Tetzaveh 5774

The lamps flicker, filling the tent with smoky yellow light.  Shadows dance on the walls.  This is the Mishkan – the place of encounter between God and humanity.  It is lit by a golden menorah, and by a ner tamid.  Each light is fueled by olive oil.  The oil must be clear, made of beaten olives (Exodus 27:20).  

How appropriate that the holiest, purest element of the Mishkan, the one that symbolizes God’s presence, comes from something that’s been beaten and crushed.  Human beings pass through many difficulties as we live and, if we are lucky, some of them transform us into something better than we were before.  We all experience challenges, angst, suffering, and doubt.  They are part of the human experience; no one moves through life unscathed.  Although they are horrible, they can also be catalysts for growth:  they can help us know ourselves, prove our mettle, and forge ourselves anew.  They teach us empathy and make us who we are.  Like the egg on the seder plate, pressure can make us stronger.

I call this process “going through the fire.”  It’s the trial that toughens us up and helps us understand life more fully.  For me, it was the death of my college roommate.  That ushered me into a new and truer understanding of human life.  The pain was great, but so was the learning.

Let me be clear:  I am speaking metaphorically and not about getting beaten or abused physically.  Neither Judaism nor I hold that suffering is redemptive.  Although we may sometimes grow out of pain, that’s not the intention of this verse.  Rather, the oil is produced here with sacred, not demeaning, intention.  The process transforms without destroying.

What’s true for oil is true for human beings:  when we encounter adversity, and stretch to overcome it, we can recreate ourselves into something truer, purer, and brighter.