Rabbi's Chayva's Chat

This week, I have some reflections on the Torah portion. The first commandment of Parshat Tetzaveh (which means “you shall command [them]”) is to establish the ner tamid, the eternal flame, over the mishkan  (the Tabernacle). But unlike our synagogue eternal flame today, the name is misleading: the ner tamid is instructed to burn from evening until morning only. These verses, Exodus 27:1-2, do not say why we must burn this flame – only that we do it before God.

During the sunlit days, the bright times of life, we need not expend the extra energy to sustain an extra flame. We only do so during the dark times, and during those times, we have no choice but to keep the flame burning. Rabbi Jay LeVine wrote how the rabbis of the midrash (Sifra Tzav 1:16 and Bamidbar/Numbers Rabbah 15:7 ) wonder how such a flame is lit. Clearly God does not light it – people do. But only God can create light from darkness; we are bound to transfer the flame, or create it from striking other materials against each other. In the Temple, the rabbis, note, the inner altar would be closer to the position of the eternal flame, and therefore the more convenient source of fire, but instead they insist that the light come from the outer altar.

When we are looking around, trying to figure out how to light the darkness of our lives, it might take monumental effort to light the flame from within. When our internal light is dimmed or flickering, struggling to burn brightly, it is not a reliable source of light. And even if we did use it to ignite our communal eternal flame, lighting it only from internal fire keeps us within the bounds of our community and limits us. Though it might be most convenient to keep things small, local, and under control, our tradition encourages us to reach beyond, to go outside and draw light from the many sources of light in our world.

If you are going through a difficult period, remember that the eternal light still burns, even if you don’t feel all of its warmth. Whenever things get dark, the light will be lit anew, and wherever its light shines becomes a mishkan, a dwelling place for holiness.