D'var Torah

This week we read in the Torah the instructions for the ordination of the priests, as well as the clothing they will wear when they perform their duties. The splendor of the clothing is striking, including a “breastplate of judgment” and a crown inscribed with the words, “Holy to the Lord,” both made of pure gold. The ordination, too, is strikingly grand, with a ceremony lasting seven days. All of this was meant to create a commanding and durable tradition that would help our people maintain its commitment to Jewish covenant. When that tradition was made impossible by the destruction of the Temple, it was brilliantly translated into rituals and texts that bring us a sense of the sacred and connect us to community and Jewish peoplehood all the way up to our own time.

The priests’ clothing is now reflected in the garments and crowns with which we dress the Torah scrolls in the ark. Another important object that still has a place of prominence is the ner tamid, the light that sits over the ark of every synagogue. I am moved by the ambiguity in the instructions around this light. While we call it the eternal light – a valid translation — the word tamid sometimes means “always,” and in fact, the books in our sanctuary understand these words, leha’alot ner tamid,  as referring to oil provided “for kindling lamps regularly.” Our ability to draw inspiration and strength from Judaism and from our community is not “eternal.” It does not last forever by itself. It must “always” and “regularly” be fueled by our contributions and experiences. 

On Sunday, I had the opportunity to spend time with an interfaith group in a series TRS is participating in called “Sacred Spaces.” Representatives of many faith groups are gathering in each other’s houses of prayer to learn and share a meal. I joined our own lay leaders in showing our guests our beautiful sanctuaries, the arks, the Torah scrolls, and of course, the eternal lights. A few of our leaders shared what it meant to them to be Jewish and to be part of our congregation. Hearing them and sharing our tradition with our interfaith partners – who delighted in seeing our sacred space through their fresh eyes – filled me with new fuel for my own connection with Judaism. Especially during this difficult time, when some of the things that separate us are in stark relief, let’s all find time to go back to what helps us feel close to our people, our community, our sacred connection, and our neighbors. 

Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Jeff Saxe