In our ever-changing lives in a fluctuating world, it may seem to us that there is no real meaning and no sense of continuity. But this is not how we should experience it. Hashem has taught us the concept of tamid. Our member Rabbi Paul Bloom explains:
At the opening of parashat Tetzaveh, the Torah describes the lighting of the Menorah in the Mishkan as a נֵר תָּמִיד — ner tamid, an eternal flame that must never go out. The word tamid — constant, continual, eternal — is a “magic word” in the Torah. It signals something beyond routine. It refers to what endures.
At the close of the parashah, the Torah describes another avodah performed daily: the offering of the ketoret, the incense. Here too the Torah uses the language of constancy. Just as the Menorah burned tamid, the ketoret was offered tamid — every day, without interruption. Thus the parashah is framed — topped and tailed — by two great mitzvot that are both constant. The light of the Menorah at the beginning; the fragrance of the ketoret at the end. Between them lie many other details — the priestly garments, the sanctification of Aharon and his sons — but the structure itself is striking. It begins with tamid and ends with tamid. These are not merely ritual instructions. They define the spiritual architecture of Jewish life.
Light and Fragrance: Two Dimensions of Avodat
Hashem
These two mitzvot — Torah-light and joyful service — are the twin
pillars of Jewish existence. Both are tamid. Both are constant. And,
remarkably, the Gemara in Yoma teaches that when the Kohanim lit the Menorah
each morning, they did not light all seven lamps at once. They lit five, paused
to offer the ketoret, and then returned to light the remaining two. The
Menorah and the ketoret were deliberately intertwined. Morning and
evening, day after day, light and fragrance were woven together. The message is
clear: illumination without inner joy is incomplete. Joy without clarity is
unstable. The two must be connected.
The Rama’s Insight: The Constants of Life
Five hundred years ago in Krakow, the great halachic authority Rabbi
Moshe Isserles, known as the Rema, opened his glosses to the Shulchan Aruch
with a remarkable statement. Before discussing how to wake in the morning, how
to wash one’s hands, or how to put on tefillin, he begins with a mindset:
“Shiviti Hashem l’negdi tamid” — “I place Hashem before me
constantly.”
Before action comes consciousness. Before performance comes
awareness.
The Rema begins his monumental work — spanning hundreds of chapters
detailing every aspect of daily Jewish life — with tamid: constant
awareness that we stand in the presence of Hashem. And how does he conclude?
With another tamid — the constant joy of mitzvah performance. A Jew must
feel simchah not merely when life is easy, but as an enduring
orientation. Not a joy dependent on circumstances, but a joy rooted in
privilege: the privilege of living a life of Torah and mitzvot. Between these
two constants — awareness of Hashem and joy in serving Him — unfolds the
entirety of Jewish life.
Constants and Variables
Every mathematician knows that equations contain constants and
variables. Much in life is variable. Sometimes we experience success and
strength. Sometimes difficulty and loss. In recent times especially, we have
endured pain, uncertainty, and suffering. Circumstances fluctuate. Emotions
rise and fall. History moves unpredictably.
But the Torah teaches that beneath the variables lie constants.Every
day in the Beit HaMikdash began with the Korban Tamid in the morning and
concluded with the Korban Tamid in the afternoon. It did not matter
whether it was Shabbat, Yom Tov, or an ordinary weekday. It did not matter what
political realities surrounded the Jewish people. The day began with tamid
and ended with tamid. So too in our lives, whatever unfolds during the
day must begin with the awareness that we live in Hashem’s world — and end with
the quiet joy of belonging to Him. These are the inner Menorah and the inner Ketoret.
The Secret of Survival
This teaching carries particular resonance in times of exile. The
early generations after the destruction of the Beit HaMikdash faced a
theological crisis. Without a Temple, without prophecy, without offerings — had
Hashem abandoned His people? Was Jewish history over?
The answer embedded in the concept of tamid is no. Even when
it appears that darkness dominates, the ner tamid continues to burn.
Even when fragrance seems absent, the ketoret continues to rise. The
Divine presence does not extinguish. Exile may conceal, but it does not erase.
The power of tamid allowed Klal Yisrael to endure centuries
of dispersion. It created inner stability — the knowledge that beneath changing
circumstances lies an unbroken covenant. That is why even in the hardest
moments Jews can still sing. We can still daven. We can still feel that Hashem
is close. Not because life is easy — but because our constants remain intact.
Tamid in Our
Generation
We are privileged to live in a generation of profound change — a
generation witnessing the rebuilding of Jewish life in Eretz Yisrael after
centuries of exile. Yet even now, challenges persist. Pain persists. Questions
persist.
Tamid teaches us how to stand. Begin each day with the Menorah —
with awareness that we stand before Hashem. End each day with the Ketoret
— with gratitude for the privilege of serving Him. When those two constants
frame our lives, the variables lose their power to destabilize us.
The Torah’s structure is not accidental. It is instruction. Life
begins with light. Life ends with fragrance. And both must be constant.
May we merit to live with that steady flame — and to see its light illuminate our generation fully and eternally.
