A Light for the Generations: Tetzaveh
D’var Torah by Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman
February 23, 2024
The opening verse of this week’s Torah portion reads: “And you shall command the children of Israel that they bring you pure oil of pressed olives for the light, to cause the lamp to burn continually” (NKJV).
It’s a verse that has stood the test of time, having given its readers purpose, meaning and direction since day one, while also presenting commentators and translators with a challenge that continues to this day.
Every word and phrase of this verse deserves close examination, including the use of the word “pressed olives” [or "crushed," as it appears in some translations].
While the p’shat, the simple meaning of this phrase—is clear—referring to the method of extracting oil from the olive—the not-so-subtle implication that many have drawn is that it relates to the suffering which Jews have had to endure throughout our history. The purest and most precious oil is produced from the crushing blows that the olive receives. This, it follows, is also behind the many gifts that Jews and Judaism have given the world.
The truth, of course, is that suffering isn’t restricted to Jews. Job may be a book in the Hebrew Bible, but neither Job nor his friends is Jewish. Suffering is universal, an unfortunate yet inescapable part of being alive. And so while there is some truth to this interpretation of the verse, and while it may give some of us a measure of comfort and meaning as we study—or live through—events in Jewish history, there are yet other reasons, besides suffering, for the many contributions we have made to humanity and civilization.
As I study this portion this time around, something else in this opening verse has me intrigued. It’s the word that gives the parasha its title: Tetzaveh (“Command,” Ex. 27:20-30:10). Derived from the same root that also gives us “mitzvah,” which means not only a commandment but also a good deed, an act of charity or good will, Tetzaveh is the continuous-command form: you shall command, give the order, now and for all generations.
The specific ritual that this refers to has to do with the procedure of lighting the menorah, the physical and metaphysical symbol of God’s presence amongst us. It is the ner tamid—the Eternal Light—that we are told to kindle here, a light that cannot and must not be extinguished, that requires special care and attention, so much so that the Talmud dedicates entire pages to it.
And it's no wonder. As we study this, the first sentence of the portion, the opportunities to learn from it reveal themselves with every word, as though lit from the inside out. Let’s examine the King James Version, which reads: “And thou shalt command the children of Israel, that they bring thee pure oil olive beaten for the light, to cause the lamp to burn always.”
And thou shalt command: This is the word, tetzaveh, that gives the portion is title. Command. The “thou” in this case refers to Moses. This commandment must come from Moses, not from God! The difference cannot be underestimated. This is a mitzvah—a commandment—that is issued not by God, like all those others, but rather by Moses, a mere human being (albeit one imbued with the light and understanding of God’s wishes). Special emphasis is put on the word thou, you, v’atah. The lesson for us today is that, just as it was Moses’s responsibility thousands of years ago, so today it is you, the singular individual, whose responsibility it must be to kindle the light by which all must see God.
It is Moses’s command that we—“The children of Israel”—must follow. We, the ordinary folk, are thus placed in a direct line with God and with Moses in performing a mitzvah that recognizes—and carries forward—God’s first act of Creation: light. During Temple times, it was the High Priest’s duty to use this oil for kindling the menorah. Today, through our deeds and words, it is we who must prepare and provide the oil, we who must set the match to it, we whose responsibility it is to see to it that the flame reaches upward—towards heaven—and that it shed its light all around us.
Ner tamid: Today we use this phrase to indicate the Eternal Light. But like the rest of this verse, it too receives a fair share of discussion among rabbis, commentators and translators. While ner can mean a candle, or any relatively small and self-contained source of light, the word tamid has many more possibilities. Some English translations render it not as “eternal,” but rather, “regular,” “continual” or “constant.” These obviously don’t share the poetic and metaphysical meaning of “eternal,” but rather steer us towards a more down-to-earth understanding. This light must be steady, not allowed to waver; it must be consistent—by ritual and pattern; and fixed—it must be lit at a certain set time every evening, just as darkness begins to fall. This is how it is to be done, now and always.
V’atah: Yet most unusual of all is the very first word of this verse: V’atah, “and you,” a word that conveys weight, strength and potency. The emphasis that the Torah places on this word makes it that much more imperative for us today to. It’s the teacher looking us in the eye, pointing a finger towards us, towards you and me individually.
Maybe this is one of the reasons that so many Jews contribute in so many ways to humanity and civilization. We understand this commandment, we internalize it and take it personally. It isn’t enough to let some do the work while others sit idly by. The task is up to each one of us, to provide the fuel—and perhaps to be the fuel—for a light that is meant to last for all time, for all generations. It’s the meaning, the purpose of our existence as Jews.
May we continue to be sources of light for all, to set an example by how we live, the words we use and by our deeds.
© 2024 by Boaz D. Heilman
