The Two “Tamids” — The Eternal Constants of Jewish Life

 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

Chazal and later commentators understand the Menorah as symbolizing the light of Torah — the illumination of divine wisdom in the world. Its flame represents clarity, consciousness of Hashem’s presence, and the awareness that we stand in His world. The ketoret, by contrast, represents something more inward. The Gemara describes how its fragrance rose upward in a column of smoke. The incense symbolizes the inner delight and intimacy of avodah — the quiet joy of serving 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.

When Tetzaveh is also Shabbat Zachor

This piece, from the Destiny Foundation archive, was composed by Rabbi Berel Wein zt’l and published back in 2017.

It is obvious from the context of the earlier readings of the Torah that, when the Torah states “and you shall command”, the “you” referred to is Moshe. Nevertheless, the name of Moshe does not appear in this week's reading. Many explanations, ideas and commentaries have been advanced over the ages as to why his name is absent from this parashah. 

Moshe’s name is so intertwined with the Torah which he transmitted to us that its absence strikes a perplexing and even jarring note. Since there are no mere coincidences or accidents of language and style in the Torah, the absence of the name of Moshe in this week's Torah reading merits our attention and understanding. 

There is an element of Moshe’s phenomenal modesty certainly present here. Moshe strove throughout his life to prevent Jewish belief from becoming the cult of the personality. He always made it clear that he was only the conduit for the transmission of God's word to the people of Israel and that the Torah was of Heavenly origin and not the work of his mind and pen. It would thus be completely in character for him to allow an entire portion of his teachings to Israel to appear without his name being attached to it. The Torah is represented by the great candelabra and the light that emanated from it. The fuel that fed that light—the pure olive oil—came from all of the Jewish people collectively and not from Moshe alone. It is completely understandable that the intrinsic modesty of Moshe would be reflected by the absence of his name being associated with this holy fuel and light. 

This week’s Torah reading coincides with the Shabbat of Zachor, which records that Amalek comes to destroy the Jewish people in their infancy as a nation. There has always been a tendency in the Jewish world to somehow ascribe the hatred of Jews by certain sections of the non-Jewish world to the acts, policies or personalities of the leaders of the Jewish people. In the story of Purim, the Jews of Persia blamed Mordechai for the decrees and enmity of Haman. But Haman certainly is not satisfied with destroying Mordechai alone. He meant to destroy Mordechai’s Jewish critics as well. To our enemies, the hatred is never exclusively personal. To them, a Jew is a Jew, no matter what or whom. 

The fact that this week's parashah coincides with Shabbat Zachor indicates to us that the problem is not Moshe or any other leader or individual Jew. Even when Moshe and his name are absent from the scene, Amalek and its hatred and violence towards Jews, are present and dangerously active. 

There is a tendency in the Jewish world to cast blame upon our leadership—national, organizational and religious—for all of the outside ills that befall us. Our leadership must always be held up to scrutiny and critical standards forpersonal behavior and national policy must be maintained. However, the outside forces that arise in every generation to attempt to destroy us do so even when our leaders are blameless and absent from the scene completely.

Doing it the best way: Tetzaveh 5785

The Torah ordains that the olive oil used to light the perpetual menorah (the candelabra) must be the purest and best available. There is obvious logic to this requirement. Impure oil will cause the flames to stutter and flicker; it may also exude an unpleasant odor. All of this can make the task of the daily cleaning of the oil lamps difficult and unpleasant. Yet I feel that the basic underlying reason why the oil must be pure lies in the value that the Torah places on the performance of all positive things in life being done correctly, enthusiastically and with exactitude.

In 'halachic’ parlance this is called kavanah—the intent to perform a commandment properly and in the best possible way. That is the story of the pure container of oil that is the core of the miraculous story of Chanukah. The Hasmoneans could have used regular, even impure oil and still not have violated any strong ‘halachic’ stricture. Yet the idea of kavanah, of acting in the best way possible, introduces an element of special dedication and holiness into what otherwise would be a matter of routine. This is what drives the spirit of holiness and eternity that accompanies the performance of mitzvot. Thus the requirement of the Torah for the purest possible oil to fuel the holy menorah is readily understandable when kavanah is factored in.

The light of the menorah has never been dimmed over the long history of the Jewish people.  Though the menorah itself has long ago disappeared from the view of the Jewish public—it was not even present in Second Temple times—the idea of its light and influence has continued throughout Jewish life.

The flame is not a tangible item. Rather, it is a matter of spirit, not substance. It provides light, warmth and psychological support in very difficult times.  Yet its influence and support is somehow directly connected to the investment in kindling it. That is the import of the words of the rabbis in Avot that according to the effort invested, so is the reward.

 All things spiritual depend on the effort invested in creating that sense of spirit: the purer the oil, the brighter and firmer the flame. This simple yet profound message forms the heart of this week's parsha. It also forms the heart of all values and commandments that the Torah ordains for us.

 Tetzaveh speaks to all of us in a direct and personal fashion.  It encompasses all of Judaism’s goals and is, in itself the light of spirituality that illuminates our souls and lives.

 Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein

The garments of the Kohanim: more than meets the eye

 The Torah goes into great detail when it specifies precisely what a Kohen must wear when performing divine service. This is not just a matter of sartorial concern, as our member Rabbi Paul Bloom explains.

The Sacred Garments of the Kohanim: A Reflection of Divine Honor and Human Dignity

Parashat Tetzaveh shifts its focus from the intricate construction of the Mishkan to the appointment of Aharon HaKohen and his four sons as the Kohanim, the exclusive priestly family entrusted with divine service. At this time, there were only five Kohanim in the entire world, and they were given an unparalleled role of sanctity and responsibility. The Torah details their consecration, their anointment, and, most significantly, the special garments they were required to wear while serving in the Mishkan and later in the Beit HaMikdash.

The significance of the Kohanic garments is underscored by the fact that, without them, the Kohanim were not permitted to serve. Their ability to perform the sacred avodah (service) depended entirely on wearing these garments. This tradition continued for centuries, spanning both the First and Second Temples, emphasizing the enduring importance of these garments in the service of Hashem.

The Garments as Symbols of Royalty

Rabbenu Bachya provides a profound insight into the nature of these garments, referring to them as "Bigdei Malchut" (royal clothing). Just as a king's garments signify his status, the Kohanim's attire reflected their exalted role in serving Hashem. The Midrash highlights that, in addition to the crown of kingship, there was also a crown of priesthood, signifying that the Kohanim bore a regal status within Am Yisrael. This concept is echoed in Megillat Esther, where Esther adorns herself in royal attire before approaching King Achashverosh, symbolizing the power and dignity conveyed through clothing.

The Dual Role of the Kohanim

The Kohanim held a dual role in their service. On one hand, they were agents of Hashem, receiving terumot, korbanot, and other sacred offerings on behalf of the Jewish people. On the other hand, they also acted as representatives of the people, offering sacrifices and facilitating atonement. This dual identity is reflected in the Torah's description of their garments as embodying both "kavod" (honor) and "tiferet" (splendor). The Kohanim served as messengers both to Hashem and to the people, bridging the spiritual gap between them. Rav Kook, in his writings, expressed the highest privilege of being a servant of Klal Yisrael, a mission embodied by the Kohanim.

The Symbolism of the Kohen Gadol’s Garments

The Kohen Gadol wore eight special garments: four white garments shared with all Kohanim and four additional unique golden vestments—the ephod, the choshen, the me’il, and the tzitz. These garments symbolized two aspects of Hashem’s Name. The four white garments represented the ineffable, transcendent aspect of Hashem (the Tetragrammaton, which is never pronounced), while the four golden garments reflected Hashem’s revealed presence in this world. This idea captures the balance between Hashem’s hidden essence and His interaction with creation.

A Contemporary Reflection: Shabbat Garments

Though we no longer have the Beit HaMikdash, the concept of sacred garments remains relevant today through the tradition of Bigdei Shabbat—special clothing designated for honoring Shabbat. The prophet Yeshayahu (58:13) speaks of Shabbat as a day of "Oneg" (delight) and "Kavod" (honor), which Chazal interpret as including wearing dignified attire. The Shelah HaKadosh writes that, just as the Kohanim achieved atonement through their garments, so too can Jews elevate themselves spiritually through their Shabbat clothing. The dignity and honor of Shabbat attire serve as a modern-day echo of the priestly garments, emphasizing the sanctity of the day and the nobility of the Jewish people.

The Contemporary power of the Kehuna and Birchat Kohanim

While we are all anxiously are awaiting the rebuilding of the Bais Hamikdash and the reestablishment of the the Kohen Gadol with all his Begadim, we can all actively participate in the last vestige of the Kohen’s service and that is Birchat Kohanim. This blessing is recited over 500 times a year in Eretz Yisrael (only 13 times in Chutz La’aretz). While you are in Israel, you will also move us to a period of time where the majority of Jews will be in in Israel, allowing for the the Third Beit HaMikdash to be rebuilt (in a non-miraculous fashion).

The Power of Clothing and Human Dignity

Clothing is not merely a physical necessity but a reflection of human dignity. Rav Kook points out that when we recite the morning blessing "Malbish arumim" (Who clothes the naked), we are not only thanking Hashem for providing us with garments but also acknowledging the fundamental distinction between humanity and the animal kingdom. Clothing symbolizes the divine spark within us, our spiritual potential, and our unique mission in this world.

In this light, the legacy of the priestly garments extends far beyond the Beit HaMikdash. It inspires us to honor Hashem, embrace our spiritual responsibilities, and uphold the dignity of the Jewish people—both through our service and through the way we present ourselves before Him.