
I gazed and reflected
upon the flag and the sign on the fourth yahrzeit
of the Pulse Nightclub massacre in Orlando, Florida, June 12, 2016. Forty-nine
people, mostly LGBTQ people of color, were slaughtered by the gunfire of one so
filled with hate he could not see their humanity, nor his own. Forty-nine
souls, each one counting and counted, as in the counting of the forty-nine days
between Passover and Shavuous, counting days to remind that each one counts. All
the more so, to remind that every person counts, that every person is of
infinite value and meaning. Why is that so hard for us to understand and so to
live? In the confluence of days, in the midst of so much pain, remembering them
on their fourth yahrzeit came in the
midst of the shiva days for George
Floyd, the flag and the sign. And the flower reaches toward the light.
As we nurture flowers in
the garden, helping each one to grow and become in its rising toward the light,
so the flowering of each person’s light as we help each other to grow and
become. It is a simple message conveyed through carefully calibrated language
at the beginning of the weekly Torah portion called B’ha’alotcha (Num. 8:1-12:16). Moses is to instruct Aaron regarding
the lighting of the menorah in the sanctuary. The common word to light, l’hadlik, is not used. The Torah’s
language tells, rather, of much more than the ancient menorah, in your causing the lights to go
up/b’ha’alotcha et ha’nerot, the
seven lights shall shine toward the [center of] the menorah/el mul p’nei
ha’menorah. Causing light to go up is the way of helping the light of
another soul to shine, holding the light of our own soul’s caring near enough
to encourage the other to rise and become, as in the way of teacher and
student. It is the way of lighting Chanukkah candles; one flame held to another
until the second ignites, two flames bursting into brightness, each rising
together higher than one alone. Helping each other to shine, our light shines
together toward the center, toward our common source, toward the Holy One in
whose image all are created.
Forbear of all Torah
commentators, Rashi asks from eleventh century France why the juxtaposition of
lighting the menorah at the beginning of this portion with the bringing of
gifts by the princes of each tribe at the end of the preceding portion (Num.
7). Rashi explains that it is God’s way of soothing Aaron as he is told how to
enkindle the lights of the menorah, causing light to go up. As the kohen gadol/high priest, neither Aaron
nor his priestly tribe was among those bringing gifts for the dedication of the
sanctuary. These were the gifts that down to the smallest details were exactly
the same from each tribe, no one wanting to outshine another, each seeking to
uplift and celebrate the other. Downcast for his absence in this pageantry of
equality, Aaron needs reassurance. Concerned for Aaron’s feelings, God tells
Aaron to see the importance of his role, to see the importance of causing light
to go up, even more precious than the bringing of physical gifts for the
sanctuary.
As the physical is
impermanent, light is eternal, a reminder of the human soul that is God’s
candle in the world. The rabbis teach that the light of the menorah represents
the primordial light of creation, the light of the first day that was called
into being before the physical sources of light had been created, the sun, the
moon, and the stars. That light could not be destroyed by hate and violence,
not by the Babylonians nor the Romans. It is the light that is stored up for
the future whose coming depends on us, on our turning of swords into
plowshares, of enemies into friends, of hate into love. It is the light of
peace and wholeness, the light of justice and fairness that will fill the world
when we have learned to live together and help each other to grow and become.
The instructions are not for Aaron now, but for all of us to become lifters of
light.
It is hard to imagine
such a time, and yet in the way of our coming together in these days perhaps an
intimation, hope in the passion for justice rising. It was hard for Moses, too,
to imagine such unity. The menorah was to be hammered out of one piece of gold,
from its root-stock, to its flower, it is
beaten work (Num. 8:4). There were to be three almond blossoms along each
branch, flowers rising toward the light, all hammered out of one piece of gold.
Seeing Moses’ confusion, God points and says ZEH/this is how to do it. Though challenging enough, it was not the
physical challenge of fashioning the menorah from one piece of gold that so
confounded Moses. It was the symbolic expression of unity represented by one
unbroken piece of gold that offered the greater challenge, the implication of a
common source from which all is formed. That remains the symbolic challenge of
the menorah, one piece of gold meant to represent unity, all of us joined as
branches, each offering of their light back to the common source, the trunk,
all as branches on a great tree of light. In a powerful midrash, God shows Moses a vision of that menorah of unity; the Holy One showed him white fire, red
fire, black fire, green fire, and from these God made the menorah…; God incised that image upon Moses’ hand, and
said to him, ‘go down and make it according to the image on your hand…’ (Torah
Sh’laymah, Midrash Tanchuma).
As we look through our
fingers at the end of Shabbos toward the dancing light of interwoven wicks that
form the Havdalah candle, may we see
reflected upon our hands the menorah formed of fire, many hues to remind of
each one’s light. As it was for Moses a sign of unity, so for us the menorah
lights of a rainbow flag of fiery colors joined as one. Lifting up each other’s
light on the menorah of life that is formed from one holy source, may we
illumine the path toward the day that is all Shabbos, toward that time of
harmony, of peace and justice flowering. So may we make of their memories the
blessing of their lives, remembering on their yahrzeit the forty-nine who were killed at the Pulse nightclub, and
George Floyd in this week of his shiva.
As a blossom placed upon each branch of the menorah, tender, fragile, and
beautiful, each of us is needed to raise up the light of another, the flag and
the sign to remind, and a simple flower of hope rising toward the light.
Rabbi Victor H. Reinstein
Rabbi Victor H. Reinstein
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