Double Dark

We live in a world that can often feel upside down. Sometimes the things that should bother us become normalized, while values that truly matter get pushed aside. The Torah describes this exact condition in stark words: “I will surely hide (‘haster astir’) My face on that day.” The phrase “haster astir” implies a double concealment. Not only does G-d’s presence feel hidden, but even the fact that it’s hidden is hidden from us. We get used to the dark until it starts to feel like light.

Think of someone who spends a long time in a dark basement. At first, they stumble and fumble. But after a while, their eyes adjust. They convince themselves that they see clearly, even though they’re still in the dark. That’s what spiritual concealment looks like—when unhealthy norms feel normal, and distorted values appear “just fine.”

But here’s the hopeful part: darkness doesn’t erase light; it only makes light more valuable. In the words of Song of Songs, G-d says to the Jewish people, “Friends listen to your voice, let Me hear it.” Even when we’re scattered, even when we’re distracted, our prayers, our learning, and even our small acts of kindness rise above the noise. And G-d Himself “leans in” to hear them.

Why? Because light born in darkness is uniquely powerful. When the world feels aligned, when holiness is obvious, choosing goodness doesn’t take much effort. But when the world is confusing, when selfishness and cynicism seem to dominate, and a person still chooses to be kind, that effort carries immense weight.

In our individual lives, each of us experiences our own version of galut—a personal exile. The soul, which is naturally spiritual and luminous, finds itself in a world that constantly pulls toward material pursuits and distractions. It can feel like we’re swimming against the current. And yet, it’s precisely here that we’re capable of greatness. A single moment of choosing to rise above the pull of negativity, of investing in relationships, of pausing to connect with our Jewish identity, is worth more than endless hours of spiritual bliss in heaven.

Here’s a contemporary way to look at it: When a city has no crime, a police officer’s bravery isn’t really tested. But when things are tough—when the neighborhood is dark and the risks are real—that same act of courage shines with incomparable brilliance. Our lives work the same way. Every time we bring a little goodness into a world that doesn’t always encourage it, it’s an act of extraordinary courage.

And the ripple effects are real. When someone chooses not to get dragged into an online argument but instead reaches out to a friend in need, that’s light. When a family pauses in the middle of a busy week to celebrate Shabbat with candles, challah, and song, that’s light. When we insist on raising our children with integrity and hope despite all the noise around us, that’s light.

The message is not to despair when things seem dark. On the contrary, darkness is an invitation. It’s asking us: will you adjust to the shadows and convince yourself they’re normal, or will you strike a match and create light?

Judaism’s confidence is that each of us has the power to light that match; and when we do, the glow is so precious that even G-d Himself pauses to listen.