Menorah – Symbol of the Jewish People 

Of all the Temple vessels, it’s the Menorah that ended up on coins, monuments, and even Israel’s official emblem—why?

Jewish Symbols?

Good Shabbos!

Rabbis get all kinds of questions. One I’ve actually been asked is, “Rabbi, where’s your Chai? Why don’t you wear a Chai necklace like everyone else?”

So let’s talk about that. Why do so many Jews wear a Chai? When did Chai become a Jewish symbol?

It probably comes from the popular phrase “Am Yisrael Chai”—the Jewish people live. I’m not sure exactly when the Chai medallion became a go-to symbol of Jewish identity, but at this point, it’s clear: Chai has become deeply associated with being Jewish.

Of course, the Chai isn’t the only symbol people connect with Judaism. There’s also the Magen David—which, by the way, doesn’t mean “Star of David,” but “Shield of David.” It’s easily one of the most recognized Jewish symbols in the world.

But where did it come from?

Some say it was engraved on the shields of King David’s soldiers—but historians say that’s not accurate. (There are others who claim King David’s personal shield may have been shaped like a six-pointed star.)

The image of the six-pointed star does appear in Kabbalistic literature, like in the sefer Raziel HaMalach, but there it’s not called the Magen David, and it’s not presented as a uniquely Jewish symbol.

One theory is that about 800 years ago, a false messiah named David El-Roi adopted the symbol and named it the Magen David after himself. According to this idea, the shape is made of two triangles—one pointing up and one pointing down—and since the letter Daled in ancient Hebrew looked like a triangle, the two triangles represent the two Daleds in the name David.

So the origins are unclear. We don’t really know when it officially became “the” Jewish symbol.

We do know that there are ancient synagogues in Lebanon where Magen David symbols were found—but it doesn’t seem that they were yet used as a sign of Jewish identity. That seems to have started in the Middle Ages, especially in Ashkenazi communities. In Prague about 700 years ago, King Charles IV reportedly allowed the Jewish community to have their own flag, and they chose the Magen David.

From that point on, its use spread. Over time, the Magen David became more and more associated with Jewish identity. Tragically, the ones who made it absolutely universal were the Nazis. They forced Jews to wear a yellow star—essentially a Magen David—on their clothing, and they marked Jewish-owned stores with the same symbol to stop Germans from shopping there.

And yet, there’s a Jewish symbol that might be even more iconic than the Magen David.

And that brings us to this week’s Parshah.

When Aaron Was Left Out

Last week, in Parshas Naso, we read about the dedication of the Mishkan, the Tabernacle. The Torah goes into great detail about how, over the course of the first twelve days, the Nesi’im—the leaders of the Twelve Tribes—each brought a special offering, one by one, as representatives of their respective tribes.

Right after that, this week’s Parshah, Behaaloscha, continues with the inauguration of the Levi’im—the Levites. It describes how they were formally brought into service, inducted into their unique role as servants of G-d in the Mishkan.

But in between those two sections—right between the dedication of the altar and the induction of the Levi’im—the Torah inserts a few unexpected lines about… the Menorah. It seems totally out of place.

In fact, the Parshah opens with G-d telling Moshe to instruct Aharon about lighting the Menorah. And right away, Rashi asks the obvious question: “Why is the portion about the Menorah placed next to the portion about the offerings of the Nesi’im?”

Rashi gives the following answer: “Because when Aharon saw the offerings brought by the Nesi’im, he felt left out. He was not among them in the dedication—neither he nor his tribe.”

We all know that the Jewish people are made up of twelve tribes—the Twelve Tribes of Israel. (Technically thirteen, but the tribe of Yosef was split into two—Ephraim and Menasheh—and the tribe of Levi was placed in its own category, separate from the main twelve.)

When it came time to dedicate the Mishkan, each of the tribes had a representative Nasi who brought an offering—except for the tribe of Levi. And who was the Nasi of Levi? Aharon HaKohein, the Kohein Gadol, the High Priest. He was the one person who didn’t bring an offering. And when he saw that, the Midrash tells us, Aharon said, “Woe is me! Maybe it’s my fault that the tribe of Levi wasn’t included!” He began to worry that perhaps he was being punished for his involvement in the Golden Calf, and that G-d had rejected his tribe because of it.

Naturally, nobody likes being left out—and here was Aharon, watching every other tribal leader bring their offering while he stood on the sidelines. It bothered him deeply. The Midrash calls it a “weakening of the mind”—he was really down about it.

So G-d responded to Aharon with reassurance. As Rashi puts it: “G-d said to him, ‘By your life, your portion is greater than theirs. You will light and prepare the lamps of the Menorah.’” In other words, yes—the Nesi’im each brought one offering, once. But you, Aharon, will have something even greater. You’ll light the Menorah.

Why is that greater?

The Midrash Tanchuma explains: “The offerings were brought only while the Temple stood, but the candles are forever.” The sacrifices were temporary—it’s been nearly 2,000 years since we last brought a korban. But the candles of the Menorah are eternal.

What does that mean? Didn’t the Menorah stop being lit when the Temple was destroyed?

The Ramban, Nachmanides, explains that this refers to the Chanukah candles. The lights we kindle every year during Chanukah are a continuation of the Menorah in the Beis HaMikdash. So while the physical Menorah was extinguished long ago, its light continues through the mitzvah of lighting the Chanukah candles to this very day.

But maybe it goes even deeper than that.

The Representation of the Jewish People

In this week’s Haftarah, we read about the vision of the prophet Zecharyah, who saw “a menorah entirely of gold… with its seven lamps upon it.” The Rebbe, quoting the Alter Rebbe in Likkutei Torah, explains that the Menorah is a symbol of the Jewish people. In his words, “The collective souls of Israel are called a Menorah, and the seven lamps represent seven paths in serving G-d.”

So the Menorah doesn’t just stand in the Temple—it represents the Jewish Nation.

Just like the Menorah was made of one solid piece of pure gold, the Jewish people are one unit, one essence—pure and indivisible. It wasn’t made by welding parts together. The Torah says it had to be “beaten from a single block of gold, from its base to its flower.” In the same way, the Jewish people include all types—from those on the “base” level to those who are like the “flowers” at the top—but all part of the same whole.

The Jewish Nation isn’t just a collection of individuals who happen to share a religion. We’re a single family, descended from Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov. We’re one piece of gold.

And then there are the Menorah’s seven branches—seven different paths in serving G-d. Not everyone has to serve G-d in the same way. Rabbis get asked all the time: “If Ashkenazim pronounce the prayers one way and Sephardim pronounce them another way, which one is right?” The answer? Both. There’s not just one correct path. Both traditions are valid ways of serving G-d.

Some Jews devote themselves to Torah study. Others focus on acts of kindness, helping fellow Jews. Some love leading services or find deep meaning in prayer. Every Jew has their own spiritual path. And each of those paths is part of the collective flame.

But all the flames need to face the same direction.

When Moshe was told to instruct Aharon on lighting the Menorah, the verse says the flames should be lit “toward the face of the Menorah.” Rashi explains: the three wicks on the west side and the three on the east side all tilted toward the center. They each had their own position, but all pointed to one central flame—one unified goal.

The Enduring Symbol

What’s especially interesting is that the Menorah actually did become a lasting symbol of the Jewish people. Some researchers even claim that King David’s shield may have featured the image of a Menorah. We also know that the last king of the Chashmona’i (Hasmonean) dynasty minted coins with a Menorah engraved on them. And in archaeological digs across Israel, the Menorah shows up everywhere. It clearly became one of the most enduring Jewish images.

But why? Of all the vessels in the Beis HaMikdash, why did the Menorah become the symbol of the Jewish people? Why not the Mizbeach—the Altar?

The answer is actually pretty simple. The Altar represents sacrifice—something noble and meaningful, but not the essence of our national mission. A Jew is certainly willing to sacrifice when needed, and throughout history, Jews have done so with deep faith. But that’s not what a Jew seeks out. It’s not what defines us.

When G-d commanded Avraham Avinu to sacrifice his son, he didn’t hesitate. He was ready to fulfill G-d’s will no matter the cost. But he didn’t chase that moment. His life’s purpose wasn’t about sacrifice—it was about spreading light. Avraham’s mission was to illuminate the world with faith, with kindness, and with the presence of G-d.

That’s the mission of every Jew: to be a light unto the nations.

Other religions may have elevated sacrifice as a central theme or even a sacred act. But in Judaism, the very first thing G-d says in the Torah is “Yehi ohr”—“Let there be light!” That wasn’t just a line about the sun or the stars—it was a statement about purpose. The purpose of creation, and the purpose of the Jewish people.

And that’s why the Menorah, the same Menorah that Aharon lit in the Mishkan, and the same one we commemorate every Chanukah, became the symbol of the Jewish Nation. Because our job is to bring light—to shine, to illuminate, and to brighten the world.