There is something about the atmosphere in Costa Rica that makes you feel like things just happen on their own. The “Pura Vida,” the waves of Puerto Viejo, the jungle growing at its own pace - everything projects a kind of natural flow that doesn’t require too much effort. But when you read this week’s Torah portion, Parashat “Tzav,” you get a reminder of the exact opposite.
At the heart of the portion appears one of the most well-known commandments: “A perpetual fire shall be kept burning on the altar, not to go out.”
When hearing the words “perpetual fire,” it’s easy to imagine some wondrous, magical flame, one that burns miraculously and never extinguishes. But the practical truth, as the Torah describes it, is much more mundane and daily. For this fire to burn, the priests had to wake up early every morning, clean out yesterday’s ashes, gather new wood, arrange it, and feed the bonfire. The fire continued to burn not by a miracle, but thanks to the consistent, hard work of people committed to maintaining it.
After more than two years of wandering the world, and here in the day-to-day life of the BINA House, this verse suddenly takes on a very tangible meaning.
We constantly meet travelers here who come looking for a bit of this “fire” - the warmth of home, the sense of belonging, the connection to Israeli and Jewish culture even when they are thousands of kilometers away. The Shabbat table we open here every Friday is a moment when this fire warms everyone.
But as the priests knew, community, culture, and identity are not things that happen on their own. They are not “magic.” For this togetherness to exist, we need to be active. To initiate, to gather the “wood,” to sometimes clear out accumulated grievances or anger (the “removal of the ashes”), and to make sure this bonfire keeps burning. Our culture, especially in such complex days back in Israel, relies on the active participation of each and every one of us. It won’t burn if we don’t maintain it.
Each of us has our own “perpetual fire” - a project we are advancing, a romantic or family relationship we are preserving, or a worldview we are trying to live by. The natural tendency is to hope the fire will burn on its own, but the Torah portion reminds us that the responsibility is ours, every single morning anew.
We invite you, whether you are reading this from Israel or from some remote hostel in Central America, to ask yourselves: What is the fire you are maintaining today? Where do you need to add some wood so the flame doesn’t fade?
Shabbat Shalom!