“Ghost Light” by Emily Herzlin. 2004. Acrylic on canvas.
I grew up performing in community theatre productions, and I remember learning at a young age about the ghost light. The ghost light is often a simple, uncovered light bulb on the top of a long pole that stands in the middle of an empty stage. It gets lit at the end of the night, and left on all night, until the staff or performers return the next day. The tradition may have started out of safety, in case some maintenance workers were in the building late and needed light to be able to see after the house lights were turned off. The mythology is cooler, though: it is said that every theatre has ghosts, and the light is there for the ghosts, so that when they come out at night they have enough light by which to perform and dance on stage, when no one else is there to watch them.
In this week’s Torah portion, Emor, God tells Moses to command the people of Israel:
...they shall take to you pure olive oil, crushed for lighting, to kindle the lamps continually. Outside the dividing curtain of the testimony in the Tent of Meeting, Aaron shall set it up before the Lord from evening to morning continually. [This shall be] an eternal statute for your generations. Upon the pure menorah, he shall set up the lamps, before the Lord, continually.
The ner tamid, often translated as the eternal flame, is a key component of synagogues--a light that is always lit, which hovers above the ark. The ner tamid in my childhood synagogue looked to me like a small, fiery lion. Looking back now, I think it may have been the word חי (chai-life). Whatever it was, that bright spot over the ark was a focal point for my often distracted, wandering gaze. It was what I’d realize I was looking at when I was supposed to be looking at my prayerbook.
The word tamid is often translated as “continually” or “regularly.” But another, more simple translation is “always.” So the translation I like best of ner tamid is the Always Lamp.
The Always Lamp is something that can be counted on to mark sacredness, to help us find the way to holiness, no matter what. And perhaps, like the ghost light on a stage, to make sure that holiness itself never feels lost or alone or unseen. Even if the people of Israel were not always there in person, it was a sign that they were thinking about God. It’s nice to know someone is thinking about you, isn’t it?
Once I was on a long, silent meditation retreat that happened to fall during my wedding anniversary. My husband and I decided we would write a letter to each other, to be opened on the night of our anniversary. Though we would not be together, would not be able to see or talk to each other, we would have something to kindle that remembering of our love and joy in one another. It would sustain both of us during a time of separation. That letter was oil for our Always Lamp.
I am thinking now of all the lonely Torah scrolls in all the arks around the world in dark sanctuaries which have been empty of people for months at this point during the COVID-19 pandemic. I am feeling deep tenderness towards the image of those scrolls being comforted and reassured by the Always Lamps, these nightlights letting them know that they have not been abandoned, that we are still very much here for them, even in our physical distance. Maybe it is giving the letters enough light to lift themselves off the parchment and dance joyfully with each other around the sanctuary.
This Torah portion is not the first nor only one that mentions the Always Lamp, but I think there is significance to it coming up at this time in the Jewish calendar. During the 7-week period between Passover and Shavuot known as the Omer which we are currently in, each week is dedicated to cultivating a particular quality of mind and heart. For much of this week, the quality is Netzach. Netzach is all about persistence and endurance and keeping going. The Israelites would have surely needed to rouse a lot of Netzach in their long journey from Egypt to Sinai. The Always Lamp is a perfect symbol of Netzach.
But Netzach doesn’t sustain itself, and neither does the Always Lamp. It is dependent on being fed in order for it to keep going. Its supply is not infinite. And so I am wondering during these unbelievably challenging times, what on earth is feeding my inner Always Lamp? What is feeding yours? What is feeding our persistence, our endurance, our ability to keep going through this pandemic? Probably a lot of things--hope, rest, connection, moments of joy, appreciating acts of kindness, learning, studying Torah, and miraculous things we can’t even name. Because it really is a miracle that we persist.
So if we notice someone else’s Always Lamp oil is getting low and their light is getting dim, maybe we can reach out in some way to replenish it for them. And if ours gets low, maybe it can be okay to ask someone else for some oil. After all, when God gives the instructions in the Torah for bringing oil to light the lamps, God gives that responsibility to the entire community, not to just one person. That care was community-based, just as it needs to be now.