The Kohen Gadol and the Crown of Joy
Early in Parshat Emor, the Torah presents a striking halachah: a regular Kohen is permitted to become impure upon the passing of certain close relatives, but the Kohen Gadol may not—even for his own parents. He must continue serving in the Beit HaMikdash, even on the day of the death, while in the status called aninut, when emotional distress is at its peak. This seems superhuman. Isn’t the Kohen Gadol also a person with feelings?
The Torah’s explanation is equally striking. In Vayikra 21:12, it states:
“He shall not leave the Temple… for the crown of the anointing oil of his God is upon him.”
The crown of oil—nezer shemen mishchat Elokav—represents not just his status, but a continuous spiritual reality. Although the oil was applied once during his anointment, its effect remains with him perpetually. It empowers him to transcend personal pain and continue his divine service with the necessary joy.
The Keter and the Infinite Light
Rebbe Nachman, in Likutey Moharan Lesson 24, provides a deep framework to understand this. He teaches that the Keter—the crown—is the highest spiritual boundary a person can reach before accessing the Infinite Light of Hashem. But to receive that light, one must first be pushed back. The Keter acts like a wall, forcing the person to retreat temporarily.
The test is what follows: Will the person interpret the setback as rejection and fall into despair? Or will he accept the pushback with simcha, with joy and humility, and keep moving forward? Rebbe Nachman emphasizes that the light can only be received through this cycle of in-and-out, advance and retreat—ratzo v’shov.
The Tzaddik’s Response to Setbacks
Reb Noson explains that the tzaddikim are experts in this dynamic. They experience the pushback, but they don’t flinch. They treat every setback as a necessary part of the process. They stand up joyfully and continue to serve Hashem as if nothing happened—and in doing so, they create vessels to receive ever greater light.
This is the role of the Kohen Gadol. Despite being an Onen, despite personal tragedy, he continues serving, because he embodies the ability to hold on to joy even through darkness. His ongoing service testifies to the belief that even death is not final. As Jews, we believe in resurrection and eternal joy, and the Kohen Gadol’s conduct reflects that ultimate truth.
The Crown of Joy and the Kohen Gadol’s Strength
Why can the Kohen Gadol continue serving even amidst personal loss? Because he lives with a higher mindset—a life of purpose and sanctity anchored in constant awareness of Hashem. The Torah says that he carries the nezer shemen mishchat Elokav, the crown of the anointing oil. That oil isn’t just a symbol—it conveys joy, as Proverbs teaches: “Oil and incense gladden the heart.”
Reb Noson explains that oil, and especially the anointing oil of the Kohen Gadol, reflects the joy required to handle the Keter. The Keter pushes a person back before letting them advance—yet this setback is not a punishment. It’s a path to internalize light. Most people stumble in the face of such retreat. But the Kohen Gadol, through the oil and its joy, is not shaken. His joy is higher. Even the mourning of a parent doesn’t unseat him from the Beit HaMikdash. This is why the Torah forbids him from becoming impure—his crown enables him to serve uninterrupted.
Neder and Nedavah: Two Types of Offerings
Later in the Parshah, the Torah describes voluntary offerings in the Beit HaMikdash—nedarim and nedavot. Both stem from generosity, but they differ subtly:
- Neder is when someone says “Harei alai”—“I take upon myself to bring an offering.” This commitment obligates the person, regardless of which animal he ends up bringing.
- Nedavah is when someone says “Harei zo”—“This specific animal is my offering.” The commitment is tied to the animal itself.
Halachically, this has ramifications. If a neder animal is lost, the person must bring another. If a nedavah animal is lost, the obligation ends with it.
The Torah adds another layer: if an animal is blemished, it cannot be accepted as a neder, but it can be accepted as a nedavah under certain conditions. Rashi explains that even a physically deficient animal can be brought as a gift of generosity—but not if it was vowed formally as a neder..
This distinction reflects something deeper: a neder is about personal responsibility—a binding promise to Hashem. A nedavah is about generosity—offering from the heart, even if the gift is imperfect. Each has its place, but the Torah makes clear that the inner attitude matters as much as the form.
A person brings a nedavah out of generosity and lightness of heart. But when clawing upward toward holiness, a neder lifts him to the Keter.
Tapping into the 50th Gate
Reb Noson takes this further by showing how even the word neder hints at its profound spiritual power. Quoting support from the Zohar, he splits the word into two parts: “nun”, the Hebrew letter representing the number 50, and “dar”, meaning to dwell. The implication is staggering: a neder is an attempt to dwell in the 50th gate, the highest spiritual level—the gateway to the Keter, the crown beyond understanding, which is the access point to the Infinite Light.
But that’s exactly why it’s dangerous. You don’t just leap into the 50th gate without preparation. A neder creates new Torah obligations, transforming voluntary acts into absolute requirements. If you vow to give charity and don’t follow through, is punishable. As the Gemara warns, the punishment for unfulfilled vows is severe.
This is why the halachah advises caution. Don’t make vows lightly. But when used correctly—as in Reb Noson’s example of someone who takes a neder to give a coin and immediately fulfills it—a neder can serve as a powerful spiritual catalyst, elevating a person far beyond their current level.
Joy and Generosity: The Power of Nedavah
By contrast, a nedavah is rooted in joyful generosity. When a person feels expansive and uplifted, they give freely—not from obligation but from the heart. That’s why the Torah allows blemished animals to be used for Bedek HaBayit, the Temple’s physical upkeep, as a nedavah. These animals may not be worthy for the mizbeach, but the generous act still has value. It still builds holiness.
This teaches us something essential: not every gift has to be perfect. Even if our offerings are incomplete, if they come from the heart, they still serve Hashem’s purposes. The nedavah reflects this principle. It channels joy into giving—without creating additional risk or responsibility.
Neder and Ratzon: Striving Beyond
The neder, aimed at the mizbeach, isn’t just about obligation—it’s about aspiration. The person who says “harei alai” is reaching above, aiming to connect to something higher, to the Keter, the 50th gate.
Rebbe Nachman teaches that the Keter, the crown, is designed to push a person back when they come too close. It’s not rejection—it’s preparation. The setback builds vessels. And the only way to withstand being pushed back and not give up is to keep wanting. “Even if I fall, even if I fail, I still want to be close to You, Hashem.” That persistent ratzon – desire, will and yearning – is what breaks through the Keter.
The Kohen Gadol embodies this. As mentioned above, he keeps serving even in mourning—not because he doesn’t feel pain, but because his will to serve Hashem never breaks. He wears the crown—the Keter—and because of that, he can hold his place in the Temple without being diverted or derailed. His nezer shemen, his crown of oil, is joy sustained by will – ratzon.
The neder, similarly, requires the choicest animal, the best offering. It’s not just about giving—it’s about climbing. And that climb demands inner strength, clarity of purpose, and resilience in the face of pushback.
Nedavah: Simcha in Simplicity
By contrast, the nedavah is rooted in the heart. It’s spontaneous, generous, accessible. The one who gives a nedavah isn’t necessarily striving to reach the highest peaks—but he’s in a state of simcha, and from that joy, he gives what he has. He says “harei zo”—“this one”, pointing to the animal in front of him, even if it’s not perfect.
That’s why the Torah allows blemished animals to be offered as nedavah—not on the altar, but for Bedek HaBayit, the Temple’s maintenance. This offering doesn’t ascend in fire, but it supports the structure, the practical vessel for holiness.
This teaches us a crucial balance: both types of giving are needed. There’s the striving of the neder, the intense push toward the Infinite Light through the 50th Gate/Keter. And there’s the open-hearted giving of the nedavah, the joyful act that says, “Here’s what I have—let it be useful in any way.”
Both require sincerity. But each responds to a different spiritual state. When you’re trying to rebuild from brokenness, to claw your way upward, a neder expresses that fire. When you’re already in a place of light and giving, the nedavah keeps it flowing.
The Joy of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai
With all this, we come to Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai. In the song sung on his hilulah—“Shemen sasson mechaverecha”—we describe how he was anointed with the oil of joy more than all his colleagues. This shemen sasson is the very same oil we’ve seen symbolizing both wisdom and joy. Just as the Kohen Gadol was crowned with oil to serve above personal loss, Rabbi Shimon bore the spiritual crown of joy that elevated him beyond even his peers.
Although he was not a literal Kohen Gadol, Rabbi Shimon’s level was such that he’s often depicted with the tzitz on his forehead, a sign of his inner sanctity. His anointing came from the depth of his wisdom (daat) and joy (simcha). The brain, as taught in the Kabbalah, is like a flame fueled by oil—joy fuels the illumination of wisdom. And this was Rabbi Shimon’s unique light: his joy, his simcha, burned brightly and allowed him to reach levels others could not – i.e. the Light beyond the Keter.
Before he passed away, Rabbi Shimon told his students that their success—unlike the tragic failure of Rabbi Akiva’s 24,000 students—was rooted in chavivuta, a deep love and connection. And that love came from simcha. The Zohar says it plainly: Chadi Rabbi Shimon—he rejoiced. His joy opened the gateway to revelation, unity and redemption.
And this is why Lag BaOmer, the day of his passing, is celebrated with unparalleled simcha. In Meron, by his grave, hundreds of thousands gather to sing, dance and rejoice. The bonfires lit around the world are not just symbolic—they are vessels of joy, extending his light into every corner of the Jewish people.
This joy is not escapist. It is the most powerful form of teshuvah. As opposed to a fear-based approach that overwhelms with guilt and dread, the path of Rabbi Shimon—and of Rebbe Nachman—is one of hope, of aseh tov (doing good). Start with the good. Build from the smallest mitzvah, the faintest spark, the tiny nekudah tovah (good point). And from there, the darkness begins to fall away.
As Rebbe Nachman taught: The verse reads “Sur meira va’aseh tov” (steer away from evil and do good)—yes, but start with the aseh tov, and the sur meira will follow. This is Rabbi Shimon’s light. It’s why all Jews, across all spectrums, refrain from saying Tachanun on Lag BaOmer. It is a day of joy, of love, of deep spiritual fire.
Joy That Brings Redemption
Joy, then, is not the result of perfection. It’s the engine of growth. The Kohen Gadol continues his holy work even in mourning, fueled by the crown of oil. A person brings a nedavah out of generosity and lightness of heart. But when climbing from below, clawing upward toward holiness, a neder—rooted in ratzon—lifts him to the 50th gate/the Keter.
And at the center of it all stands Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai, the embodiment of the nezer, the crown of oil, of joy, of daat. His light teaches us that teshuvah must begin with joy. That the world is healed through simcha. That Mashiach comes not through despair, but through dancing and rejoicing through the Torah and Mitzvot.
Shabbat Shalom, and may we all be zocheh to activate the light of Rabbi Shimon, the joy of the Kohen Gadol, and the redemption of Mashiach—b’karov mamash.
Meir Elkabas
