The book of Job speaks to that feeling. "Even at this my heart trembles veyitar from its place" (Job 37:1). What does veyitar even mean?

Rabbi Aha and Rabbi Ze'eira, in Vayikra Rabbah, that beautiful collection of Midrashic interpretations on the book of Leviticus, see it as "and leaps," connecting it to the verse about leaping locusts: "To leap [lenater] with them from upon the earth" (Leviticus 11:21). It's a fascinating connection, isn't it? This trembling, this leaping… It speaks to a sense of instability, of things being radically, even violently, displaced.

And that leads us to a profound question about legacy, about righteousness, and about the utterly unpredictable nature of divine judgment.

The text continues, asking: "Will Aaron’s sons not be like his staff, that entered dry and emerged moist?" We're talking about the famous story of Aaron’s staff that miraculously blossomed, a symbol of divine favor and priestly authority (Numbers 17:16-24). The Holy One, blessed be He, seems to be asking: shouldn’t Aaron’s sons, as priests serving in the Tabernacle, experience a similar transformation for the good? Shouldn't their service be a blessing, a sign of divine grace?

But the reality, as we know, is tragically different. The story takes a sharp, painful turn.

Consider Titus, the Roman general who infamously destroyed the Second Temple. He enters the Holy of Holies, the most sacred space, with his sword drawn. He desecrates it, stabbing the parochet, the curtain separating the Holy of Holies from the rest of the Temple, and his sword emerges dripping with blood. A horrific act of sacrilege. Yet, he enters in peace, and emerges in peace. He suffers no immediate divine retribution.

Now contrast that with Aaron’s sons, Nadav and Avihu. They enter the Tabernacle to offer sacrifice, presumably with the best of intentions, yet they emerge… burned. Consumed by a divine fire. Their transgression is a complex issue debated by commentators for centuries (Leviticus 10:1-7).

"After the death of the two sons of Aaron, [when they approached before the Lord and they died]," the Torah tells us. A stark and heartbreaking statement.

The comparison is jarring, isn't it? A wicked man desecrates the holiest place and seemingly gets away with it. Righteous priests, sons of Aaron, dedicated to serving God, are struck down.

Why?

There are no easy answers, and the text doesn’t explicitly provide one. But perhaps the point isn't to understand the why as much as it is to grapple with the what. To acknowledge the inherent mystery and the often-unfathomable nature of divine judgment. To recognize that even those closest to the Divine are not immune to tragedy. And that sometimes, the ground beneath us trembles, and all we can do is acknowledge the leap – veyitar – into the unknown.