You Light Up Our Lives
Almost all of us are familiar with Jews who eschew Judaism’s ritual requirements with the argument that being a good person is sufficient to make one a good Jew. Surely, it is easy to understand the rationale behind fulfilling one’s responsibilities to fellow human beings, while it is more difficult to discern the value or effect of acts centered on our ritual relationship with God. One should not think that questions of this sort escaped our ancestors. We find just such a discussion in a tenth-century collection of midrash on a passage from Parshat Beha’alotkha.
The parashah opens:
And the Lord spoke to Moshe, saying: ‘Speak to Aharon and say to him: “When you light up (Beha’alotkha) the lamps, opposite the front of the lampstand shall the seven lamps give light.”’ (Numbers 8:1–2)
The word beha’alotkha literally means “when you cause to rise up.” Its plain meaning obviously refers to the flames of the lamps, yet it remains an unusual usage and therefore invites creative interpretation.
God commanded the lighting of the menorah, the Temple candelabrum, in order to provide light in the holy sanctuary of the Temple. A midrash raises a provocative question in this regard:
“That which the verse said: ‘For You light my lamp’ (Psalms 18:29) — Israel said before the Holy One, blessed be He: ‘Master of the universe, You say that we should illuminate before You, but You are the light of the world, and light resides with You, as it is written: “And the light rests with Him” (Daniel 2:22).’” (Bemidbar Rabbah 15:5)
The midrash questions the necessity of lighting lamps when God is the source of all light. Put succinctly, it alludes to the larger question we have raised: Does God truly need us to carry out ritual acts?
Rav Shagar (Israel, 20-21 century) noted that this particular chapter of midrash offers multiple answers to this provocative religious question. A word should be added here: the rabbinic tradition is not dogmatic. It offers a plethora of existential responses to religious questions, each standing on its own, without necessarily leading to a single definitive conclusion.
According to Rav Shagar, this chapter catalogues four different approaches to the question raised by the above midrash (See Shiurim B’Aggadah, pp. 240-252):
- The performance of the mitzvot elevates or enlightens the individual;
- The observance of the mitzvot creates a partnership between the observer and God;
- Performing the mitzvot facilitates Jewish identity;
- Observance of the mitzvot fosters a relationship of love between God and the observer.
As noted above, the contextual pshat, or plain meaning, of the word beha’alotkha is “to raise up” or “to kindle the lights” of the menorah. The word, however, can also be understood midrashically to mean “to elevate you,” inspiring the following interpretation:
That which the verse states: ‘The Lord is desirous of him because of his righteousness; He will render the Torah great and glorious’ (Isaiah 42:21). The Holy One, blessed be He, said to Moses: ‘It is not because I need the lamps that I cautioned you regarding the lamps, but rather to accord Israel merit…’” (Bemidbar Rabbah 15:2)
It is obvious to the author of this midrash that God does not need our ritual performance for His own purposes. Rather, the purpose of observance is to elevate us through acts of service to God. Lighting the lamps, then, is in essence kindling within ourselves a “divine spark.”
The sages also sought to nurture the idea that human beings stand in partnership with God. The ritual life of the Jew is intended to cultivate that relationship:
“The Holy One, blessed be He, said to them: ‘It is not that I need you, but rather that you should illuminate for Me in the way that I illuminated for you…’ To what is this matter comparable? It is to a sighted man and a blind man who were walking along the way. The sighted man said to the blind man: ‘When we enter the house, kindle this lamp and illuminate for me.’ The blind man said to him: ‘When we were on the way, you supported me. Until we entered the house, you accompanied me. Now you say: Kindle this lamp and illuminate for me?’ The sighted man replied: ‘It is so that you will not feel beholden to me for having accompanied you along the way.’ … The sighted man is the Holy One, blessed be He; the blind man is Israel…” (Ibid. 15:5)
Clearly, the tradition’s ritual observances also serve as signs of Jewish distinctiveness, marking the unique relationship between Israel and God while strengthening communal solidarity:
“The Holy One, blessed be He, said to them: ‘It is not that I need you, but rather that you should illuminate for Me in the way that I illuminated for you. Why? To elevate you before the nations, so that they will say: See how Israel illuminates for the One who illuminates the entire world.’” (Ibid.)
Similarly, the mitzvot are understood as expressions of divine love and as a means of establishing intimacy between God and His people, enabling the Divine Presence, as it were, to dwell among them:
“He said to Israel: ‘Prepare for Me a candelabrum and lamps.’ What is written there? ‘They shall craft a Sanctuary for Me and I will dwell in their midst’ (Exodus 25:8). ‘You shall craft a candelabrum of pure gold’ (Exodus 25:31). When they crafted it, the Divine Presence came.” (Ibid. 15:8)
The midrashic discussion surrounding the lighting of the menorah ultimately reframes the very purpose of ritual observance. God does not require light from human beings, nor does He stand in need of our actions. Rather, the mitzvot exist for our sake: to elevate us spiritually, to cultivate a sense of partnership with God, to shape Jewish identity, and to foster intimacy between the Divine and the human community. Ritual observance, then, is not a concession to divine need but an invitation into relationship. The lighting of the menorah symbolizes the possibility that through seemingly simple acts, human beings themselves may become bearers of divine light.
