Shmini - Practice Is Perfect

Preparation readies the world for Mashiach.

The name of this week’s parsha, Shemini, literally means “the eighth [day].” But in reality, it refers to the first day of the Mishkan’s actual functioning—the first day of its inauguration, following seven days of preparation known as the shivat yemei ha-miluim. So why call it the eighth day?

As Rashi explains, this day falls on Rosh Chodesh Nisan, marking the official launch of the Mishkan’s service. The Maharal teaches that the number eight symbolizes what is beyond nature—lema'ala min hateva. But in this case, calling it “the eighth day” doesn’t highlight the supernatural as much as it affirms the value of what came before. Rabbi Nissan Alpert zt”l emphasized that the seven days of preparation weren’t mere rehearsals—they counted. They were part of the holiness of the moment.

This theme of preparation being part of the whole ties directly to another aspect of the parsha. In the earlier parts of Vayikra, the Torah focuses on kodshim—holy offerings within the Mishkan. But suddenly, in this week’s parsha, it transitions to the laws of chullin, animals that can be eaten in our private homes, outside the Mishkan. Why bring them together?

The truth is, Chullin is part of Seder Kodshim in the Talmud. Even our mundane meals are included under the banner of holiness. Why? Because in Judaism, the mundane and the holy are not opposites—they are intertwined.

That’s why the Rambam includes the laws of ma’achalot asurot—forbidden foods—not in a legal or ritual section, but in Sefer Kedusha, the Book of Holiness. According to the Rambam, holiness begins not in the Mishkan or with lofty rituals, but with something as basic as the food we eat—chullin, everyday meals.

Unlike most Rishonim, the Rambam writes that the mitzvah of havdalah is derived from the same source as kiddush—“Zachor et yom haShabbat.” Both separate and elevate: one sanctifies Shabbat, the other distinguishes it from the weekday. Just like you can’t have light without darkness, you can’t appreciate kedusha without chol. The preparation is not just necessary—it’s sacred.

That’s why the Mesilat Yesharim says in the name of the Midrash Kohelet Rabbah: “mi shetarach b’erev shabbat yochal b’shabbat” - only one who prepares on Friday can eat on Shabbat.

And the same is true of history. We count seven full weeks—7 x 7—before receiving the Torah on day 50, which is the ultimate "eighth day": beyond the natural order. But we only get to 50 by preparing properly during the 49.

This world is the preparation for the next. And in this world, we are never finished. We never fully “arrive.” That was the mistake of Elisheva bat Aminadav.

Chazal say that for Elisheva, that 8th day was devastating. She had everything: her brother Nachshon was a hero of faith, her husband Aharon was the Kohen Gadol, and her sons Nadav and Avihu were poised to take leadership. It was a day of soaring spiritual heights—and then, suddenly, of unbearable loss.

Life constantly shifts between the mundane and the holy, between success and heartbreak. And the moment we feel we've "arrived," we risk falling. That was the tragedy of Nadav and Avihu.

The Midrash offers several possible reasons for their deaths: bringing unauthorized incense, drinking wine before serving, and issuing halachic rulings without deferring to Moshe. The Michtav Me’Eliyahu explains that when Chazal present multiple explanations for a single event, it often suggests that the true cause lies beyond our full understanding.

Still, a common thread runs through them all: pride—the belief that “I’ve arrived; I don’t need guidance.” In a place as sacred as the Mishkan, that mindset is not just misguided—it’s spiritually dangerous.

The Ramban famously says that mitzvot in the Diaspora are only a preparation for mitzvot in Eretz Yisrael. But Parshat Shemini teaches us that preparation is not secondary. It’s part of the mitzvah. It counts.

As Ben Franklin famously said, “Failing to prepare is preparing to fail.” Judaism says: Preparing is already succeeding.

That’s why Yom HaAtzmaut immediately follows Yom HaZikaron. Our story—like our parsha—is about ups and downs, loss and hope, exile and return. We don’t say full Hallel the last six days of Pesach to remind ourselves: don’t get carried away by success. Stay grounded. Stay focused.

The only way to succeed is to stay humble. To see life not as a finished product but as an ongoing process, not a victory lap but a sacred journey.

And that is how we prepare the world—not just for holiness—but for Mashiach, the final eighth day of history.

Shabbat Shalom.

Eliezer Hirsch