We’ve often heard it said that the only thing constant is change, and those of us who have lived through a few decades can readily attest to that belief. Remember Y2K? Perhaps you remember a world without social media? Door-to-door Encyclopedia Britannica salesmen? Card catalogues at the library? The very existence of Czechoslovakia? Good times.
As we move through this ephemeral world, it is only natural to look for stability, permanence, a way to make sure that we will not be swept away by the current, or that the important things in life will not pass us by. Despite our best efforts, it can feel sometimes that our lives flicker like a flame, vulnerable to each change in the wind, and while some lights burn brightly for many years, leaving vivid images in the minds of those they leave behind, others are extinguished long before their time, leaving us bereft, confused, and perhaps even fearful.
In this week’s Torah portion, God provides Moses with instructions for something meant to last: a flame, to be tended day and night by Aaron and his sons, so that the fire will always be ready when someone needs to make an olah (burnt) offering. The idea behind this offering is that the entire sacrifice is placed into the flames and this perpetual fire will consume it completely, leaving only ashes in its wake. While none of the other sacrificial fires is meant to last forever, the one that consumes the most sends its smoke toward the heavens day and night, seeking to establish a connection between the mortal and immortal worlds until the end of time.
From the moment it sparks, each human flame is destined to be extinguished, but the flame that connects all of us to the eternal, in this story, can never be put out. While we may doubt the existence of this connection, at times—especially in the absence of a physical flame!—God endures even when our perception of the divine is intermittent. Like any fire, the perpetual conflagration that links us to spirit and source can be volatile. The flames may appear brighter at certain times and faded at others, but Tzav presents us with the possibility that this fire contains the continuity and stability we often crave from a God who sometimes seems elusive.
