be among the students of Aharon: love peace, pursue peace, love people, and bring them close to Torah.” It is a beautiful description, but what did it actually look like? Avot d’Rabbi Natan fills in the picture: Aharon would go back and forth between people in conflict, meeting privately with each one, softening resentment and removing jealousy from their hearts until reconciliation became possible. He did the same for husbands and wives. The Midrash notes that thousands of children in Am Yisrael were named Aharon because, had he not reunited their parents, those children would never have come into the world.

This quality defined him from the beginning. The Midrash Tanchuma suggests that Moshe’s initial resistance to confronting Pharaoh stemmed from concern for Aharon. For eighty years, Aharon had served as the prophet of Bnei Yisrael in Egypt, and Moshe did not want to encroach on his brother’s role. Hashem reassures him that Aharon will not merely accept the change—he will rejoice in it. “He will see you and be glad in his heart.” Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai draws a direct connection between that inner joy and the urim v’tumim that later rested upon Aharon’s heart. The heart that rejoiced in another’s greatness became the heart that carried the word of Hashem.

Yet this same quality—his humility, deference, and profound aversion to conflict—also lies at the center of chet ha-eigel. When the people demand a golden calf, Aharon cannot stop them. He delays, he attempts to redirect them, but ultimately he fails to prevent the sin. In Sefer Devarim, Moshe tells us that Hashem was prepared to destroy Aharon because of that failure.

Moshe responds very differently. He descends the mountain, destroys the calf, rallies the Levi’im, and confronts the nation directly. Yet the contrast between the brothers is not as simple as strength versus softness. In Parashat Korach, Aharon runs into the midst of a deadly plague, standing between the living and the dead with the ketoret until the destruction stops. He loves the people deeply, and that very love saves them.

Aharon was not a lesser leader because of his gentleness; his gentleness was the source of his greatness. The Gemara in Ta’anit teaches that the Clouds of Glory accompanied Am Yisrael in his merit, and when he died, they disappeared. His presence itself was a form of shelter. The Midrash adds that all of Am Yisrael wept for him—men and women alike—whereas at Moshe’s death only the men are described as mourning. Aharon’s way reached everyone.

Hillel understood this. Be among the students of Aharon—not despite his humility, but because of it. A person who is unconcerned with his own honor, who genuinely rejoices in the success of others, and who runs toward people rather than away from them can change the world quietly, one heart at a time. Such a person may not always succeed. At times, those very qualities may leave him vulnerable. But they are also the qualities that allow him to heal relationships, build communities, and bring people closer to one another—and to Hashem. 

Rabbanit Sally Mayer serves as Rosh Midrasha at Ohr Torah Stone’s Midreshet Lindenbaum in Jerusalem. She is a member of the Mizrachi Speakers Bureau (Mizrachi.org/speakers).