Oh, the
things that we take for granted! When I’m
home and I need light, I reach for one of the wall switches and throw it. Even in the dark, I hardly have to grope
about for that switch. I know where they’re
all located, in every room. And that’s
important, because I’m sometimes a bit insomniac. That’s a little ‘gift’ from my various life
experiences, something that comes and goes but usually comes. So I awake in a house that’s completely dark. I need to find my robe, find my way out of
the bedroom, close the bedroom door as gently as possible lest I disturb Clara,
and find the light switch outside the bedroom.
The funny thing is, even when I’m away
from home I can usually instinctively find the wall switch. It seems that they’re often placed in a
logical location, and at a height where the average-height person is likely to
reach for it. So for one who gets up at
night a lot, life is not terribly dangerous in that regard.
Until I go camping. Every camper worth his salt brings his torch –
or flashlight as we Americans call it – and makes sure it has fresh
batteries. And then he places it close
to his sleeping bag, so that a nocturnal need to get up will not result in
excessive groping in the dark for it. And
that’s important. Because a stroll in
the dark at home might result in bumping into furniture or some such. But a similar stroll at a campsite might
result in falling into a hole in the ground. The camper may sleep with his shoes on to save
him from that bit of groping in the dark, but torches have a way of
rolling under other gear in the tent.
Trust me, I have first-hand experience with this!
A camper does not take light to see by
as a given. He knows that he must arrive
at his campsite prepared with various types of torches and lanterns by which to
perform the chores of camp life. Campers
tend to build and maintain large, roaring campfires whose only real purpose
is to increase one’s carbon footprint. But
they still need lanterns if they want to read. Or do kitchen chores at night or early in the
morning. Believe me, if you have kitchen
duty in the morning in camp, you don’t wait until full sunrise to get breakfast
started!
Almost everybody on the planet’s got a torch, because after all
electricity occasionally does fail. The
problem for most of us is that, if we actually need the thing because the
lights have gone out, we probably wouldn’t remember where we stowed it! And when we bought it, we probably didn’t
think too deeply about it. We probably
spent as little as possible on it, as possible.
Campers, in contrast, engage in deep
contemplation over which torch to buy. It’s
a most important piece of gear. Go to
your local Katmandu or BCF store, and you’ll find many choices of
torches. And campers drooling over them. After a sleeping bag and tent, the torch is
probably the most important symbol of camping life.
Ask almost anybody what is the most
important symbol of Judaism, and they will probably tell you it is the
six-pointed star, the ‘Star of David’ or more properly the Magen David, the
Shield of David. The simple, geometric
motif is found emblazoned on Jewish buildings and their furnishings, the covers
of many Jewish books, and on all manner of Jewish tchotchkes. In people’s minds, the Magen David is the
Jewish equivalent of the Christian Cross. Just as the Crescent is the Islamic
equivalent. But the Magen David hasn’t
always been so strongly associated with Judaism and Jews. It only appears as an important symbol of
Judaism in about the 17th century.
It was present in antiquity, but not particularly as a symbol of
Judaism.
In antiquity, the most important
symbol of Judaism was the Menorah, the seven-branched candelabra which was one
of the important furnishings in the Temple.
Today, one seldom sees a seven-branched Menorah on display in a Jewish
place. You’re more likely to see the
Chanukah Menorah, more properly the Chanukkiah, its nine-branched cousin. I more often see small, seven-branch Menorahs
in Christian homes. I’m not sure why
that is so, but it is.
I’ve got nothing against the Magen
David as a symbol of Judaism. Franz
Rosenzweig wrote a wonderful book, Der stern der Erlösung. The Star of
Redemption. In it, he famously wrote
that he saw in the intertwined triangles of the Magen David, the symbol of humanity
reaching towards G-d whilst G-d simultaneously reaches toward humanity. It’s a compelling vision, and a compelling
case for the Magen David as the primary symbol of Judaism.
But let’s not be so quick to toss away
the Menorah as a symbol of Judaism. And
there is no shortage of symbolism in the Menorah. First and foremost, it is a reminder of the
Holy Temple, which itself was a reminder of G-d’s Presence among us. And it was a vessel that bore light, reminding
us of how G-d’s Light illumines our lives if we let it. And its seven branches can be taken as
symbolic of the Seven Branches of knowledge.
The ability of Understand a draw conclusions. The knowledge of nature. The knowledge of the soul. The knowledge of biology. Music.
Metaphysics. And finally, the
knowledge of Torah. It was to be made by
beating it out of the purest gold. This
is a reminder of G-d’s Purity.
This week’s Torah reading, Beha’a
lot’cha instructs the Kohen Gadol, the High Priest, to light the
Menorah each day. The message is
clear. The Kohanim, serving in their
unique role in the sacrificial ritual, made G-d’s Light shine so it was visible
to all the Jews and, by extension, the entire world. Today, whilst some Jews claim priestly lineage,
there is no priesthood to serve that purpose.
All Jews serve that purpose as a “nation of priests, a holy people.” Would that we were worthy of that
responsibility.
G-d’s Light is not automatically discernable. It must be tended and nurtured. Powerful symbols make it real. Those symbols become Holy by extension,
because we have a need to see and touch holiness. Let this Shabbat be for us a symbol of G-d’s
Holiness. As we revel in its sounds and
tastes, let us feel as if we’ve been touched by G-d Himself. Let us neither grope in the dark for Him, as a
camper might grope for his torch at night. Let us not take Him for granted, as we might
take the availability of electric light for granted. However we wish to visually symbolise that, is
just fine with me. Shabbat shalom.
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