T orah P ortion
CAN DL E L IGHTIN G
In Light We Are Seen
BY RABBI ROBERT LEIB
Parshat Tetzaveh
STEP INTO THE Molish
Sanctuary at Old York Road
Temple-Beth Am in Abington
and you’re immediately envel-
oped by a breathtaking room
with a soaring ceiling, contin-
uous red brick walls and warm
gold carpeting reminiscent of
Sinai’s desert sand.

Designed by noted archi-
tect Vincent G. Kling and
completed in 1972, this spiri-
tual oasis includes, ipso facto,
our award-winning aron
kodesh, holy ark, and Ner
Tamid, eternal light, both
designed by the late Hungarian
architect Mark Zubar.

Our Ner Tamid consists of
glass cut into flamelike shapes
that irregularly jut out of its brass
fixture. Above the flames, an
expansive Magen David, Star of
David, is etched in black into the
white-painted concrete ceiling,
creating a powerful image of the
symbols of the Jewish faith.

Exodus 27:20, the opening
verse of this Shabbat’s sedrah,
Tetzaveh, is the well-known
biblical source for the Ner Tamid,
the so-called eternal light, found
in each and every synagogue.

I’m intrigued by the thought
that the commandment of the
Ner Tamid is suspended (liter-
ally and figuratively!) between
the very exhaustive description
of the mishkan, the desert taber-
nacle, found in last Shabbat’s
portion, Terumah, and the
detailed description of the
elegant, ceremonial clothing
worn by Aaron, the High Priest,
and his sons — the tabernacle’s
officiants — which immediately
follows the opening verses in
this Shabbat’s portion.

One can thus infer from
the biblical narrative spanning
chapters 25-28, that the Ner
Tamid bridges the celestial world
of holy space with the temporal
world of consecrated individ-
uals who, in turn, minister to
JEWISHEXPONENT.COM the people. At the very inter-
section of the sacred and the
profane; at today’s nexus of
rabbinic-led ritual obligation
and lay-congregational practice,
it is the Ner Tamid – more than
any other symbol reminiscent
of the ancient tabernacle —
that continues to symbolize the
eternal presence of God in our
midst. Occasionally, I’ve had
congregants walk through
a pitch-black sanctuary —
invariably a sight few, if any,
have ever witnessed — lit only
by the incandescent glow of the
Ner Tamid: Judaism’s answer
to a dependable, comforting,
reassuring night light that
illuminates the meeting place
where heaven and earth reside;
the abode where the spiri-
tual and temporal dwell; the
assembly where pulpit and pew
embrace. Such a nighttime scenario also
elicits the subsequent question
of the sages: “Mei’ei’matai ...?”
when could the ritual sacrifices
resume in the morning? The
Talmud in Berachot 9b offers a
few illustrative suggestions but
the most compelling explana-
tion is more of a sociological one:
“mi’she’yireh et chaveiro rachok
arba amot, va’yakirenu.”
Dawn is defined as when
one can see other people from
a distance and recognize them
as friends! That, essentially, is
when the darkness begins to lift
and when we can acknowledge
the dignity, the humanity of the
“other” in our midst. Such an
interpretation also suggests that,
for us, the once communal act
of in-person worship (may such
a scenario return bimheirah
v’yameinu!) must necessarily be
preceded by the basic, funda-
mental act of human interaction
and mutual recognition. To
greet one another in the flesh,
panim el panim, face-to-face, is
certainly the ideal, of course,
even if that’s had to be severely
if not completely curtailed this
past year.

Feb. 26
March 5
This Shabbat also happens
to mark the annual celebra-
tion of Shushan Purim in both
the Old City and the adjacent
neighborhoods of Jerusalem.

Maseichot, the ubiquitous
wearing of masks, highlights
for us — as it does each and
every year — the stark and
sobering realization that the
real world of true spirituality,
of authentic collaboration, of
unpretentious partnership lies
underneath the surface and the
superficiality of mask wearing.

So, permit me to remove
my own mask of shame and
contend that we Americans
are still suspended between the
darkness of yesterday and the
light of tomorrow. Will we still
be entrapped by the sinister
darkness of systemic racism and
inequality; of white supremacy
and ethnic bigotry; of cultural
prejudice and gender bias; of
wild conspiracy theories and
blatant anti-Semitism?
Or, rather, will we — slowly
but surely — move into the
broad daylight of mutual toler-
ance, respect, acceptance and
compromise? The Talmud actually
compares the long night of
exile to the dawn of Purim.

For when dawn breaks, all that
was previously hidden will
finally be revealed. Whatever
appeared dark is now bathed
in the gleaming light of day
when we can, if we will it, stand
quietly and confidently on the
border of light.

Like our biblical ancestors
of old, we too live in the warm
shadow of the Ner Tamid, which
offers comfort and consolation,
healing and hope, respite and
renewal. The oldest surviving
5:32 p.m.

5:39 p.m.

symbol in all of Judaism
reminds us that a new day has
dawned. Let us attempt, with
all our might, to be chaverim,
friends one to the other, so that
the better angels of our nature
might yet vouchsafe for us all
the blessings of a better and
brighter tomorrow. l
Rabbi Robert Leib is the senior
rabbi of Old York Road Temple-
Beth Am in Abington. The Board of
Rabbis is proud to provide diverse
perspectives on Torah commentary
for the Jewish Exponent. The
opinions expressed in this column
are the author’s own and do not
reflect the view of the Board of
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FEBRUARY 25, 2021
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