An old commercial for a budget motel chain used to end with the warm invitation: “Come on in—we’ll leave the light on for you.” Delivered in a friendly, down-home tone, it evoked a sense of welcome, hominess, and belonging—an invitation to rest when you’re far from what’s familiar. In an oddly fitting parallel, Parashat Beha’alotcha begins with a divine instruction to Aaron: to kindle the menorah in the Mishkan, Israel’s portable sanctuary in the wilderness.
The command is clear in Numbers 8:1–4: Aaron is to mount the lamps so that their light shines forward, illuminating the space before the menorah. This lighting is not just a practical task—it’s a spiritual act. Aaron, as High Priest, is called to bring divine illumination into Israel’s sacred center. Moses, who receives the instruction from God, transmits it to Aaron, emphasizing their distinct but complementary roles: Moses, the prophet who hears God’s word, and Aaron, the Kohen (priest) who embodies it in the rhythm of sacred service.
At the heart of the Mishkan stood the Ner Tamid—the eternal light. But what is the purpose of a flame that burns from evening until morning? Surely God is not afraid of the dark. As Midrash Shemot Rabbah explains, God says: “I do not need your light, but I ask for it so that you will give light to Me as I have given light to you.” In other words, the Ner Tamid is not about meeting divine needs; it’s about reminding Israel of its loving covenant with the One who redeemed them from bondage.
This small, perpetual flame becomes a symbol of the great blaze at Sinai—a daily sign of the ongoing relationship between God and His people. In a spiritual sense, the Mishkan—with its constantly burning lamp—is God’s way of saying, “You’re not in Egypt anymore. Come stay with Me.”
The light also echoed the visible presence of God that guided Israel through the wilderness—a cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. In this way, the Ner Tamid wasn’t just for Israel. It stood as a signal to all the nations: here is a people in covenant with the God of all creation.
One Midrash teaches that the eternal light also represents the illumination that Torah brings to those who study it: “The words of Torah give light to those who learn them.” Every act of Torah study rekindles the light of Sinai, keeping it burning fresh and bright in each generation. This is why we speak of dor l’dor—from generation to generation—as each group of students and sages keeps the fire alive.
But Torah study alone is not enough. As Pirkei Avot reminds us, wisdom is not complete until it is lived. One sage wrote: “If one performs a mitzvah, it is as though one had kindled a light before Hashem.” That is, each sacred deed—no matter how small—adds fuel to the eternal flame.
A deeper understanding comes from the Book of Proverbs: “The soul of a person is the lamp of the Lord.” Each of us carries a spark of the Divine. When we treat others with dignity, kindness, and respect, that inner light glows brighter. God’s presence is made visible not only in ritual, but in relationship.
Finally, we look to Messiah Yeshua, who came filled with the light of Hashem. In Besorat Yochanan (John 1), he is described as both the living Torah and the true light that shines in the darkness. His life calls us not just to study, but to live in the light of divine truth and love. The light in the Mishkan was a shadow of the greater light that would one day illumine every heart.
Through Talmud Torah (study), kiyum mitzvot (sacred action), and kibbud habriyot (honoring the Divine image in each person), we tend the Ner Tamid within. And when we place that light in our synagogues today, we’re doing more than preserving a tradition—we’re sending a powerful message:
“God is here. Come on in—we’ll leave the light on.”