Wasn’t that a great Purim weekend? Such fun. Thank you to all who attended and contributed to a great celebration. By the way, did you notice this year’s most ambitious, albeit ill-fated, heist attempt? Our two ever-mischievous Minions, Bak and Buk, devised a grand scheme: stealing the Ner Tamid—yes, the Eternal Light itself.
Why? Who knows? Maybe they thought it was an everlasting supply of banana-scented glow or some secret power source for their next ridiculous gadget. Either way, their plan was doomed from the start.
First, they underestimated the security presence in the synagogue—not the CST, but the Queen Esthers and Mordechais who were out in full force, wielding groggers with the precision of ancient warriors. Then came the unexpected backup: the Purim bees, who swarmed the would-be thieves in a flurry of buzzing and sticky hands. Defeated and frustrated, Bak and Buk fled, muttering something about “next year in Shushan.”
This whole incident got me thinking: why would anyone want to steal the Ner Tamid in the first place? Aside from its aesthetic glow, what makes it so special? Well, as Vayakhel reminds us, light in Jewish tradition is more than just illumination—it’s a symbol of continuity, presence, and connection.
The original command in Exodus was to ensure that a lamp burned continually in the Mishkan (Tabernacle), a visible reminder of God’s presence. Later, in the Temple in Jerusalem, the menorah carried this role, and when the Temple was lost, synagogues carried the tradition forward with the Ner Tamid—an unbroken light in an often-dark world.
And that’s the thing about the Eternal Light—you can’t steal it. Not really. You can unplug a bulb, sure. You can even knock down a building (heaven forbid). But the light itself—the faith, the resilience, the divine connection it represents—that remains, untouchable and enduring.
In every Jewish community, the Ner Tamid burns not because of electricity, but because we keep showing up. Because we keep telling our stories, keep practising our faith, keep passing on traditions. The light persists, not through some ancient miracle of oil, but through the real-life miracle of commitment and continuity.
So, as we move from the festive mischief of Purim into the reflections of Shabbat Vayakhel, let’s take a moment to look at that little light above the ark. It’s not just a decoration—it’s a reminder: no matter what happens, no matter how many times history has tried to snuff it out, we are still here. The light still shines.
And if, by chance, you see Bak and Buk lurking suspiciously near the ark, just hand them a Havdalah candle. Maybe that will keep them busy.
Shabbat Shalom!
Rabbi Adrian
