The ancient rabbis grappled with this question, and their answers, preserved in texts like Vayikra Rabbah, are pretty mind-blowing.

Let’s dive in. Vayikra Rabbah, a midrashic collection on the Book of Leviticus, is full of fascinating interpretations and insights. This particular passage, from Vayikra Rabbah 31, explores the relationship between God and light, and it does so in a way that challenges our assumptions.

Rabbi Avina starts us off with a powerful image. He says, in the name of God, that the sun itself is just one of God’s attendants. Can you imagine? This blazing star, the source of all life on earth, is merely a servant. And when it shines, no creature can even look directly at it! As it says in Daniel 7:10, "A river of fire emerged and flowed from before Him." Then comes the kicker: God asks, "Do I require your light?"

Rabbi Aḥa chimes in, quoting Isaiah 42:21: "The Lord is desirous for the sake of His righteousness; He will make the Torah great and glorious." The idea here is that God commanded light not for God's own sake, but to give us merit. It’s all about us!

Rabbi Avina wasn’t done. He adds that lightning is a mere byproduct of the supernal fire, the divine fire. Its light, he says, shines from one end of the world to the other. And again, the question echoes: "Do I require your light?" Again, Rabbi Aḥa repeats the verse from Isaiah.

Then comes Rabbi Berekhya, who shifts the focus inward. He points out that we don't see with the white of our eyes, but with the black. Think about that for a moment. From darkness, we perceive light. And so, God asks, "If from the darkness I created light for you, do I require your light?" Again, Rabbi Aḥa repeats the verse from Isaiah.

Berekhya continues, referencing the very beginning of Genesis: "The earth was emptiness and disorder, and darkness was upon the face of the deep." (Genesis 1:2). And what happened next? "God said, 'Let there be light,' and there was light." (Genesis 1:3). The implication is clear: God created light out of darkness. If God can do that, does God need our meager light?

Finally, the Rabbis, speaking collectively, add two more insights. First, they imagine God speaking to a child in the womb: "All those nine months that you were in your mother’s womb, I would illuminate for you; do I require your light?" It's a beautiful image of divine care and provision.

The Rabbis conclude by referencing Daniel 2:22: "He reveals the profound and the obscure; He knows what is in the darkness, and the light rests with Him." God declares, "The light rests with Me; do I require your light?" The answer, implicitly, is a resounding no.

What does it all mean? It seems these rabbis are trying to teach us something profound about God’s self-sufficiency and our own dependence. God doesn’t need our light, our efforts, our contributions in the way we might imagine. God is the source of all light, all creation, all goodness. It's a humbling thought, isn't it?

But it's not just about humility. It's also about shifting our perspective. Maybe the question isn’t what we can give to God, but what God gives to us. Light, both literally and metaphorically, is a gift. And like any gift, it’s meant to be used, cherished, and shared. Maybe that's the merit Rabbi Acha was talking about, our way of thanking God for this wonderful gift. Maybe that’s how we reflect the divine light back into the world.