Parashat Beha'alotcha by Yitzchak Zilbiger, High School Tanakh Teacher

Many interpretations have been given to explain the phrase "תֹהוּ וָבֹהוּ" (tohu vavohu). In modern Hebrew, this ancient biblical expression symbolizes a state of chaos, disorder, and confusion. That’s how we felt in those days in October. Since that difficult day, which came to be known as ״השבת השחורה״ - “The Black Shabbat,” the events of October 7 accompanied us day after day, moment after moment. Events that changed the lives of so many. Events that changed an entire nation.

 

Thinking back to Bereshit, as we all know, God did not leave the world in chaos. The very next verse after the chaos says:

וַיֹּאמֶר אֱלֹהִים יְהִי אוֹר וַיְהִי־אוֹר׃ וַיַּרְא אֱלֹהִים אֶת־הָאוֹר כִּי־טוֹב
And God said, "Let there be light," and there was light. And God saw the light, that it was good.

Indeed, much light has been seen in Israel and the world since those chaotic days of that sad Shabbat in the first week of October 2023 – especially in heroic deeds revealed from then until this very moment. The immense pain is far from gone, but alongside severe pain, we have also seen many moments of comfort, hope, and faith.

Not long ago, we read in the Torah about the tragic deaths of Aaron's two sons and their bereaved father’s response. The Torah says: “וַיִּדֹּם אַהֲרֹן” - “And Aaron was silent.” Since October 7, we have learned about too many mothers and fathers who heard the knock on the door that brought them the worst news ever. Yet many of them did not remain silent in the face of the horrible news. Yes, they cried, no doubt, but they also became voices of strength, support, and faith.

Aaron's silence has been discussed by many commentators who explain this silence as a mixture of crying over his sons together with his acceptance of the fact that their deaths were not in vain. This event, in which Aaron lost his dearest, happened on a particularly festive day – the day of the dedication of the Mishkan (Tabernacle). A day of light and joy that turned into a “black day” in Aaron's personal life and the life of the entire nation. Many see this event as connected to the opening words of this week's parashah, Beha'alotcha.

At the beginning of Beha'alotcha, Moshe is told to speak to Aaron and say to him:

 

בְּהַעֲלֹתְךָ אֶת־הַנֵּרֹת אֶל־מוּל פְּנֵי הַמְּנוֹרָה יָאִירוּ שִׁבְעַת הַנֵּרוֹת
When you raise the lamps, the seven lamps shall give light in front of the menorah.

The verse that opens the parashah raises a simple question. Why does Moshe use the term "when you raise" rather than "when you light"? After all, candles give off light when they arer lit, regardless of whether they are raised. Rashi explains, "Since the flame rises, the Torah describes kindling in terms of ascending." In other words, the act is indeed lighting the lamp, but the result is raising the light. And it is Aaron, who experienced great loss and personal darkness, who is commanded to raise and spread the light. Aaron performs the command given to him exactly as instructed. It is a simple act, but significant for generations. Like Aaron, who raised the light of the Menorah, we have seen so many ascending lights since that dark day, in Israel and across the world, illuminating the world with new hope in a time of “eclipse.” A time when new light is so desperately needed.

The late poet Naomi Shemer wrote a special song for the thirtieth anniversary of Israel's independence. A song of hope and faith:

When reading the words of the prophet Zechariah in this week's Haftarah, one cannot ignore the significant era in which we live. Zechariah speaks of a nation which is "אוּד מֻצָּל מֵאֵשׁ" - "a cinder plucked from the fire." A nation that survived the worst, eighty years ago, and a nation that knows that we will survive “שלֹא (רק) בְחַיִל וְלֹא (רק) בְכֹחַ כִּי אִם בְּרוּחִ,” - "not (only) by might, nor (only) by power, but by spirit."

The commander of Battalion 13 of the Golani brigade, Lieutenant Colonel Tomer Grinberg z”l wrote about that same spirit. Ginsberg fell in battle in Gaza during Chanukah, the festival of lights, but a year earlier he wrote the following words: "The work of the land, the youth who work in it, the coexistence that is realized in it. Those things can never be burned away from us, the spirit is what matters."

Tomer and his fellow soldiers are the nation’s spirit. Their heroism and faith are our driving force.
הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא יִשְׁלַח בְּרָכָה וְהַצְלָחָה בְּכָל מַעֲשֵׂה יְדֵיהֶם - May the Holy One, blessed be He, send blessing and success in all their endeavors in their sacred work since that Black Sabbath. May the verse from this week's parashah, a verse we recite at school every Monday and Thursday during Tefilah, “קוּמָה יְהֹוָה וְיָפֻצוּ אֹיְבֶיךָ וְיָנֻסוּ מְשַׂנְאֶיךָ מִפָּנֶיךָ” - “May Your enemies be scattered, and may Your foes flee before You” soon become a reality and not just a vision.

When I remember the difficult days of the Yom Kippur War fifty years ago, during my childhood, I remember well the darkness that fell over the land at that time. But the spirit was then the same as now, and even then the flickers of light were seen through the narrow openings. As the poet Rachel Shapira wrote back then:

Let us all pray together for אור חדש, a new light, to shine upon Zion, a light that will shine from one end of the world to the other. Amen.

 

 

Shabbat Shalom.