Each of us is a candle
We stand tall and proud, like wicks
We draw on the oil of our past
And buried deep within us
Lies an inextinguishable spark
Which, when kindled with care and attention
Bursts forth and transforms us
To shining brightness
When we gather together
In one place
Our candles merge to form a torch
Burning with much power
Bringing heat and light
To a dark, gray world
Yet when we truly unite
And align our intentions
With those of our holder
We become more than a torch
We are a beacon
Shining
Blazing
Lighting the way
When the torch collapsed
In a great conflagration
And its remains stamped and trodden upon
The wicks stared upward
Some in fear, some in fury
And made to conceal their fire
But deep within the pile of ash
The embers remained.
Some looked down at the tiny, ashy fire at their feet
And merely shrugged
But others, driven by intense hatred
Laboured to extinguish the flickering flame
That shouldn’t have been there
Blowing with all their might
But this only fanned the fire
Then, enraged
Stamping and pounding it underfoot
Determined to be rid of that useless thing
Kicking up a cloud of ash
Bending and snapping the wicks
But deep within the pile of ash
The embers remained.
However,
Some gave up
On the long abandoned fire that yet burned valiantly on the stone floor
And turned instead
To one they saw as more inviting
An artificial flame
With childish eagerness alight on their faces
They drew close, extended their hands
And offered all they had
Their wealth, their faith, their very identity
So they could bask in its red shadows
And forget the sputtering flame they left behind.
Bask in the flames they did
But they were never allowed
To stay for long
Always were they chased away
With knives and hot pokers
And for all their efforts were left with nothing
But empty hands, blackened and burned
And ashy, tear-streaked faces.
Yet we did not learn
And returned to the alien fire yet again
Offering ourselves up
Hoping for some form of refuge
Again being spurned
And again going back
As a dog returns to its vomit
Again and again…
Now at this crucial time
As we slowly reconstruct our torch
We cannot light it
With an artificial lamp
For theirs is a false flame
A pyre, a pyramid
Built on the backs of the many
Where only an elite few can stand at the apex
Ours is a true, holy fire,
Enduring and eternal
The Menorah Hat’horah
Where all candles stand as equals
Giving forth their ethereal crowns of flame
Supported by a single, unshakable foundation.
This is the fire we must choose
– And let us never forget it! –
For deep within the pile of ash
The embers have always remained.
Locked away within them
Lies immense, brilliant power
That runs truer and deeper than words.
It waits to be stirred
And channeled upwards through the wicks
Through every one of us
To illuminate the world with its glory
Yet we leave these embers
Undisturbed.
Are we afraid of burning our hands?
We, who spent years engaged in fruitless efforts
Throwing ourselves into alien fires
Whose hands still bear the blackened scars of humiliation
Are we really going to repeat our mistakes?
Know that the only fire for our torch
For us
Is the fire that guided the Israelites in the desert
That burned always on the Mizbe’aḥ in the Temple
That each of us carries in our hearts
Only from this fire
Can a wick burst forth into a crown of flame
Only from here
Can a torch become something more
Only from here
Can we raise our beacon high
And burn all the darkness from the world
