Menachot 6

(Strumming an imaginary guitar, or tapping a rhythm on your knee)

Hook

"V'asu Li Mikdash, V'shachanti B'tocham!" 🎵 Can you hear it? That age-old promise, sung around countless campfires, whispered in Shabbat circles, etched into our very souls. "And they shall make for Me a Sanctuary, and I will dwell among them!" (Exodus 25:8).

For many of us, camp was our first "Sanctuary" – a place where Jewish life felt vibrant, real, and totally ours. Maybe it was building a model Sukkah, painstakingly measuring each wall and making sure the schach (roof) had just the right amount of sky peeking through, meeting all the rules to make it kosher. Or maybe it was that epic campfire, where everyone knew their role, from the fire-starters carefully laying the kindling to the song leaders picking just the right melody to bring us all together. Every piece, every person, every rule, contributed to making that space holy, special, a place where the Shechinah (Divine Presence) truly felt at home.

The thing about building a sanctuary, whether it’s a physical Mishkan or a spiritual home, is that it requires precision. It’s not just about throwing things together; it’s about making sure everything is fit. Remember those intense discussions in your bunk about whether a particular knot would hold, or if your Maccabiah banner truly captured the spirit of your team? That feeling of needing to get it just right? That’s exactly the energy we’re bringing to our text today!

Our journey into Menachot 6 is like stepping into the ultimate camp craft session, but instead of popsicle sticks and glitter, we’re working with the very fabric of halakha, the intricate rules that guide our sacred service. We’re going to witness the most brilliant minds of the Talmud meticulously examining the "fitness" of offerings and the people who bring them, all to ensure that our spiritual "Sanctuary" is truly a dwelling place for the Divine.

So, let's grab our metaphorical flashlights and get ready to explore the twists and turns of this ancient text, because just like that perfect Sukkah or that roaring campfire, there's a profound beauty in understanding how every detail contributes to the whole. Get ready to sing, to think, and to discover how ancient wisdom has "grown-up legs" for our lives today!

Context

Today’s text from Menachot 6 invites us into the heart of Talmudic debate, specifically focusing on the laws of offerings brought in the Temple. It’s a masterclass in rabbinic logic and the meticulous care required for sacred service.

• Offerings and Fitness: The Gemara is deeply engrossed in understanding what makes an animal or a meal offering fit or unfit for the altar. This isn't just about ritual purity; it's about the inherent quality of the offering itself, or the proper execution of the priestly service. We're talking about everything from an animal's physical state (like a tereifa, which is fatally injured) to the priest's qualifications and actions (like using the wrong hand or being ritually impure). Every detail matters when you're building a dwelling for the Divine!
• The Art of Halakhic Derivation: At its core, this text showcases the sophisticated methods the Rabbis used to derive Jewish law. They employ tools like kal v'chomer (a fortiori – "if A is true for X, how much more so for Y?"), tzad hashaveh (common element – finding a shared characteristic between different cases to derive a law for a new one), and gezeirah shavah (verbal analogy). But the real drama unfolds when these logical derivations are challenged and ultimately found insufficient, highlighting the indispensable role of specific Torah verses (pesukim) in establishing certain laws. It's like a high-stakes intellectual puzzle where human logic is tested against divine wisdom!
• Navigating the Wilderness of Law (Outdoors Metaphor): Imagine you're on a wilderness survival challenge, and you need to find the purest water source. Sometimes, the path to the spring is clearly marked by a well-worn trail (a direct Torah verse). Other times, you try to logically deduce where the water might be – "If this type of plant grows near water, and that other plant is similar, maybe it also grows near water!" (a kal v'chomer or tzad hashaveh). But the wilderness is full of surprises! You might follow a logical path only to hit a dead end, realizing that a specific geographical marker (a unique aspect of the law) overrides your general deduction, forcing you back to find a different, more specific indicator. The Gemara's journey here is precisely that: a rigorous, often winding, quest to find the true and most accurate source for each halakha, ensuring we don't mistakenly bring something impure to the holy spring.

Text Snapshot

The Gemara grapples with why a tereifa (fatally injured animal) is unfit for the altar. Through intricate logical debates, comparing it to blemished animals or those born by caesarean section, Rabbis scrutinize subtle differences. They repeatedly show why seemingly airtight logical derivations fall short, proving that specific Torah verses are indispensable for establishing these laws. Later, the Mishna details numerous disqualifications for meal offerings, leading to a vibrant Gemara discussion about the possibility of repairing a disqualified offering by rectifying the priestly service.

Close Reading

Alright, my friends, let's roll up our sleeves and dive into this text! Think of the Gemara as a lively campfire discussion – everyone’s chiming in, challenging ideas, building arguments, and sometimes, letting out a big "A-HA!" when a new insight sparks. We're going to pull two big, roaring flames of insight from this ancient debate that can warm our homes and illuminate our family lives.

Insight 1: The Power of Subtle Distinctions – Beyond the Obvious "Unfit"

The first thing that jumps out from this Gemara, especially in the initial pages, is the intensity with which the Rabbis search for subtle distinctions. It's not enough to say, "Well, a tereifa is unfit, and a blemished animal is unfit, so they're similar, right?" Oh no, my friends! That's where the real magic (and the real challenge) of the Talmud begins.

Let's look at the very start of our text. Rav Sheisha, son of Rav Idi, is trying to prove that a tereifa (an animal with a fatal internal injury) is unfit for sacrifice. He wants to derive it by tzad hashaveh, finding a "common element" between different cases. He proposes:

• Pinching a bird offering (Meli’ka): The bird is prohibited for consumption to an ordinary person (it’s essentially a tereifa from the ritual act), yet permitted for the Most High (on the altar).
• Fat and Blood: Prohibited for consumption to an ordinary person, yet permitted for the Most High (on the altar).

Their common element, he argues, is "that they are prohibited for consumption to an ordinary person and are nevertheless permitted for the Most High." So, he concludes, if a tereifa is also "prohibited for consumption to an ordinary person," it should also be "permitted for the Most High" unless a specific verse says otherwise. This is a classic logical move!

But the Gemara, always the critical thinker, immediately pounces: "What is notable about their common element? It is notable in that with regard to fat and blood, and pinching, in both cases its mitzva is performed in this manner." (Menachot 6a)

Whoa! Did you catch that? This is the core of the challenge! The Gemara finds a unique aspect that applies to pinching and fat/blood, but not to a general tereifa. The very act of meli’ka (pinching the bird's neck) is how the bird offering is processed for the altar – that's its mitzva! The offering of fat and blood is also a mitzva in itself. They are designed to be prohibited for regular consumption but permitted on the altar. A tereifa, however, is simply an animal that is unfit due to an injury; its "prohibition for consumption" isn't part of a specific mitzva process for the altar.

This is a profound lesson in discernment. Think about it: Rav Sheisha saw a commonality – "prohibited to us, okay for God." But the Gemara said, "Hold on! Look closer! The reason for that prohibition and permission is different in these cases!"

Let's unpack the commentaries for a moment here. Rashi (Menachot 6a:1:1) on "its mitzva is performed in this manner" clarifies that the belt of the priestly vestments must be sewn from diverse kinds (kilayim), even though kilayim are generally forbidden. This is a gzeirat ha'katuv (a divine decree) – the prohibition is turned into a mitzva in this specific context. The same applies to the pinching of a bird, which is the prescribed method for its offering. So, the "common element" Rav Sheisha identified isn't as universal as he thought; the reason for the common element is critical.

The debates continue, with Rav Ashi attempting a kal v'chomer from a blemished animal, only for it to be refuted because the Torah "rendered those who sacrifice like that which is sacrificed" (blemished priests cannot serve, just as blemished animals cannot be offered). This unique parallel doesn't apply to a tereifa. Rav Aḥa Sava then brings the example of an animal born by caesarean section, which is unfit but doesn't have the "priest-animal" parallel. But Rav Ashi refutes this, noting that a caesarean-born animal "is not sanctified with firstborn status," another unique aspect.

This intense back-and-forth, highlighting tiny differences, leads Steinsaltz (Menachot 6a:10) to summarize the recurring pattern: "And the inference has reverted, the aspect of this case is not like the aspect of that case and the aspect of that case is not like the aspect of this case." The search for a perfectly analogous case, a shared "common element" that applies universally, is constantly challenged by these subtle, critical distinctions.

Bringing it Home: The "Tereifa" in Our Family Lives

How many times in our daily lives do we fall into the trap of lumping things together, generalizing, or assuming similarity? This is where the "grown-up legs" come in – applying this ancient, rigorous logic to the complexities of our relationships.

• The "Messy Room" Syndrome: "My child always leaves their room a disaster!" But is it always the same kind of disaster? Is it creative chaos from a craft project (like the kilayim that are a mitzva for the priest's belt, a "blemish" that has a specific, positive context)? Or is it a sign of overwhelm from too much homework (a tereifa that needs repair, an internal struggle not immediately visible)? Or is it rebellion (a different kind of "blemish" with its own unique cause and solution)? If we just see "mess," we miss the unique story, the unique "aspect" of that specific mess. The consequence (a messy room) might be the same, but the reason for it changes everything about how we respond. The Gemara teaches us to pause and ask, "What is notable about this particular mess?"
• Relationship "Blemishes": "My partner is always late." "My sibling never calls." We might categorize these as "flaws" or "blemishes" in our relationships. But the Gemara urges us to ask: What is the unique aspect of this "blemish"? Is their lateness due to a genuine struggle with time management (a hidden tereifa that causes internal stress)? Or is it a subtle act of passive aggression (a different kind of disqualification, with a different root)? Or is it because they're always trying to squeeze in one last act of service for someone else before leaving (a flaw that comes from a good place, like the kilayim that are a mitzva in a specific context)? Understanding the why changes how we perceive and address the issue. Just as Tosafot (Menachot 6a:12:1) notes how Rav Ashi's argument eventually "comes out well" by focusing on the "noticeable blemish," we too need to keep searching for the precise reason.

This text teaches us to become master detectors of nuance. To challenge our first assumptions of commonality. To ask: "What is notable about this situation? What is its unique aspect?" This isn't just academic; it's a profound tool for empathy, conflict resolution, and deeper understanding in all our relationships. It's the grown-up version of "spot the difference" that makes our family life richer and more attuned.

(Simple Niggun Suggestion: Hum "L'vav Tahor, B'ra Li Elokim" (A pure heart create for me, God) focusing on each word, letting the melody be simple and repetitive. This niggun helps us connect to the idea of seeking inner purity and clarity.)

Insight 2: The Dance Between Logic and Divine Command – When "Because I Said So" Has Grown-Up Legs

Now, let's pivot to another, equally powerful insight that emerges from this textual rollercoaster: the fundamental tension, and eventual harmonious coexistence, between human logic (sevara) and divine command (gzeirat ha'katuv). The Rabbis in our Gemara are brilliant logicians, pushing the boundaries of what reason can derive. Yet, repeatedly, their logical constructs are dismantled, leading to the conclusion: "Therefore, the Merciful One writes: '...' " or "All these verses are necessary." Steinsaltz (Menachot 6a:10) captures the essence: "If so, the derivation from a verse is unnecessary!" but then immediately refutes it with new distinctions.

Consider the final distinction the Gemara lands on for the tereifa: "What is notable about their common element [blemished animals and caesarean-born animals]? It is notable in that their blemish is noticeable. Will you say that they can serve as the source of the halakha of a tereifa, whose blemish is not necessarily noticeable? Due to that reason, the verse: 'Of the herd' (Leviticus 1:3), was necessary, to teach that a tereifa is unfit for sacrifice." (Menachot 6a)

The Unseen Blemish: This is a powerful moment. For a blemished animal, you see the blemish. For a caesarean-born animal, it's a known fact of its birth. But a tereifa? It might look perfectly healthy on the outside, a picture of strength and vitality, yet internally, it carries a fatal flaw. Our human eyes and our human logic might not detect it. Therefore, a specific divine instruction – a verse – is needed. We cannot rely solely on our senses or our reason to determine its fitness.

This leads to the later discussion about three verses needed to disqualify a tereifa in all scenarios:

• Ezekiel 45:15 ("From the well-watered pastures of Israel"): Excludes a tereifa that never had a period of fitness (e.g., born a tereifa). Like orla (fruit of a tree in its first three years) or kilayim (diverse kinds planted together) which are inherently unfit.
• Leviticus 27:32 ("Whatever passes under the rod"): Excludes a tereifa that had a period of fitness but lost it (e.g., became tereifa after birth). This verse for animal tithes implies only healthy animals "pass under the rod."
• Leviticus 1:3 ("Of the herd"): Excludes a tereifa that became one after it was already sanctified. Even if it was fit at the moment of sanctification, if it becomes a tereifa later, it's unfit.

Each verse covers a slightly different scenario, demonstrating the multi-faceted nature of divine law and the limitations of human generalization. No single logical inference or even a single verse could cover every possibility; multiple divine commands are needed to seal the halakha. Steinsaltz (Menachot 6a:11) perfectly summarizes this conclusion: "Therefore, it is necessary for the verse to prohibit the tereifa from being sacrificed."

Bringing it Home: Trusting the Unseen and Embracing the "Because"

In our family lives, we constantly strive for logic and understanding. We explain rules to our children, we seek reasons behind our partner's actions, we try to create a home that makes sense. And this is vital! The Gemara shows us the immense value of rigorous logical inquiry.

However, this text also gently reminds us that there are times when logic, even the sharpest human logic, reaches its limits.

• The "Because I Said So" (with grown-up legs): As parents, we sometimes have to say, "Because I said so." It's not always because we're being arbitrary. Sometimes, it's because the "blemish" of danger or future consequence isn't "noticeable" to a child, or the logic is too complex for them to grasp. We're relying on a "higher wisdom" (our parental experience and foresight) that they simply don't have yet. This Gemara teaches us that this isn't a failure of logic, but an acknowledgement of its boundaries. We explain when we can, but we command when we must, trusting in a deeper framework.
• Trusting the Unseen in Relationships: Just like the tereifa with its hidden flaw, sometimes our loved ones carry invisible burdens or past traumas that affect their "fitness" for certain interactions or their capacity in a given moment. We might not see the blemish, but we need to trust that it's there and respond with compassion, rather than demanding a logical explanation for behavior that seems "unfit." It requires faith in the complexity of the human spirit, and a willingness to accept what we cannot fully grasp.
• Spiritual "Tereifot": On a personal spiritual level, this is a call for deep introspection. Are we living outwardly "kosher" lives, performing rituals, and appearing functional, but harboring internal "tereifot" – spiritual injuries, unaddressed resentments, hidden doubts, or unexamined biases – that make us "unfit" for true spiritual connection? This text, by emphasizing the unnoticeable blemish and the need for divine guidance, pushes us to look beyond the surface, to seek inner integrity, and to trust that the Torah's commands are designed for our holistic well-being, even when their logic isn't immediately apparent. It's about building a sanctuary not just with visible walls, but with a deeply healthy and authentic interior.

This dance between rigorous logic and humble acceptance of divine command is a hallmark of Jewish thought. It teaches us to ask "why?" with all our might, to seek understanding with all our hearts, but also to know when to bow our heads and say, "This is the word of the Merciful One, and it is necessary." It’s a mature, profound way to engage with the world and with our faith.

(Simple Niggun Suggestion: Sing "L'vav Tahor, B'ra Li Elokim, V'Ruach Nachon Chadesh B'Kirbi" (A pure heart create for me, God, and a steadfast spirit renew within me) again, perhaps with more gusto this time, to emphasize the yearning for inner truth and renewed spirit.)

The Repair Shop: When Things Go Wrong (Mishna & Gemara Part 2)

Now, let's shift gears to the second half of our text, which deals with disqualifications of meal offerings. The Mishna lists a whole parade of ways a meal offering can become unfit: if a non-priest takes the handful, or a priest who is an "acute mourner," or a priest lacking vestments, or if they use their left hand, or if the handful is the wrong size (too big, too small, or mixed with a stone). It’s a comprehensive list of "don'ts" for Temple service.

But here’s where it gets really interesting! Rav says, regarding a non-priest who removed a handful, that the handful "should return" to the meal offering. The Gemara challenges: "But we learned in the mishna that a non-priest disqualified the meal offering by removing a handful from it." Rav responds: "What does the mishna mean when it says: Disqualified? It means that the non-priest has disqualified the meal offering until such time as he returns the handful to the meal offering, whereupon a priest fit for the Temple service should again remove a handful from the meal offering and sacrifice it." (Menachot 6b)

This is a game-changer! It introduces the concept of repair and rectification into the sacred service. Many disqualifications are not fatal; they are temporary, awaiting proper correction. Ben Beteira, who is mentioned in the Mishna as saying to "return" a handful taken with the left hand and "again remove" it with the right, is then understood by Rav to apply this principle to all the disqualifications listed in the Mishna!

The Gemara then goes into fascinating depth about when something can be returned. Is it only if the handful is "unadulterated"? What if it's "lacking" and needs flour from "within his house" (refilling)? Ben Beteira says yes, you can refill! And most profoundly, Rav teaches that Ben Beteira even allows returning the handful even if it had already been sanctified by placing it in a service vessel! This is a radical idea: even after an improper act has moved to a more serious stage of ritual (sanctification), there's still a path for teshuvah, for repair. The Gemara debates this, with Rav Naḥman ultimately concluding that while the removal itself is a rite, it's "not complete until he performs its placement in a vessel," thus allowing for repair before that final step. This shows the meticulous detail in defining the point of no return.

Bringing it Home: The Art of Repair and the Gift of a Second Chance

This entire section is a powerful testament to the Jewish belief in the possibility of teshuvah – of return, repentance, and repair. It’s the ultimate camp-spirit message: "Don't give up! Try again!"

• "Disqualified Until You Return": Imagine if we applied this principle to our home lives. When a child makes a mistake, or a partner says something hurtful, or we ourselves fall short, our instinct might be to label the situation as "ruined" or "disqualified." But this Gemara offers a different lens: "Disqualified until you return." It suggests that many "disqualifications" in our relationships are not permanent judgments but temporary states awaiting rectification. The mess, the argument, the missed deadline – they're not necessarily fatal flaws, but opportunities for "returning" to a state of fitness.
• The "Handful" of Mistakes: We all take "handfuls" in our lives – actions, words, decisions. Sometimes we take them with the "left hand" (improperly, carelessly, without full attention). Sometimes we take a "lacking" handful (not enough effort, not enough thought). This Gemara, through Ben Beteira's view, tells us: You can put it back! You can take it again, the right way! And not just that – if it's "lacking," you can even "bring flour from within your house and refill it"! This means we can supplement our shortcomings, learn from our errors, and apply new resources or wisdom to rectify our past actions.
• Repair Even After "Sanctification": The debate about whether a handful can be returned after being sanctified in a vessel is particularly profound. "Sanctification" implies a step of finality, a move into a higher ritual status. Yet, Rav, in explaining Ben Beteira, says even then, it can be returned (according to one interpretation). This is a powerful message of hope: even when we feel our mistakes have become "official," or have been "set in stone" (sanctified), there is still a path to repair. It might take more effort, more introspection, but the possibility remains. This teaches us immense resilience in the face of our imperfections and those of others. It means that even after a deeply hurtful argument, or a long-standing family rift, the door to repair is never entirely closed. The Torah, in its profound wisdom, offers a path back to wholeness.

This section is a beautiful and practical guide for navigating the inevitable "disqualifications" of life. It’s a call to action: don't despair, don't give up. Instead, pause, reflect, "return" the improper act, and with renewed intention, "re-remove" it the right way. That, my friends, is how we build and maintain a sanctuary of love and holiness in our homes, one repaired handful at a time.

Micro-Ritual

Alright, my camp-alums with grown-up legs! Let’s bring these insights from the ancient Temple service right into our modern homes, specifically into the beautiful transition of Friday night. This week, let’s infuse our Shabbat preparations with the spirit of "repair" and "discernment."

The "Handful of Intention" Before Candle Lighting

This micro-ritual is about consciously "returning" the week's "unfit handfuls" and "re-removing" a new, intentional one for Shabbat. It’s an experiential way to practice teshuvah and mindful living, even in the midst of pre-Shabbat bustle.

1. Gathering the Elements: Before you light your Shabbat candles (or if someone else usually lights, before they do), take a moment for yourself. Find a quiet corner, take a deep breath, and hold your matches or lighter. This is your moment to connect with the ancient wisdom.

2. The "Return" (Kneading in the Past): Close your eyes for a moment. Think back over your week. This isn't about guilt, it's about honest reflection, just like the Rabbis meticulously examined the offerings.

   • Where did you take a "handful with your left hand"? (An action done carelessly, without full attention, or with a less-than-holy intention. Maybe a rushed word, an incomplete task, or a moment of impatience.)
   • Where was your "handful lacking"? (Perhaps you didn't give enough effort, empathy, or presence where it was needed. Did you skimp on a hug? Did you cut a conversation short?)
   • Where might you have had an "unnoticeable blemish" in your internal state that affected your interactions, like a tereifa? (Maybe unspoken frustration, unacknowledged fatigue, or hidden judgment that no one else saw, but affected your spirit.)
   • Without judgment, simply acknowledge these moments. In your mind's eye, picture yourself gently gathering these "unfit handfuls" and, like Ben Beteira teaches, returning them to the vessel of your week. Not throwing them out, but integrating them, learning from them, and allowing them to become part of the raw material for growth. This is the power of teshuvah – making whole what was broken.

3. The "Re-Removal" (Shaping the Present): Now, take another deep breath. Open your eyes. Hold your matches or lighter. You are about to actively participate in bringing holiness.

   • With renewed intention, mentally "re-remove" a new "handful" – this time, with your "right hand," with full awareness and holiness.
   • Focus on what you want to bring into Shabbat: peace, presence, connection, gratitude, a discerning eye to appreciate the subtle blessings. What kind of energy do you want to infuse into your home for the next 25 hours? Visualize it clearly.
   • As you light the candles, let the flame symbolize not just the light of Shabbat, but also the light of discernment (seeing the subtle distinctions in your blessings and challenges) and repair (the ability to rectify and make whole your spirit and your relationships).

4. Ben Beteira's Candle Blessing: After you light the candles and before covering your eyes, or just after you cover your eyes, add this short, silent (or whispered) intention. Let it be a melody of your soul.

   • (Sing-able Line/Niggun suggestion: A simple, meditative hum of "L'vav Tahor, B'ra Li Elokim" - "A pure heart create for me, God" - let the words resonate with the desire for inner clarity and integrity, and the possibility of renewed spirit.)
   • "May the light of these sacred candles illuminate my path, helping me to discern the subtle truths in my relationships, to find courage to repair what is broken, and to bring a whole and holy presence to my home and my loved ones this Shabbat. Shabbat Shalom."

This ritual transforms the simple act of candle lighting into a powerful moment of teshuvah and renewed intention, actively engaging with the profound lessons of Menachot 6. It's a way to bring those "grown-up legs" of Torah study right to your Shabbat table, making it a true sanctuary, every single week.

Chevruta Mini

Grab a buddy (or just your inner camp counselor!) and let's explore these ideas together. Let these questions spark your own campfire of wisdom!

1. Spotting the Subtle "Blemish": The Gemara showed us how crucial it is to identify the "unique aspect" of each situation, rather than generalizing. Think about a recent challenge or disagreement in your family or community. How might seeking out the "unique aspect" of each person's perspective, rather than generalizing, have changed the outcome or your understanding? What was the "unnoticeable blemish" or the "mitzva in this manner" that you might have missed at first glance?
2. The "Because I Said So" of Life: The Gemara teaches that even the sharpest logic sometimes needs to yield to a specific divine command – especially for things that have an "unnoticeable blemish." Where in your life (be it a personal practice, a family rule, or a larger spiritual concept) do you find yourself needing to trust in a "higher wisdom" or a rule that you don't fully understand, rather than relying solely on your own reason? How does that feel, and what does it teach you about the balance between intellect and faith?

Takeaway

Wow, what a journey through Menachot 6! From the intense debates about tereifa to the nuanced discussions about meal offerings, our ancient Rabbis have gifted us with a profound blueprint for living. We've learned that Torah demands meticulous discernment, urging us to look beyond surface similarities to uncover the subtle, unique aspects that define each person and situation. We've seen the humble wisdom of knowing when our sharpest human logic meets the boundaries of divine command, embracing that some truths require a trust in "higher wisdom" for those "unnoticeable blemishes" in life. And perhaps most powerfully, we've discovered the incredible message of repair and resilience, learning that many "disqualifications" in our lives and relationships are not final, but opportunities to "return" and "re-remove" with renewed intention, even after a mistake feels "sanctified."

So, as we head back into our week, let's carry this campfire Torah with us. Let's look closer, listen deeper, and believe in the possibility of fixing what seems broken. Our Torah, like a master craftsman, teaches us to honor every detail and to embrace the dance between intellect and faith. May these insights help us build and maintain homes and lives that are truly sanctuaries, places where the Divine Presence feels utterly, wonderfully at home. Keep singing, keep questioning, and keep shining that inner light!