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By Chaya Shuchat

It’s bedtime for four-year-old Mushky, and she is schlepping it out as long as possible. Kiss the mezuzah; 12 pesukim; Shema. A bedtime story, another bedtime story. A cup of water? Sure, here’s another cup of water.

Finally Mushky is drifting off to sleep. Her mother kisses her forehead, shuts off the light and tiptoes out of the room. Five minutes later Mushky is up bawling. “Mooooooommmmmy! Moooooommmy!” Her mother comes running. Through heaving sobs, Mushky cries, “It’s too dark in here, Mommy. Turn off the dark! TURN OFF THE DARK!”

***

How often have we turned to Hashem with that same demand? Hashem, too many tragedies. Too much suffering. It’s too dark in here. Please, turn off the darkness already!

We’re entering the month of Tishrei, a time when we try to absorb all the light and joy to last us for the coming year. A time when we pray for shnas ohra, shnas bracha. A year of light, a year of blessing, and so on through all the alef beis.

But sometimes as mothers, it gets a little too dark in here. Maybe late at night when we’re exhausted and can’t peel another carrot or wash another dish. Maybe when we’re home with a houseful of cranky, overtired, overstimulated children, waiting for the men to come home and make kiddush. Maybe that’s when we feel like we’re missing out on some of the light and joy of Tishrei.

And that’s when Hashem calls out to us and says:

Kumi ori, ki va orech.

“Get up and shine, because your light has come.”

These words open the haftorah of parshas Ki Savo, the sixth of the shivah d’nechemta, the seven weeks of consolation from Tisha B’av until Rosh Hashanah.

The Yalkut Shimoni describes a dialogue between the Jewish people and Hashem. They said, we lit the menorah in the days of Moshe and it was extinguished. And we lit the menorah in the days of Shlomo and it was extinguished. From now on we’re waiting for Your light.

Enough of us trying to shine our own light! Hashem, turn off the dark. We want Your light and only Your light.

And Hashem answers the Yidden: Get up and shine, because your light has come.

***

Tana D’vei Eliyahu says: “Two things existed before the world was created, Torah and Yisroel, and I don’t know which came first.”

But the Torah speaks to B’nei Yisroel (daber el b’nei Yisroel), which indicates that Jewish souls came first.

There is a fundamental difference between Torah and the Jewish people. Torah is unchanged by its descent to earth. It’s like water flowing downward. Even if it starts at the highest peak and flows down into the lowest valley, it’s the same water. So, too, the Torah. No matter how far the Torah comes down, no matter how much it’s condensed or concealed, it’s the same Torah—Hashem’s own will and wisdom.

But when a neshamah comes into a body it becomes a metzius for itself, its own person. It’s like the child that you carried inside of you, but suddenly one day they look at you with that grin and say “no!” At some point they couldn’t do anything on their own, but eventually they move on and become their own person.

With some children their connection to you is clear. They have your smile, your laugh, your taste. You see your own personality reflected back through them. But with some kids, it’s a mystery. Where did this child come from? I was such a studious and obedient child—how did I get this firebrand who challenges every rule?! I’m an introvert—how did I raise this natural-born entertainer who runs all the children’s programs?

The love of a parent for a child is davka because the child is from us yet different from us. There’s something wondrous about seeing a completely different person emerge from you.

The process of raising a child puts us in touch with the atzmus of Hashem. He, too, created us and sent us down to the world where our experiences are very different. Hashem is above all boundaries and limitations, and our life is nothing but boundaries and limitations. The fusion of these two extremes—divine transcendence and human experience— brings Hashem the deepest pleasure and delight.

In this sense, our light is greater than the light of Torah. When we learn Torah, we connect to Hashem’s light. But there’s no chidush to find light and truth in the Torah. It’s the same light that exists unchanged whether it’s in heaven or on earth. The real novelty is us, the Jewish people, who have the unique ability to shine our own light.

This is what Hashem is saying in the verse Kumi ori. Get up and shine because your light has come. The time has come for us to radiate the light of our neshama through the physical body.

There are certain mitzvos that we perform more on a soul level. When we’re deep into davening or learning Torah, we can almost forget that we have a body. These are the mitzvos that we are more likely to associate with being “spiritual.” As mothers, these are the types of mitzvos we often feel like we’re missing out on during Tishrei. We’re not getting the powerful spiritual highs that come from singing at fabrengens, screaming of Hashem Hu Elokim by ne’ilah, or dancing by hakafos.

Instead we’re home dealing with very mundane routines: preparing meals, putting kids to bed. These activities are more tangible, more grounded in the physical body. These are things we do that don’t look that different from what a non-Jew would do. And we often dismiss these actions as less important, less valuable, less spiritual.

But Hashem is telling us, Kumi Ori. The time has come for the guf itself to radiate the light of Hashem. When we’re in shul, davening, dancing, singing, feeling elevated—we’re soaking in Hashem’s light. And we need that inspiration. But what is it that we’re singing? Ata vechartanu mikol ha’amim. We’re celebrating the fact that He chose us from among the nations.

On the level of neshamah, there was no need to “choose” the Jewish people. We’re an actual part of Hashem. But the body of a Jew is nothing special. It’s no different from the body of a non-Jew. There’s no obvious logical reason for Hashem to choose us. Yet Hashem chose to give us the opportunity to make our body and our homes and this physical world holy.

This is why we rejoice during Tishrei. This is what we celebrate when we sing “ata vechartanu mikol ho’amim.”

***

Kumi ori. The time has come for us to shine, for us to see and feel and value the importance of our avodah. The work we do at home during yom tov is not secondary to the “main” action going on in shul. Not that the avodah in shul is not important. That is Hashem shining His light on us, uplifting us, inspiring us. In 770 during Tishrei we’re operating purely on a soul level. But the primary avodah is to internalize it and let the light of the neshamah radiate through the guf.

When we sit together at the Yom Tov table, eating the food you worked so hard to prepare, singing together, listening to the children share their knowledge—this is a blend of body and soul pleasure, and Hashem is shining right there with us.

***

You might think that Hashem’s call to the Yidden, Kumi Ori, refers primarily to the time of Geulah. One day we’ll be able to get up and shine our own light. But now, during galus, we’re dependent on the light of Hashem. We cry out to him asking him to turn off the darkness. We tell Hashem that we tried. We did our best. We lit the menorah in the mishkan, we lit in the Beis Hamikdosh. How do you expect us to shine on our own?

But Hashem is speaking to us right now, here in galus. Davka now, when we feel that sense of hopelessness and distance from Hashem, now is our time to shine. In these final moments of galus, we can already let the light of our neshama glow through our guf.

The effort we put in now, facing the challenges of our physical existence, brings us closer to the full realization of “Kumi Ori”—when we fully appreciate and radiate the pure light of our neshamah.

Based on the Maamar Kumi Ori, Chai Elul 5733, in Sefer Maamarim Melukat III.

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