Spring break…whoooo! I know half of our community is just concluding their spring break while the others had an opportunity to experience last week. If my research is correct, spring break dates back to the 1930s when Colgate University brought their swim team to Fort Lauderdale for training in the city’s new Olympic-sized swimming pool. The idea caught on, and eventually universities from across the country began sending teams to Florida. By the 1960s, swimmers began inviting their non-swimming college friends with them to partake in this sunny recreation, and spring break as we know it was born. I recall watching spring break on MTV and being shocked by the all-day party going on wherever they were telecasting from. I also wondered how these people went from concerts, to playing on the beach, to the next thing, and so on, and look like they have more and more energy. I just got back last week from a preconference site visit, and if it wasn’t for a four-hour delay which included a nap, I’d be worthless for the remainder of the week.
I bring up this experience because it got me thinking about this week’s Parsha, Tzav. Tzav continues Torah’s journey through the ancient rituals of sacrifice; for guilt and sin, healing, love of God, and installation of priests. The Parsha also speaks of the fire that will be kept constantly going on the altar. Synagogues today restore the altar’s flame with the ner tamid, the eternal light hanging over the Ark that houses the Torah scroll. Prayer, learning, and acts of service long ago replaced the Israelite sacrificial system. The Ark replaced the altar. The ner tamid of the synagogue reminds worshipers of God’s presence in their midst.
Now thinking about the energy these college kids (and even yourselves at a younger age) put in to make the most of their spring breaks, consider what it took in ancient days to keep this flame burning. A flame was a source of life, giving heat, protection, and the ability to prepare food. These, in turn, were the fuel and focus of community. It took community to keep the flame burning. It took collective effort to build the altar, gather wood, tend the flame, remove the ashes and make the “pure olive oil” that was the fire’s fuel. Like the Mishkan, the ner tamid burned because people kept it alive. This is true with our congregation. It shines or darkens through the care and effort of its members. The ner tamid symbolically shines within each of us as long as we are connected to whatever excites us. Whatever “it” is that constitutes our internal ner tamid, it must be stoked as never before. As the Pew Research study has shown (again), the American Jewish community is declining in numbers and the institutions that support the community are declining as well. Fewer and fewer Jews are engaging as Jews in Jewish learning, ritual celebration, Jewish observance, tzedakah, tikkun olam , or those mitzvot requiring us to take care of our neighbors. And without Jews “doing Jewish,” it is impossible for us as Jews to do the sacred work of making God’s presence manifest in our world. Without a passion for Jewish life, it is impossible for us to keep the ner tamid lit for future generations. I am happy to say this is not the trend at Jeremiah. This past Sunday, Jeremiah gathered our largest group to date to deliver meals for Maot Chitim. Normally I am running around on a Sunday and don’t get the chance to see this program in action. The group was not just excited to partake in this act of social action, but they seemed genuinely excited to be with each other as they waited for the boxes to arrive from the distribution center. I felt the energy radiating in our hallways from this group. It is my sincere hope that we will act as an example to the greater community and not “let the light go out.” May we each rededicate ourselves to keeping the fire within each of us and within our community alive perpetually.