The match is struck. The wick comes alive in the small glass cup. The red, orange, and blue flame begins a twenty-four hour waltz to the music of the air. Its' resting place-the kitchen counter, perhaps-- becomes temporary sacred space. The twenty-four hour vigil of flickering light: a talisman of protection and memory burning in the heart of the home.

The yahrzeit candle is lit on the anniversary of our loved one's death, as well as on specific holidays and festivals such as Yom Kippur. Records show that in the second or third century people fasted on the anniversary of their parents' death. That practice fell out of favor, and was replaced much later- probably in the 14th century--by the candle lighting ritual, which is German in origin. This remembering ritual has no proscribed prayers or further ritual. I am struck by that fact that out of so many Jewish rituals, that this most simple, and poignant, ritual of memory is one that is held onto by so many- regardless of level of ritual observance throughout any other time of year.

Some of us may have lit candles before beginning our fast last night. They have been steadfastly burning throughout this long day. When you lit that candle, perhaps you did so, thinking of your husband, wife father, mother, sibling, uncle, aunt, friend . . . For me, the flame is like a memory bank which has opened its vault: with the light, we remember the smiles and the tears; the good times-and the hard. The years spent together; ended, always, too soon.

As the memories flow, the heat and life of the flames seem to shed light on what is missing, bringing the ache of loss to light: the missing presence of our mother or father; our brother or sister does not share the warmth and beauty of each passing moment. The dark void of their absence is glaring in the light of the flame. We miss them so much more. How do we deal with that darkness?

A favorite memorial reading from our prayerbook reads, in part: “The light of life is a finite flame . . It burns, it glows, it is radiant with wamth and beauty. But soon it fades. Its substance is consumed, and it is no more. In light we see; in light we are seen. . . . But as night follows day, the candle of our life burns down and gutters. There is an end to the flames. . . .Yet we do not despair, for we are more than a memory, slowing fading into the darkness. With our lives, we give life. Something of us can never die; we move in the eternal cycle of darkness and death, of light and life.”

The flame is a reminder of both the love we shared, and the dark spaces left unfilled in our lives. It is, then, a challenge: to interpret the legacy of our loved one's life into our own. We remember, perhaps, our mother, who was there to tend to each bruise and fever; our father who asked hard questions and shared many smiles. A spouse, who, without asking, knew when it was time to hold your hand or tease you into a smile. A beloved grandparent who carefully nudged you into your chosen career path. Each of them, and so many, many more, were flames; making this world brighter and warmer.

Perhaps, then, we have found the key to the candle: when we light the candle, we recapture, for a brief time, their spirit and the legacy. We connect with them, and they inspire and teach us anew. Let us, then, mingle tears with purpose. When we tell our child funny stories about our grandparents, we bring their warmth into the world. When we donate money to breast cancer, in memory of our aunt, we bring her light into this world. When we remember to send birthday cards, because its' what our parents did, we are bringing their glow into the world. When we jokingly say, “My uncle loved brown shoes, and so whenever I wear them I think of him,” we honor his legacy, and keep a piece of him alive. When we enroll in graduate school, we know it is to honor the love of education that our family espoused.

Our job, then, when lighting the yahrzeit candle, is to remember the light they added to the world, and to honor their legacy by sharing that warmth, that radiance, with others. In doing so, while their tangible presence is no more, something of them is with us, sustaining us, guiding us, inspiring us, and supporting us; bringing light to our lives, and indeed, making the whole world that much brighter.

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