Marching Orders

Marching Orders


D’var Torah for Parashat Beha-alotecha

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

Dedicated to the graduating class of 2011



Late at night, when all the campfires had been allowed to die out, one light still remained, a beacon that pointed east, to the direction of the rising sun, toward the Promised Land. It was the light of the menorah, the seven-branch candelabra that stood at the entrance of the Tent of Meeting.

Kept going by Aaron and his sons, the priests, the menorah did more than just cast light. Its purpose was also to show direction in the physical world of time and space. It became a symbol for the values that the Israelites tried to hold highest while wandering in the untamed wilderness.

The wilderness often creates its own laws. The harsh elements, the individuals and tribes that sometimes find refuge in the wilds, all help create a universe that is so different from the one we settled and civilized people are used to.

But the menorah, its lights burning steady, reminded the ancient Israelites of the obligations they had taken on, the dedication to higher standards and nobler ideals.

This week’s Torah portion, Beha-alotecha, refers to the act of lighting the menorah’s candles. A more literal translation of the title would read, “When you raise the lights.” The act reminds us of the focus and concentration you can see on the face of a person who lights Shabbat candles, taking care that the spark catch, that the new flame rise and become protected from the merest breeze.

Yet of the whole long portion (Numbers 8:1—12:16), only the first four verses refer to the lighting of the menorah. The many stories that occupy the rest of the portion could be seen as examples of other ways to “raise the lights.” The appointment of the Levites to the work of maintenance of the Tent of Meeting is a case in point. Nothing made the tribe of Levi more special—not its incidence or order of birth nor any other physical characteristic. Yet it was the Levites who were chosen by God to represent the rest of the people, to serve all the needs of the Tabernacle and—not least—to protect the Israelites from approaching too near to the Tabernacle and risking the fierce energy of the Divine.

Yet their very appointment to that post meant they were elevated from among the other Israelites. But like the lights of the menorah, their raised status came with function and purpose. They were to form an indispensible link in a chain, so many stops along a course that connected the people with God. Responsible to God, to Aaron and the priests and to themselves (and their families), the Levites were also responsible for the people’s spiritual wellbeing.

Moving on, chapter 9 has Moses reminding the people to celebrate Passover at its appointed time. Once again, the ordinary is elevated to a sacred position—not people this time around, but rather time itself. The holidays in general—and Passover in particular—remind us both of the relationship between God and us, and also of the importance of time. Our time here on earth is limited; by infusing it with holiness, we make it extraordinary; by making it special, we make it count.

Much of the portion is given to the journeys and some specific places where the wandering Israelites made camp. The orderliness in which those journeys were made, the attention and focus given both to direction and to the enormous mechanism of picking up and moving this very intricate organization (sometimes at a moment’s notice) make this uneventful travelogue stand out in better relief: This chapter is about sanctifying the space around us.

Kindling, elevating or raising the lights—the theme of this parasha—thus becomes a metaphor. It isn’t only about lighting a candle; it’s about sanctifying life; about taking the ordinary and making it extraordinary; it’s about overcoming the darkness that frightens and oppresses us—which sometimes is around us and just as frequently is found within us.

It’s a particularly appropriate message this weekend especially, when so many families celebrate graduations. Giving the invocation prayer at the Lincoln-Sudbury Regional High School this week, as I was watching the proceedings, reading the faces of graduating students and their parents, I was vividly remembering my daughter’s graduation from high school, and my son’s, four years later. The unexpected emotions came in waves, as I realized that these children were no longer children. They were beginning their own journey, setting out into their own wildernesses. We, the parents, of course felt enormous pride at their accomplishments. However, along with that, there was also apprehension as we all faced the unknown future.

We have so much to say to our children as they begin this new chapter in their life. Mostly it’s how much we love them; but also it’s how much we want them to be happy, to feel secure and of value to themselves as well as to others. Ironically, however, for many of us the words do not come out clearly or easily. Nor are these young adults prepared to hear them. They are now on their own, and everyone knows that.

If only we had a prepared text, some writings of wisdom that we could give them. Perhaps these words would not be read anytime soon. But later, when needed, they would be recalled.

Parashat Beha-alotecha is the very text we are looking for. It contains the perfect advice for anyone starting out on a journey, be they a new graduate or a middle-aged man starting out on his route towards old age. The message is to make every moment, every place and every person we meet a special one. To treat them all with respect; to light the spark within them and watch it grow; to recognize God’s image in every one of us, at every moment of our life, wherever we might find ourselves.

And so the Israelites marched on through the wilderness, overcoming every obstacle along the way, much as we still do today. Everywhere we went, we brought holiness along with us; we passed it on to our children, and they to theirs. In the words of the beautiful prayer by Rabbi Alvin Fine, it has indeed been a sacred pilgrimage.

May the graduates of the class of 2011 continue along this path; may they succeed in making their journey a sacred one; may their lights shine far into the future for years and years to come.

Amen.





©2011 by Boaz D. Heilman