The Power of Light and Darkness

We are spoiled, living in an age and a place where artificial light is plentiful. We take it so much for granted that it is hard even to imagine what living before the modern age must have been like for almost everyone, almost all the time.

An “average” day has 12 hours of light, with dusk and dawn at each end. But the average person sleeps 6-8 hours a night, which means that most people, most of the time, really could not see for 3-5 hours “awake” hours. Candles and fires were expensive (in time and other resources), and people did not routinely waste resources.

Imagine what living in those conditions must have been like. Outdoors was treacherous, with uncertain footing and poisonous snakes underfoot. Indoors was no better: Not being able to see makes a person functionally blind, reliant solely on habit and touch and sound for navigation as well as interactions with other people and things. Darkness is when we know the least, deprived of all visual data and queues and confirmation of our other senses.

Which might explain why G-d in the Torah is not found in darkness. Instead, G-d’s manifestation is found through light. Revelation to Avraham in the Covenant Between the Parts is through a flaming torch. G-d reveals his presence to Moses through the fire of the burning bush (these are the very first use of the word eish, “fire”, in the entire Torah). In the wilderness, G-d’s presence is represented by a pillar of cloud that is lit up like fire. G-d commands us to light the Menorah and burn it through the night, to show His ongoing presence to the people. At nighttime, G-d’s specific presence is found in fire.

This is why the elevation offering connecting heaven to earth, is kept burning all night:

This is the ritual of the burnt offering: The burnt offering itself shall remain where it is burned upon the altar all night until morning, while the fire on the altar is kept going on it. … The fire on the altar shall be kept burning, not to go out: every morning the priest shall feed wood to it…

Fire is the connection to energy, to spirituality, and to G-d. A reader of the Torah might quite reasonably understand that if G-d represents energy, then G-d is least present in the darkness. Night-time is when we can have dreams – Avimelech and Yaakov and Pharoah all dreamed at night. But their dreams were usually visual – the dreamer can see in their mind what otherwise cannot be perceived.

And when there is no fire at night, it is the arrival of natural sunlight that transforms the world. Consequently, morning, which is mentioned dozens of times in the text, is always a time when thoughts become actions, and when G-d’s will becomes clear. From the days of creation to Sodom to the plague of locusts… everywhere “morning” is mentioned, morning brings knowledge of G-d’s will, and actions that come about as a result of dreams or revelations or conversations that happened at night. So mentions of “morning” are no accident or coincidence: [Moshe] spoke to Korach and to his entire congregation, saying: “[In the] morning, G-d will make known who is His, and who is holy, He will bring close to Him; and whoever He chooses, He will bring near to Him. Morning is when action resumes, with a clear understanding of G-d’s will.

The first Passover offering happens at the tail end of the plague of darkness. The world is in shadow, each home an island. We cower in our homes, having engaged in the ritual of swabbing blood on the doorposts, aware that death stalks the night for all who are outside. And we eat the paschal lamb.

There is a strange commandment that applies to this offering – and a few others besides (ordination of the Cohanim and a thanksgiving offering). We are expressly commanded to not leave any of the offering over until morning. Any meat remaining when morning arrives must be burned with fire.

Why? I think the explanation is found in the above: light ends fear and uncertainty. We must not allow all of the baggage of the evening to carry over into our day. Instead, the morning is a time for decisive action, for clarity of purpose. It was true for Avraham setting out to offer Isaac, just as it was true for the Jews leaving Egypt. The ordained priest moves on when morning comes. And the person giving thanks must do the same.

Which is why the Torah tells us, many times, that the Pesach offering most critically must not be left over into the morning. The entire essence of remembering and recreating and reliving that uncertain and fearful night requires us to go back in time, to reconnect with what it must have felt like to to have those experiences the very first time.

Most importantly, morning is a time when darkness, and all that comes with it, must end. When we leave Egypt, the word “morning” is not found between the night of the paschal lamb until the seas converge on the Egyptian army in the morning. It is not because days had not elapsed, but because the people were terrified by uncertainty for the entire period. G-d’s will was not clear to the people until the waters drowned the Egyptian army: in the morning.

Everything changes with the arrival of morning, of being able to confirm that we and our loved ones are OK, of being confident of G-d’s power and will. We are, each morning, meant to banish the night and its terrors. Each morning is a revelation, a return of light to the world and the realization that we are always meant to move forward.

P.S. When Lot leaves Sodom, the text tells of the day breaking and the sun rising – but the word for “morning” is not used for him or his family. Which might explain why Lot’s daughters panic and seduce their father. They feared that the world had ended. Because “morning” did not come for them, they never achieved clarity about the reality around them.

P.P.S. The word for “morning” and “ox” are the same in the Hebrew: b-k-r. The ox was the biggest animal they had, representing solidity and clarity: an unstoppable force once roused. There are broad parallels to the way “morning” is used in the text.