When the Fire No Longer Depends on You

The fire was already there — before Aharon, before the gesture, before the song. It burned. Not because someone deserved it, not because someone felt it. It burned because it had been given. And now someone had to remain with it.

Each morning, without witnesses, Aharon approaches the altar. It still smells of yesterday: burnt fat, old smoke, exhausted promises. He does not look at the sky. He looks at the ashes. He gathers them carefully. What was flame yesterday is dust today. He does not despise it, nor does he preserve it. He carries it outside the camp, as one carries away dead illusions.

He changes garments — not for aesthetics, but for function. One set to clean, another to serve. One identity to release, another to assume. The body learns that not every role is permanent, that not every state is sacred. Then he returns. Not in haste, but with precision. He lays the wood, adjusts it, measures it. He adds nothing extra, removes nothing, improvises nothing. The fire does not need genius. It needs fidelity.

Sometimes it burns strongly. Sometimes it barely breathes. Aharon does not........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)