I have gotten out of the habit of writing. There are lots of excuses. I’ve been busy. My material is fresher if I do it as a discussion rather than a formal written sermon. Others have said what I am trying to say more eloquently. What I say doesn’t matter. It doesn’t count.

Then rcently this turned up in my Facebook feed. “You must learn to hush the demons that whisper, “No one wants to read this. This has already been said. Your voice doesn’t matter.” In the rare moments when the voices finally hush, you might hear the angels sing.” (MargaretFeinberg.com).

Perfect, I said. And it relates to what I said on Shabbat morning. On Shabbat we read another portion about building the mishkan. Carefully detailed plans. Designed to build a home, a beautiful home for the Presence of G-d.

There were two sentences that jumped off the page at me. One was the structure of providing an offering, “one in the morning and one in the evening.” I was reminded of Rabbi Nehamia Polen, professor at Hebrew College, who would tell the story that much of this narrative is to push the reset button, to call down the Presence of G-d just like on Mount Sinai. There is smoke, incense, quaking, thunder, lightening just like on Mount Sinai. In our ritual, we are recreating the experience of Sinai.

And then G-d dwells among us. That “Presence of G-d” in fancy English translations, is “Shechinah” in Hebrew. And it is related to “Mishkan”. So by building a house of G-d, a house for G-d, the mishkan, we welcome the In-dwelling Presence of G-d, the Shechinah.

And we learn the detailed patterns for the clothes that the priests wore. The gown, the ephod, the breastplate, the jewels (all 12 of them, representing the 12 Tribes of Israel and Jacob’s sons), the mantle, the bells and pomegranates.

But why? Why does any of this matter? I think it has to do with ritual and the power of ritual. What is a ritual?

It is something we do as a routine, to call us back to another time. To hit that reset button that Rabbi Polen was talking about. To provide structure, safety and security. To enable the ineffable to happen.

We do this with lots of things. Birthdays follow a prescribed ritual. Birthday cake. Birthday candles. Making a wish. Presents. Going to a Michigan football game follows a prescribed ritual. Tailgating. The band. The specific songs the band plays. The cheers. The wave. Those are secular examples.

Judaism has its ritual too. Lots of it. How we celebrate holidays and Shabbat. How we pray. How we eat. How we dress. Most of our lives are prescribed. Some say that there are too many “Thou Shall Nots” and not enough fun things.
But what it we look at it in a different way? What if we look at another verse in this parsha?

Moses is commanded to “kindle” the ner tamid. The Eternal Light as we teach the kids. That light that is supposed to be lit in perpetuity, we go to great lengths to make sure it lasts. Oh sure, these days it is a little easier with compact florescent light bulbs. But in the old days, this was a task that involved everybody watching. And as soon as the oil burned out, more was added. It was an awesome responsibility for the entire community.

But the verb “to kindle” really is closer to lift up, to raise up. “V’ha’alot” The same verb we use to go up to the bimah, to have an aliyah, to go up to Jerusalem, to make aliyah. Somehow the act of lighting the light, the ner tamid, raises us up.

Rabbi Kalisch says that the ner tamid “serves the purpose of giving light to G-d,” as it rises. Cue the old Girl Scout song here…”Rise up O flame, by thy light glowing. Show to us beauty, vision and joy.” And at the same time as we rise up to G-d, it brings G-d’s presence down to us.

That is the function of ritual. It reminds us of the past and connects us to previous generations. It brings us closer to G-d so that G-d’s presence can dwell among us and it lifts us up. It raises our spirits. It is part of how we can create “meaningful observance.”

There is one other piece here that is important. February has become known as disability awareness month. This verse makes it clear that the light has to be kept, watched, guarded by the WHOLE community. It is not just the priests who keep the fire going.

The Midrash teaches, “Instruct the Israelites to bring you clear oil of beaten olives . . .” Not because I (God) need it, but so that you should give light to Me just as I have given light to you . . . . This is compared to a blind man and a sighted man who were walking together. The sighted man said to his companion, “I will guide you along the way.” When they arrived at their destination and came indoors, the sighted man asked the blind man to please kindle a light to benefit him (the sighted man). In this manner, the blind man would not be overwhelmed by his debt of gratitude to the sighted man, and would recognize himself as capable of benefiting others.” ( Midrash Sh’mot Rabbah 36:2)

As we learned last week, each of us has unique gifts that we bring to build this holy place. In this case the midrash is reminding us that it is those with sight and those without. Both are needed. This coming Shabbat our children will teach us the Sh’ma in sign language. Their simple actions enhances the meaning of the word “Listen” and it makes those holy words accessible to all. This too helps us create meaningful observance.

Does G-d need the light? That is for you to answer. But it is clear to me that we do. It helps us fulfill the teaching of Menachem Mendel of Kotzk. He asked, “Where is G-d?” and answered, “Wherever we let G-d in.” This is what we learn from the power of light and the power of ritual.