The Fire of the Menorah – Beha’alotkha 5785

A week and a half ago, we celebrated Shavuot, when we reenact the Revelation at Sinai by staying up all night learning Torah and reading the Ten Commandments as the sun rises. It’s awesome

—literally.

Photo credit: Temple Emunah

And we don’t just learn (which we love!)—we eat, and we hold sessions ranging from yoga to meditation, cooking classes to a kumsitz bonfire.

You should all come next year—it’s the best night of the year.

After a lively “Ask the Rabbi” session with college students and teens—where we dove into theology and Israel—and some late-night basketball (always a favorite), I sat down around 2 am with a few teens over chips and guac. The conversation turned to antisemitism and Jewish identity.

I shared my experience wearing a kippah in public and asked them what Jewish symbols they felt comfortable displaying in public. One joked: “A bagel.” Then one teen took out their Magen David necklace—a Jewish star.

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Before the Magen David was on flags and synagogues…

Before it became a symbol of both Jewish vulnerability and Jewish pride…

Before it became the emblem of the modern State of Israel, which we pray for during this challenging time…

There was the menorah.

Photo credit: Wikimedia Commons
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Menora_vor_der_Knesset.jpg

Etched onto ancient coins.

Carved into the Arch of Titus.

Lit in the Temple in Jerusalem.

It was the symbol of the Jewish people.

So how did the menorah become sidelined?

And what would it mean to bring its light back to the center—not just in memory, but in how we live?

***

This week’s parashah, Beha’alotkha, opens with light.

“דַּבֵּר אֶל־אַהֲרֹן וְאָמַרְתָּ אֵלָיו: בְּהַעֲלֹתְךָ אֶת הַנֵּרֹת, אֶל מוּל פְּנֵי הַמְּנוֹרָה יָאִירוּ שִׁבְעַת הַנֵּרוֹת”
“Speak to Aaron and say to him: When you raise up the lights, the seven lamps shall shine toward the center of the menorah.” (B’midbar 8:2)

Rashi picks up on the unusual verb: beha’alotkha—“when you raise up” the lights.
Why not just say lehadlik, “when you light”?

Because, Rashi says, the flame must be kindled until it rises מֵאֵלֶיהָ
me’eileha—on its own.

It’s a small detail.

But it holds a profound truth.

We learn that we should nurture a flame until it can stand on its own.

A flame that endures.

That’s what the menorah symbolizes.

Not performance. Not pageantry.

But slow, deliberate, sustaining light.

A light turned inward—and then outward.

***

Now compare that to the Magen David.

Unlike the menorah, it doesn’t appear in the Torah.

Or in Tanakh. Or the Talmud.

It emerges centuries later as a decorative motif.

In the Middle Ages, it’s picked up in mystical circles.

By the 17th and 18th centuries, it appears on synagogue walls.

By the 19th, it becomes a rallying symbol of Jewish nationalism.

And in the 20th?

Photo credit: Wikimedia Commons
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Auschwitz_outerwear_distinguish_yellow_Star_of_David.jpg

It becomes the symbol used against us by the Nazis—and our badge of honor. Our brand.

The Star of David is burned into our memory—on yellow stars, on armbands, and later, on uniforms.

And it’s raised up—on the flag of Israel, in synagogues, in our hearts.

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It is a proud symbol.

It says: I am here. I am a Jew.

But the menorah can ask a question:

What kind of light are you bringing?

***

Sometimes we need the Magen David—especially now at this challenging time. We need that support.

To say loudly and clearly: I am here. I will not be erased.

But when we go deeper, we need the menorah.

We need to tend the fire.

To ask:
Is my light steady?
Can my flame rise on its own?
Can it illuminate something deeper?
Can it sustain me in a turbulent world?
How can it give me strength—inner strength—we so desperately need?

***

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The menorah stood not outside the sanctuary, but in the sacred interior.

It was made of one solid piece of gold—mikshah ahat, as the Torah says.

No part detachable. No branch independent.

Each light faced the center, suggesting a unity rooted in inner focus—not outer symmetry.

Maybe that’s the wisdom we need now.

Purpose. Inner strength.

Jewish life isn’t just about signaling our identity to the outside world—which I still intend on doing.

But Jewish life is also about kindling holiness on the inside.

When artists Gabriel and Maxim Shamir, designed the seal of the modern State of Israel, they based it on the menorah from the Arch of Titus—

Transforming a symbol of subjugation into one of sovereignty.

But they added something: olive branches—symbols of peace.

Even now—or especially now—we never lose hope.

We never lose sight of peace.

***

The Sefat Emet, the Gerrer Rebbe, teaches:
“The menorah is a symbol of the inner light of Israel… when Aaron lights it, he draws forth the divine spark hidden in each person’s heart.”

Lighting the menorah, he says, is about awakening the neshamah.

The soul.

***

The Midrash in B’midbar Rabbah gives voice to God:
“I do not need the light of flesh and blood, but I want you to light Me a lamp, just as I lit lamps for you.”

This isn’t just divine poetry.

It’s partnership.

God lights our way with Torah.

We light God’s house with our deeds, our prayers, our compassion.

That’s the work: not just to shine—but to illuminate.

To illuminate a path toward inner and outer peace.

***

Notice: God doesn’t tell Moses to light the menorah.
God tells Aaron—the kohen.

The one who lifts others up.
Who nurtures holiness.
Who helps others’ flames rise.

That’s our role, too.
To be light-bringers.
To kindle souls.
To hold each other’s sparks until they stand on their own.
Especially now.

*****

Jewish resilience is not just defiance.
It is radiance.
The world needs our radiance.

Not arrogance. Not silence.
But an unyielding, rooted light.
A light that points to a better tomorrow. For all.
And when we feel tired—when our flame flickers—
The menorah reminds us: You are not alone.

You are one branch of something whole, something ancient.
Your light joins others. All of us face the center.

****

It wasn’t the Star of David on the Arch of Titus.

It was the menorah—carried away in conquest.

But two thousand years later, we’re still lighting it.
Every Hanukkah.
Every time we read Beha’alotkha.
Every time we help someone else’s flame rise.

***

Raise the light, the Torah tells us.
Not just so it glows.
But so it rises.
So it endures.

Photo credit: Temple Emunah

Photo credit: Temple Emunah