Saturday morning study sessions are the best. Using what I refer to as the “blueprint,” it continues to fuel my desire to understand. Of course, my journey is a reflection of my experiences and my attempt to share what I am learning. These essays are part of the result. I dig, go down rabbit holes, learn, I share, and grow, perhaps your growth is similar. We learn from each other. Doesn’t it seem like transitions are everywhere these days? That we are constantly in the process or a period of changing from one state or condition to another? This idea of transitions, whether it be a young person going off to college, a transitioning emergent adult leaving the nest, losing a friend or a parent, or pending the realization of emergent elder hood – nearing another stage of life – what I frequently refer to as the third/third of life or the second half. In my recent essay, I digress a little. I talk about how my thought processes are forming and reading the “blueprint” is assisting me in the scaffolding.
So, a Jewish person walks into a synagogue or a Temple and looks around. The photo here is from my Temple in Fort Worth. What can they expect to see? An area for prayer that includes an ark that contains at least one Torah; a table, a bima, in front of the ark as a focus area for the prayer service and the Torah reading; and finally, a light, either attached to the top of the ark in some way or hanging from the ceiling. This hanging light is called the Ner Tamid. The Hebrew term is translated as “Everlasting Light.” The historical record and rabbinical writings report a tradition in the sanctuary of both the multiple branched candelabra as well as a single fire “that burns perpetually on the altar and is never extinguished.” What is its purpose? It clearly does not give off enough light to be useful in any practical way, for example, it is not strong enough to read by. It was from this very fire that the menorah was kindled each evening, fueling the burnt offerings of sacrifice.
While the Temple in Jerusalem no longer exists with its menorah and altars and ritual sacrifices is still a constant. Through 5,000 years of reconciling a dispersed once-compact community and the independent branching-off of the religion, the Ner Tamid has triumphed as the powerful constant in all denominations of the faith: a perpetually illuminated lamp, hanging above the ark of the Torah (Aron Kodesh). Symbolizing God’s eternal presence, the Ner Tamid is to remind us of both the original menorah, and the altar fire. With the destruction of the second Temple in Jerusalem in 70 CE, Jews sought to recreate places of worship around the globe that put them in mind of the original Temple sanctuary. What we do have are places of worship that contain this eternal flame. And for those of who do not belong to a synagogue or a Temple, the physical infrastructure to house an eternal flame may be internal rather than external.
The rationale for the Ner Tamid is found in this week’s parsha, Tzav (Lev 6:6). “A perpetual fire shall be kept burning on the altar, not to go out.” It is mentioned three times in this parsha that the fire is not to go out, a repetition that emphasizes the perpetual nature of this particular flame. Imagine the work that it took in biblical times to keep a fire burning 24 hours a day – making an altar, gathering wood, cleaning the ashes, the manpower to tend to it. It took effort to maintain this – truly a communal effort. This flame transitions into the Ner Tamid, the eternal flame that exists today, Rabbi Aviva Richman writes that this is a physical manifestation of what we should already know: that God’s presence is always among and within us, and we just have to be able to “see” it.
Rabbi Richman discusses this as an image of constancy, the fire on the altar that always burns, never extinguished. This unextinguished fire was not just practical, burning sacrifices throughout the day and fats throughout the night; it represented an ongoing and unwavering connection between the people and God. Yet, the Rabbi says an honest religious life involves flux, times when we do feel strong connection and times when we don’t. The dance between faith and doubt, presence and absence, can also emerge in close relationships with others. She asks: how can we savor moments of connection while acknowledging real gaps, even extended gaps? How can we build relationships that integrate these experiences of alienation, rather than shutting down or pretending the gaps don’t exist? Maybe that is part of the transition process.
Upon closer examination, the Rabbi said the connotation of the word tamid (“always”) is not necessarily as constant as the image of the constant fire depicts. In some places, the Torah uses the word tamid to refer to something that is ongoing, but in intervals rather than continuous. For example, the Torah uses the word tamid to describe the lamps of the menorah, even though they didn’t burn constantly, but were only lit at night, to burn while it was dark. In our parsha, eish tamid means “constant,” as it is explicitly paired with the phrase “it shall not be extinguished.” Yet, the range of meanings of the word tamid exposes a provocative complexity: there can be a tamid that is truly constant, and there can be a tamid that holds the power of constancy even as it is nonetheless intermittent. We might experience this kind of “intermittent always” in various parts of our lives. Maybe as parents, our kids felt we were “always” there for them, even if they only saw us at the beginning and end of each day. Having a child off at college, or in their own homes, with their own lives the “always” there for them still exists just not in the same way. Or perhaps we are strengthened by the existence of a good friend, even if we go months without speaking. Or we continue to feel the abiding presence of someone we love even after they have passed away.
There is a formative power of tamid that is not the same as continual connection. As individuals navigate their religious lives, personal lives, close relationships with their children and others, they can draw on this model of tamid to sustain them through transitions that might otherwise be overwhelmingly disruptive. Intermittent “memories of love” that can fuel the constant fire inside. In this way, the tamid is truly the eternal flame within all of us.
A person can even take this allusion even further. The ner tamid (eternal light), represented by the light above the ark in a synagogue can even bring us closer to an understanding of what God desires of us. Kabbalists refer to the text in the Zohar, the “everlasting fire,” that is to be kept continually burning on the alter alludes to the divine light of the soul. As expressed elsewhere, “The spirit [neshama] of man is the lamp of the L-RD” (Proverbs 20:27). To connect with God on a continual basis, we need to engage every facet of ourselves – our thought, speech, and behavior – in an effort towards enhancing the light within us. As is demonstrated by the flame of a candle, that flickers upwards, just as our soul should reach up towards heaven. I am not of that mindset (yet.) and the meaning of the ner tamid is expansive and one that can assist us as we further travel in life.
Thank you, Rabbi Aviva Richman and Rabbah Arlene Berger whose words continue to inspire.
Confessions of a Cowtown Culturalist 
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