It is Shabbat, and although I have not opened my Bible this morning, I cannot get the Torah portion out of my mind. It is called Beha’alotcha, which is often translated as “when you light [the lamps],” but actually means “when you raise up [the lamps].”

The passage tells Aaron to light a giant gold menorah at the front of the Mishkan. It is both elaborate and, I imagine, stunningly beautiful.

The light that he creates is not intended for humans. It is cast into the Tabernacle on behalf of God.

This is both remarkable and unexpected. The Torah seems to be saying that God needs us to shed light into the Tabernacle. We—mere humans—are necessary in order to create a light that illuminates God.

In other words, the God of the Torah longs for a relationship with humans. Not companionship. That is neither close nor intense enough. This is God we are talking about, after all.

To be in relationship requires the intensity that comes from wholeheartedness. Open your heart entirely, and you create an opportunity to be filled in a way you might never have believed possible. That is, perhaps, a definition of love. Or God.

I have trouble believing that God needs us. But I have no trouble believing that we need God. And I am willing to accept that human beings created religions because we so deeply crave being in relationship with something greater than ourselves.

This is why we raise up light. This is why we hope and pray that our light makes the world a better place. This is why we yearn for God, for purpose, for meaning.

In a world filled with swirling hatred and fear—a world we did not ask for, but which we have inherited and now must defend—we are not powerless. I believe this with my whole self, because I cannot afford to surrender to despair.

We can rise above. We can kindle a light in human souls that dispels the darkness and shows the way forward. Perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps God is waiting for us to take the lead—to raise up the light, and in doing so, illuminate both the world and the Divine.