In synagogues around the world, a section of the Torah was read last week which included instructions for the preparation of the oil which was to be used to light the candelabra that would burn continuously from morning to night.

The verse read, “Command the children of Israel to take clear, pure oil of crushed and pressed olives to kindle the lamps which will burn continually from evening until morning. It is a law for all time.” (Leviticus 24:1-2) (This is the origin of the Ner Tamid, the Eternal light which burns over the Torah ark in every synagogue in the world.)

The rabbis of the first centuries wondered about the relationship between crushing or pressing the olives and the purity of the oil that emerged from them. They determined that it was the pressure from without that squeezed from the olives the pure oil that had been contained within.

These ancient sages perceived that the symbol of the olives was a paradigm for their own lives. They knew that crushing pressure did not necessarily break a human being. On the contrary, they surmised that harsh adversity could bring to the fore — in any of us — a measure of strength and a purity of purpose of which we were not previously aware, or which had not been mandated by the previous ordinary circumstances of our lives.

Using the crushed olives as a symbol, we can infer that the superb essence of a human sometimes emerges in the times of greatest challenge, when the ordinary is no longer sufficient. The exceptional best in any of us may powerfully emerge in moments of the most heinous adversity.

The Greeks used to teach that “We learn through suffering.” I don’t believe that, but I do believe we learn and grow stronger from challenge and struggle, such as the ones we now face. The best of us sometimes emerges in the worst of times.

I may be an optimist, but I come by it naturally, for hope sparkles from Jewish history and tradition. As a people we have knelt before graves and suffered murderous destruction. Yet we have arisen each time with newfound purpose, blazing passion and a freshly ignited commitment to make this world better.

There is a Talmudic story about Shimon bar Yochai, a cantankerous human being who couldn’t withhold saying whatever came to mind. Eventually, his public cursing of the Romans put him in danger, and to save his life he fled to a cave to hide with his son. Miraculously a carob tree and a spring of water were created for their survival, although Shimon continued to suffer severe skin eruptions.

After 13 years of self-isolation in the cave Shimon emerged healthy, saw beauty in the world and, with newfound gentleness, became a healer.

This can be a parable for all of us as we slowly emerge from our time alone into a world which awaits our decency, gentleness, vision and gratitude for each other and the community which, with some greater purity of purpose, we can rebuild together.

The great teacher, Elie Wiesel, gave a lecture on the subject of Shimon bar Yochai onstage at the 92nd Street Y on October 25, 1990. “In the Talmud: Rabbi Simeon bar Yochai Revisited” may be viewed on 92Y’s archives.