Jewish tradition speaks of such moments as revelations of the Shekhinah (שכינה), the Divine Presence. But what exactly does that mean? And what does it look like?
Sometimes, it seems, it looks like light. But not just any light.
Think about Abraham, our forefather, on his agonizing journey to Mount Moriah to bind his son Isaac. A gut-wrenching story, right? The text says, "And he saw the place from afar" (Genesis 22:4). But our Sages, may their memory be a blessing, see so much more in those words. They tell us that Abraham saw a light, a radiance emanating from Mount Moriah itself. As the Paitan (liturgical poet) beautifully put it, "And he saw the likeness of glory, splendor, and honor."
Did you catch that? It wasn’t just the place he saw. It was the likeness of glory, splendor, and honor. The midrash elaborates. Abraham even turns to his servants and asks, "Did you see the light shining on the top of Mount Moriah?" (Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer 31). It’s a shared experience, a confirmation that something extraordinary is happening. This, my friends, is a glimpse of the Shekhinah, manifest as a radiant, created light.
And it's not an isolated incident. Remember Moses and the burning bush? That iconic image of the bush blazing yet remaining unconsumed? "And he looked, and behold, the bush was burning with fire" (Exodus 3:2). But read on. The verse explicitly states, "And the angel of the Lord appeared to him in a flame of fire out of the midst of the bush." Again, we have fire, light, and a direct connection to the Divine. The light is the messenger, the medium, the manifestation of God's presence. This, too, is a revelation of the Shekhinah, a created light specifically for that moment, that purpose.
So, what do we take away from this? Whenever we encounter the phrase "revelation of the Shekhinah" in our sacred texts, it often points us towards this concept of a created light. It’s not just any light, but a specific, divinely-ordained illumination that signifies God's presence and intervention in the world.
But here’s the thing that really gets me thinking: these weren't passive observations. Abraham saw the light and acted. Moses saw the light and listened. What if these stories are more than just historical accounts? What if they are invitations? Invitations to open our own eyes, to be receptive to the subtle glimmers of the Divine in our own lives? Maybe the Shekhinah is waiting for us to notice, to ask, “Do you see it too?”