A Fire That Must Not Go Out – Parashat Tzav

There are moments in history that demand to be remembered—not selectively, not conveniently, and not only when they fit into the headlines of the day—but constantly. Moments that are not simply events, but ruptures. October 7, 2023, was such a moment.

On that day, over 1,200 people were murdered and more than 250 taken hostage in what has been described as the worst massacre of Jews since the Holocaust. () Entire communities were overrun. Families were burned, mutilated, hunted. Young people dancing at a music festival were massacred—364 of them in a matter of hours. () It was not war in the conventional sense. It was not a battlefield. It was a deliberate, systematic assault on civilians—planned, executed, and celebrated by those who carried it out. ()

And yet, as the world moves on—as new wars erupt, as new fires burn across the Middle East, as attention shifts to Iran, to Hezbollah, to the Houthis—we are already confronting a dangerous question:

Will this memory fade?

The Fire on the Altar

Parashat Tzav gives us an answer—not in the language of politics, but in the language of eternity:

“A perpetual fire shall be kept burning on the altar; it shall not go out.” (Leviticus 6:6)

The Torah does not simply command that there be fire. It commands that it remain. That it be tended. That it never be allowed to fade into ash.

The medieval commentator Rashi (Rabbi Shlomo Yitzchaki) explains:

“תמיד — אף בשבת, אף בטומאה” “Perpetual—even on Shabbat, even in impurity.”

The fire does not pause for convenience. It does not yield to circumstance. Even when conditions are imperfect—especially then—it must continue to burn.

And the Ramban (Nachmanides) deepens this idea:

“האש שעל המזבח רמז לאש התמיד שבלב” “The fire upon the altar hints to the constant fire within the heart.”

There is an outer fire, and there is an inner fire. The outer fire may be seen. The inner fire must be guarded.

October 7 demands both.

We must resist the temptation—so natural in a fast-moving world—to collapse October 7 into the category of “just another conflict.”

It was singular in its brutality. Singular in its intimacy. Singular in its intent.

The attackers did not simply seek military targets. They targeted homes, families, the elderly, children. Human Rights Watch concluded that the assault was designed to kill civilians and take hostages. Amnesty International described it as a widespread and systematic attack against a civilian population.

This was not collateral damage. It was the objective.

And that distinction matters—not only historically, but morally.

The Danger of Distraction

Now the region burns again.

We see images of oil fields aflame. Missiles arcing across skies. Proxy militias—Hezbollah in Lebanon, the Houthis in Yemen—extending the reach of a widening conflict. What is unfolding is not a separate war, but a continuation. The same ideology. The same networks. The same fire, spreading across borders.

And with each new headline, the memory of October 7 risks being pushed further into the background.

This is how forgetting happens—not through denial, but through distraction.

The Sforno offers a chilling insight on the command of the eternal fire:

“שלא תכבה האש — שלא תיפסק העבודה” “The fire shall not go out—that the service should not cease.”

When the fire goes out, the service ends. And when the service ends, memory fades.

Memory in Judaism is not passive. It is עבודה—avodah, sacred labor.

We are commanded not only to remember, but to actively maintain memory. To speak it. To teach it. To ritualize it.

Because memory fades unless it is fed.

And here lies the connection between Tzav and this moment in history:

If we do not tend the fire of memory, it will go out.

Not all at once. Not dramatically. But slowly—replaced by newer flames, newer crises, newer urgencies.

Shabbat HaGadol: Courage Before Redemption

This Shabbat, we also read Shabbat HaGadol, recalling the moment when the Israelites in Egypt took the Paschal lamb—an Egyptian deity—and set it aside for sacrifice.

It was an act of defiance. Of moral courage. Of identity.

Redemption did not begin with miracles. It began with a decision.

And perhaps that is what is being asked of us now:

Will we choose to remember?

Not because it is easy—but because it is necessary.

The Fire of War, The Fire of Memory

There are many fires burning today.

The fire of war—visible, terrifying, destructive.

And the fire of memory—quieter, more fragile, but no less essential.

One consumes. The other preserves.

And yet, they are intertwined.

If the fire of memory goes out, the fire of war burns unchecked—because we forget what is at stake. We forget what has been done. We forget who we are.

It is the question that hovers over every conversation, every headline, every prayer:

The honest answer, if we look at Jewish history, is complicated.

There have always been enemies. There have always been threats. There have always been those who sought to extinguish the Jewish people—physically or spiritually.

And yet, there has also always been something else:

A fire that refuses to go out.

The altar fire in the Temple. The Shabbat candles in exile. The hidden flames in times of persecution. And now—the fire of memory.

We are not asked to solve history.

We are asked to carry it.

To speak the names. To tell the stories. To resist the flattening of October 7 into abstraction or politics or “context.” To insist on its reality, its horror, its singularity.

Because if we do not—

The Torah does not say: Light the fire once.

It says: Keep it burning.

It requires attention. Intention. Effort.

It requires us, even when the world has moved on, to refuse to do the same.

And so we return to that verse—not as ritual, but as mandate:

“A perpetual fire shall be kept burning on the altar; it shall not go out.”

The fires of war will rise and fall. The headlines will shift. The world will move on.

The fire of memory, of truth, of moral clarity—

That fire must not go out.

visit website

A Fire That Must Not Go Out – Parashat Tzav

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)