In this week’s Torah portion we see Aaron, newly anointed as High Priest, hesitate before stepping into his role. Despite having undergone thorough preparation and training under Moses, Aaron required not one, but two reminders from his brother before he moved forward.

Commentators attribute this to anxiety; an internal hesitation, a deeply human moment of vulnerability in the face of great responsibility. Reading this, I can’t help but see my own experience reflected in Aaron’s.

Like Aaron, I am about to begin something new—something that excites me, but also stirs apprehension. I’ve recently been recruited to design and lead a community-wide Jewish adult education initiative, a job that combines my love for teaching with my passion for Jewish learning. It’s a role I was chosen for because others believed I was the right person for the job. And yet, I find myself walking in the same emotional footsteps as Aaron: eager, grateful, but undeniably anxious.

This anxiety doesn’t come from inexperience or lack of skill. Like Aaron, I’ve been trained. I hold a master’s degree in Jewish education from a renowned institution and have been ordained as a rabbi. I’ve taught for years.

But preparation and passion don’t always silence the voice of doubt. There’s something about standing on the edge of a meaningful new opportunity, something we care deeply about, that can be unexpectedly terrifying. Aaron’s story reminds me that even the most spiritual and revered figures experienced hesitation before stepping into their roles.

Aaron’s apprehension proved warranted, as tragedy struck shortly after he assumed his responsibilities. Two of his sons, who had undergone the same training, made a grave mistake and brought unauthorized fire before God, resulting in their deaths. The pain and shock of this event must have been immense for Aaron—a confirmation of how high the stakes truly were.

While I thankfully do not face the same dire consequences, I understand the fear that comes with high expectations. I too carry the weight of people’s hopes. Like Aaron, I want to honor the trust placed in me. And like Aaron, I know that technical readiness doesn’t always prepare us emotionally for what lies ahead.

There’s also a broader lesson here: One not simply about leadership, but about community responsibility. It is not enough to appoint or train leaders. They need continued support, encouragement, and understanding. Aaron’s sons may have faltered not because of negligence, but because something essential was missing—perhaps guidance, perhaps mentorship, or maybe a communal structure that understood and addressed their human vulnerabilities.

As I step into this new chapter, I do so with humility and with the comforting knowledge that I am surrounded by people who want to help me succeed. It makes a world of difference. My experience and Aaron’s are separated by centuries and circumstance, but united by the timeless truth that starting something meaningful is rarely simple. Yet with support, awareness, and faith, we find the courage to begin.