A Mirror of Holiness
D’var Torah for
Parashat Beha’alotecha
By Rabbi Boaz D.
Heilman
World literature often employs mirrors as symbols. There’s Snow White’s “mirror, mirror on the
wall,” for example; and Alice and her looking glass; and of course Harry Potter
and the Mirror of Erised.
This week’s Torah portion, Beha’alotecha, (“When you kindle the lights,” Numbers 8:1—12:16), presents
yet another mirror, a mirror of holiness, through which to observe—and
hopefully improve—our finite, earthly existence. Like the other examples, the reflection we
see in this mirror isn’t exactly true to life either. But nor is it make-believe or fantasy. Rather,
in this mirror we see life as it can
be, and even better: how to make it so.
Through the Mirror of Holiness, we can see wonderful
visions: Aaron lighting the beautiful
gold menorah just so, meticulously following God’s instructions, his hand
steady and unwavering. The Levites being
ordained for their roles in the sacred service, taking their place in a
beautiful and orderly procession.
In Beha’alotecha, physical
space is made sacred, symbolized by the Tabernacle, which is placed right in
the center—at the heart, as it were—of the Israelites’ camp. Time, too, is sanctified,
with instruction given for the celebration of Passover.
Even sound is sanctified, as Moses orders that silver
trumpets be formed, their musical blasts to serve the community as signals to
gather, disperse, move forward or to stop.
Amazingly, the entire People of Israel, all 600,000 of them,
men women and children, move in total harmony with God’s Sacred Presence, marching
forth when the cloud that hovers over the Tabernacle lifts, and setting down camp
again only when it descends.
Everything has its place. Everyone knows the role he or she
plays. Beha’alotecha presents us with the very image of perfection. A mirror of holiness.
Yet we know that in life, things don’t always play out that
way. And in this portion, we are also
given glimpses of a different reality, an everyday reality, imperfect, flawed,
and all-too-human. Hunger, thirst and exhaustion
lead the Israelites to frustration, resentment and disappointment. The people look back at Egypt with fondness
and longing, forgetting the slavery and unspeakable suffering they had endured
there. Even Miriam and Aaron, Moses’
siblings, complain about him, going so far as to join in an uprising against
his leadership.
And the holidays?
Aren’t the instructions for their celebration clear enough? Not to our people! Some immediately raise doubts and questions: What if the realities of life interfere? What if we are sick, or away on
business? Why should events that lie
beyond our control bar us from family celebrations? Why should strict, harsh
and seemingly unfair rules exclude us from being in a sacred relationship with
God?
The vision of perfection that Beha’alotecha holds up for us shatters when life and human nature get
in the way. Jealousy, doubt, illness, death,
even love itself—these are real factors that disrupt the neatness of life. They break the connection that should be
there between us and our God, that should keep us connected to our heritage and
our people.
This is actual life, we can almost hear the people saying. This is reality. The vision that Beha’alotecha offers is no more than an illusion, a mirage, an impossible
image in a distorted mirror.
In fact, Beha’alotecha
does present two
impressions: Life as it is, and life as
it can be. But are they really so distinct
and separate? Is there truly a
disconnect there? Because if so, then
our entire religious system and all our rituals are no more than fairy tales,
forms of fantasy that the rational mind would never, could never, accept.
But the purpose of the Torah is not to befuddle minds. The incongruity between what is and what can
be is precisely what the Torah addresses.
Beha’alotecha teaches that
there is a bridge that connects the two worlds. There is a way to get from what is, to
what can be. Anticipating our questions,
the ancient Rabbis offer a solution in a story found in the Midrash, one that
Rashi, the famous medieval teacher and commentator, repeats—since it bears
repetition, like every good lesson.
Beha’alotecha opens
with God commanding Moses to instruct Aaron, the High Priest, regarding the
kindling of the menorah, the
seven-branch candelabra that stood at the entrance of the Tabernacle in the
Wilderness and, later, at Solomon’s Temple in Jerusalem. Why should Aaron be in
need of these instructions, ask the Rabbis. He was, after all, the High Priest;
he knew his chores and duties. What led
up to this extra bit of training?
The answer that they offer sheds light on our own questions
and doubts.
You see, in the previous portion, Naso, we are told of how every household among the Israelites
brought forth gifts for Hanukkat Ha-Bayit—the Ceremony of the Consecration of
the Tabernacle. Every household, that
is, except for Aaron’s. He alone of all
the households of Israel was left out.
“Unfair!” the Rabbis say that he cried out. “Why should I be left out of the sacred proceedings? Why single out me and my family, forever to
be pointed out as people who never contributed anything to this all-important community
celebration?”
At that moment, say the Rabbis, God told Moses to instruct
Aaron: “Your role in the ceremony will
be to kindle the lights on the menorah.
Thus and so— Beha’alotecha—shall
you proceed with the ritual.”
All teachers understand this lesson. When you have an uncooperative child in your
class, one who whines and complains about being left out and about life being
unfair, give them another task. Make
them feel useful, helpful, important, with a unique role that only they can
fulfill.
Therein lies the great teaching of Parashat Beha’alotecha.
Despite our best efforts to control, direct and give meaning
to our lives, all too often we find ourselves at a loss. Life is unfair! Like the stock market, one day we are up, the
next we are down. Our bodies, constructed
with wonderful intricacy, imbued with amazing strength, are also fragile and frail. Our psychological and emotional needs wreak havoc
with our set routines. Best-laid plans
go awry with no warning, and we find ourselves scrambling for Plan B, C—or
anything else that might work.
None of us is stranger to disappointment and frustration: In the way life has turned out for us; in our
relationships; by how we’ve been treated (or mistreated) by others; by our own failures
and limitations. Despite our best
efforts we sometimes find ourselves in dark and forbidding places, in an
uncharted wilderness where promises and guarantees dissipate into thin
air. Beha’alotecha
teaches us how to restore balance, how to bring light into our lives at
such dark moments.
Like Aaron, we’re told to steady our hand and calm our
heart. Like Moses, we must learn to be more
patient and forgiving. Like Miriam, we
learn to say I’m sorry and to try again.
Like the Israelites in the desert, we learn to find holiness wherever we
are, and to cherish each moment of our precious existence. Beha’alotecha
challenges us to discover the uniqueness of each individual, to discover
the unique task each of us is equipped to perform, and to dignify every human
being regardless of our gender, race, age, or varying abilities.
Holiness isn’t beyond us.
Holiness is found in the way we see ourselves and others. Holiness, far from being fantasy or fiction,
is found in the way we perceive the world around us.
As we head off for the summer, each of us with our own
plans, maps and schedules, let us not forget to pack along a Mirror of
Holiness. It will prove of immense help
along the way. It will help us see not
only who we are and where we are, but also who we can be, and where we are
headed.
May it be a safe, joyful and healthy summer; may we find
ourselves refreshed by good people, good weather and beautiful places, so that
when we return at the end of the season, we will be ready to pick up where we
leave off now, in our never-ending, sacred task of Creation.
© 2106 by Boaz D. Heilman
