Keeping the Fire Burning

A bunch of years ago, I staffed a Birthright trip for individuals with physical limitations. It was one of the most moving, and most exhausting experiences I’ve ever had. We flew with breathing tubes, wheelchairs, 24/7 medical teams, and a crew of participants some of who, without this trip, might never have seen Israel.

One of the memories I had was at the Kotel, and I was wheeling a young man in a wheelchair. He had a degenerative muscular disease – born healthy, active, social – but over time his body stopped cooperating. By this point, he needed help with almost everything. I wheeled him to the Kotel, left him to have a moment, and went off to daven.

When I came back, he was sitting there silently. I asked, “Do you want to pray?” He shrugged. “Nah.” “You’re at the Kotel,” I said. “This is your moment. Say whatever you want to God.” He wheeled up to the wall and began to scream: “Why, God? Why?! I was a normal kid! I had friends! I had dreams! And now look at me. I hate you, God!”

People were staring. It was loud. Emotional. Messy.

Later, the staff gathered to talk. Should we have intervened? Was this too disruptive? We all agreed: absolutely not. It was raw, it was real – and above all, it was connection.

Sometimes, connection looks like tears of gratitude. Other times, it looks like rage. But the fire was there.

And that’s exactly what this week’s parsha is about. The Torah commands: the fire on the Mizbeach must never go out. תּוּקַד בּוֹ – it must keep burning, even through the night. Because that fire represents something more than ritual. It represents a relationship.

Consistency. Presence. Even when the flames are low, even when the offering is imperfect or the heart behind it is conflicted—the fire must burn on.

The complete breakdown in any relationship is not fighting – it’s indifference. The worst thing a person can do in a relationship isn’t to scream at at their partner. It’s to stop answering and to stop caring.

In our relationship with God, there will be moments of praise – and moments of protest. Days where we’re full of gratitude and days where we’re angry, confused, or even silent. But the goal is never perfection. It’s connection.

And as we approach Pesach, the chag of geulah, of finding light after darkness, this message is even more timely. Because redemption doesn’t come all at once. It begins with a flicker – a spark of connection.

So this year, even if your davening feels off… even if your seder feels a little messy… even if your faith has more questions than answers – keep the fire burning.

Even if it’s not perfect, let it be real.

Because that fire on the Mizbeach – like the one inside us, is never meant to go out.

Shabbat Shalom and Chag Sameach!