It was supposed to be a smooth end to a long journey. Since the catastrophic incident of the Golden Calf, the Jewish people had been treading a difficult, angst-ridden path to redemption. Moshe had ascended Mount Sinai for a forty-day period, twice, to pray for forgiveness and for God to “walk amongst them once more” (Shemot 34:9). The Jews had donated generously and worked tirelessly on the construction of the Mishkan: a house to which they hoped God’s presence would return. The Kohanim, the future priests, had been trained for seven inaugural days, preparing them for the “יום השמיני, the eighth day”, which lends its name to the parashah. On this day, the Kohanim were to fully and formally take over the service of the Mishkan. It would become functional for everyday use. The eyes of the nation, that had wept tears of regret and now reflected the steely resolution of repentees, were all on Aharon. As the Kohen Gadol, he would offer the sacrifices that they hoped would herald the return of God’s presence to them.

This was not just a national narrative but a personal one. Aharon, too, had deeply painful memories of the Golden Calf. After all, he had built it. Why? It is hard to tell. The Talmud[1] suggests that it was strategic damage limitation. The people had massed around him, demanding that he “make them a god…”  (Shemot 32:1) to replace Moshe. They had already shed blood once, and in such upheaval, might do it again. It would be better, Aharon reasoned, that they shed their covenant with God rather than shed the blood of each other. Peace prevailed over piety. The considerations behind his........

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