A Lamp of Hashem

“The soul of a person is a lamp of Hashem, searching all the inner chambers.” “The soul of a person is a lamp of Hashem.” It is a simple verse. But it stands like a whole pillar. The soul is more than a “divine spark” in some poetic sense. It is more than a beautiful idea we talk about on the Sabbath. It is a lamp. A fire. A real, living flame. Fire by its nature always rises upward. In the same way, the soul, at the very core of its being, longs. It searches. It asks. It moves. This is not a flaw. This is what the soul is. The Question That Keeps You Up at Night There is a parent, and maybe you know him, or maybe you are him, who sits up at night trying to understand. My child is so full of life. He asks questions he doesn’t even have the tools to ask yet. He can’t sit still. His energy never runs out. His eyes are on fire. Then the system comes and says: There is a problem here. It’s an attention disorder. It needs to be treated. And the parent stands confused, caught between two truths. On one side, he wants to help his child fit in and not suffer. On the other side, something deep inside him pushes back: “Am I putting out something in him that was never meant to be put out?” This confusion is not a weakness. It is an inner sense, working exactly as it should. A Bonfire in the Classroom There is a candle, and there is a bonfire. Both are fire. Both give light. But the vessels needed to hold them are completely different. The Tanya, the classic book of Hasidic thought, explains that the soul holds a power of divine fire. Its nature is to rise, to be alive, to move. Not every soul comes down into the world with the same strength. Some souls come down with an ordinary flame, a “candle.” Others come down as a “bonfire,” with a great fire and a power that pulses through every part of the body. The system, the school system and the social system, is built for candles. It is built for the child who sits on the same bench for three hours, who listens, and who answers when he is called on. There is nothing bad about that. It is simply a candle. But when a bonfire walks into the classroom, the system starts to feel uncomfortable. The problem is not that the bonfire is broken. The problem is that its vessel doesn’t fit it. And what happens then? Instead of making the vessel bigger, they make the fire smaller. The Pill That Puts Out the Flame Here I want to say an important truth, quietly and without blaming anyone. Sometimes a child is given medication meant to “calm him down,” to “tone him down,” to “get him into the system.” It may have real medical value, and that should be weighed seriously with professionals. That is not what this essay is about, and nothing here is medical advice. But there is a spiritual insight here. If “the soul of a person is a lamp of Hashem,” and if this fire is the very essence of the soul, then putting it out is an act where we must know what we are doing. That holds even when it is done with good intentions, and even when it is called “treatment.” “Putting out the lamp” is not neutral. It touches the very life of the soul. The Baal Shem Tov, founder of the Hasidic movement, taught that inside every Jew there is a divine inner point that shines. This is true even of the simplest of the simple. It is true even of the one who looks like “a problem” from the outside. The job of anyone who loves him is not to cover up that point. It is to uncover it. Don’t Put It Out. Point It in the Right Direction This is the real point. When Jacob blessed his sons before he died, the Torah says about Reuben: “Impulsive as water.” Rushing, hurrying, an energy that doesn’t know how to sit still. It looks like a negative trait. But the Hasidic way is not to get rid of this power. The Hasidic way is to channel it. That impulsiveness can become eagerness to do a good deed, a deep desire, an enthusiasm with no bottom to it. It is exactly the same with the “bonfire in the classroom.” The job of true education is not to force the child to become a small, quiet candle. The job is to build him a proper “altar,” a fitting vessel where his great fire can burn and give light. Don’t squeeze him into the narrow channel of “what works for everyone.” Ask instead: What works for this great fire?