You can find the rest of the parsha text on Chabad.org at Vayak’hel.
30 thoughts on “Vayak’hel”
Wendy Berk
From Rabbi David Kasher
AN INVISIBLE PALACE – Parshat Vayakhel-Pikudei
There is something hidden in the Tabernacle.
Nechama Leibowitz, the great twentieth-century compiler of Torah commentary, points out that it is modern scholars, in particular, who sensitized us to the use of repetition as a rhetorical device in the description of the building of the Tabernacle. She cites a list of the greats: “Buber, Rosenzweig, Benno Jacob, Cassuto, Meir Weiss and others,” who all highlight the way key phrases in our text echo an earlier story in the Torah – the earliest, in fact.
It is the legendary Jewish philosopher Martin Buber – also a fine Biblical scholar – who is credited with “discovering” the striking parallels between the language of the Tabernacle instructions and the story of Creation. He lays it out magnificently for us and, though it requires some rearranging, the resemblance is undeniable. Listen:
Creation:
And God saw all that he had made, and behold, it was very good. And it was morning, and it was evening, one day. And the heavens and the earth were finished, and all their array. On the seventh day, God finished His work which He had made, and He rested on the seventh day. And God blessed the seventh day, and sanctified it. (Genesis 1:31-2:3)
And Moses saw all of the work, and behold, they had made it just as the Lord had commanded….(Exodus. 39:43) And all the labor of the Tabernacle was finished… (39:22) And on the seventh day, He called out to Moses from within the cloud… (24:16) And Moses finished the work… (40:33) And Moses blessed them… (39:43) Make me a sanctuary, and I will dwell among you. (25:8)
The reverberation is stunning, and the message of this parallelism seems easy enough to extrapolate. As Nechama Leibowitz puts it:
The Lord created heaven and earth and all therein for man to dwell in, and created them in six days and rested on the seventh day. Similarly, Moses was summoned on the seventh day to the cloud to see the pattern of the Tabernacle that it was his duty to erect, in order to provide a place on earth for the Divine Presence. (Leibowitz, Studies in Shemot, Terumah 2)
As God made a home for us on earth, so now we make a home for God on earth. Buber’s excavation, through modern literary technique, of the symmetry embedded in the text, appears to us like a revelation.
But of course, there is nothing new under the Enlightenment sun, and we so should not be surprised to find that the rabbis of the midrashic period had already spotted much of this pattern, many centuries earlier. Here is a version we find in the Midrash Tanchuma on Parshat Pekudei:
Rabbi Yakov said in the name of Rabbi Asi, why does it say (in Psalms 26:8), “Lord, I loved your House and abode, the dwelling place of your glory”? Because it is being equated with the creation of the world. How so?… On the seventh day, “the heavens and the earth were finished.” And with the Tabernacle it is written, “And all the labor was finished.” With the creation of the world, it is written, “And God Blessed.” And with the Tabernacle, it is written, “And Moses blessed them.” (Tanchuma Pikudei 11:2)
אמר רבי יעקב ברבי אסי, למה הוא אומר, ה’ אהבתי מעון ביתך ומקום משכן כבודך (תהלים כו ח), בשביל ששקול כנגד בריאת עולם. כיצד….בשביעי, ויכולו השמים והארץ. ובמשכן כתיב, ותכל כל עבודת. בבריאת העולם כתיב, ויברך אלהים. ובמשכן כתיב, ויברך אותם משה.
There you have it – the very same references, suggesting the very same comparison, picked up hundreds of years earlier by the ancient rabbis, whose keen literary eyes were never sleeping.
And they didn’t stop there. For there was one other primary link between Creation and Construction that they wanted to establish. That is, they noticed that, over the course of the chapters that detail the building of the Tabernacle, the observance of the Sabbath day is mentioned twice, once in back in Parshat Ki Tisa (Ch. 31), and again this week in Parshat Vayakhel. Here is how our parsha begins:
Moses gathered together the whole community of the Children Israel and said to them, “These are the things that the Lord has commanded you to do: On six days you shall have a sabbath of complete rest, holy to the Lord; whoever does work on it shall be put to death.” (Exod. 35:1-2)
What did the rabbis make of this abrupt insertion of the commandment to keep the Sabbath, just before the final description of the Tabernacle? Surely this can be fit into the framework of the other creation parallels we have seen so far. The Sabbath is the culmination of Creation, after all – the time to stop and reflect on the work that has been done, and to refresh.
But the rabbis went further than just observing these thematic parallels. In their discussion of laws of the Sabbath in the Talmud, this passage above, from Parshat Vayakhel, contains the very phrase they use as the source for the 39 categories of prohibited work. The derivation is based an intricate bit of play with the words, “These are the things..” :
It was taught, Rebbe [Yehudah HaNasi] said “things” counts for 2, “the things” makes it 3, and [the letters in the Hebrew word for] “these” has the numerical value of 36 – so “these are the things” is a hint for the 39 forbidden labors that Moses was told on Mount Sinai. (Shabbat 98b)
והתניא רבי אומר דברים הדברים אלה הדברים אלו ל“ט מלאכות שנאמרו למשה בסיני
The interpretive method here is rather extreme. The rabbis see the phrase, “These are the things that the Lord has commanded you to do,” and in order to figure out what and how many of those things there are, they give themselves permission to count up the words in the sentence, and then even the numerical value of the Hebrew letters in the word for “these,” following the numerological tradition of ‘gematria.’ With all those rules in place, they arrive at the number 39 – so 39 forbidden labors.
Add to that the use of the word melacha (מלאכה), ‘work,’ as both the term for that which is forbidden on the Sabbath, and for that which is required to build the Tabernacle, and we soon come to the conclusion that the work that is to be forbidden on the Sabbath is precisely those 39 categories of work which were required in the Tabernacle. That is, after all, precisely, what God rested from on that first seventh day: all the work that he had done, כָּל-מְלַאכְתּוֹ אֲשֶׁר עָשָׂה.
The parallel between the Sabbath and the Sanctuary slowly becomes clear. We engage in work to build the Tabernacle, and then we refrain from just that work when it is completed – and then,as promised, God dwells among us. This mirrors the way that God engaged in work to build the world and then refrained from that work when it was completed. And the name for that completion was “Shabbat” – the Sabbath day. And so, it turns out that this Tabernacle, the thing we have been building now for 5 weeks of parshot, is in fact the Sabbath herself. It is she who will be the eternal Sanctuary, in which both God and Israel shall dwell.
The Tabernacle was to be temporary, after all, only lasting through the desert journey. And even the Temple turned out to be temporary – for physical buildings can always be destroyed. But the Sabbath is to carry us through time.
These links forged with the words of the Torah – first, broadly, between the creation of world and the building of the Tabernacle, and then, specifically, between the Sabbath the completion of the Tabernacle – lend new force to Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel’s famous phrasing in his book, “The Sabbath”:
The seventh day is a palace in time which we build. (p. 15)
He may have meant that poetically, but now we are able to understand it literally. We actually build ourselves a Sabbath; at least, we did so once. For it was not enough to create a sanctuary in space for God to dwell in, as God had done once for us. We then had to finish all the work we had done, to step back and see it completed, and then to rest and be refreshed on the seventh day – as God also once did.
And so we build and complete this palace in time again, anew, every week. We bless it with the light of our candles, and sanctify it with wine. And though our structure is invisible to the naked eye, we who sit within it know that there God dwells among us.
The Role of the Wise Heart
By Emmanuel Cantor (Rabbinical Student
Parashat Vayak’hel-Pekudei (Exodus 35:1-40:38)
I vividly remember being in my third grade Jewish day school class and learning about the Omer, the ritual counting of the days between Passover and Shavuot. Perhaps I had a contrarian impulse that day, as the first thing that I remember is rolling my eyes. I assumed that counting days would be a little boring. Then my teacher taught the class a song to sing before we counted, a tune set to the Torah verses describing the omer. I loved the drama of the melody and the rhythm of the chanting. Thanks to the song, I grew excited to count the omer each morning.
The power of art to transform the mundane into the magical— as it did for me in my third grade classroom—is on full display in this week’s double-parashah, Vayak’hel-Pekudei. The portion describes the building of the mishkan, or Tabernacle, and its stars are artists—the architect Bezalel and his assistant Oholiab, and the unnamed women who weave blue, purple, and crimson yarn into the mishkan‘s vibrant curtains.
“The role of the artist is to make the revolution irresistible,” taught the Black Arts Movement writer and activist Toni Cade Bambara. Although rooted in her life and work, we can apply Cade Bambara’s words to Vayak’hel-Pekudei as well. In the aftermath of last week’s Golden Calf reading, the newly-liberated Israelites appear unable to get onboard with the spiritual revolution of Sinai. This week, the artists Bezalel, Oholiab, and the women who weave make that revolution irresistible.
The Golden Calf provides a backdrop to the focus Vayak’hel-Pekudei places on art and artists. The artists are described seven times as chacham lev, or wise-hearted. Bezalel, in particular, is noted for his “divine spirit of skill, ability, and knowledge in every kind of craft” (Ex. 35:32, NJPS). This emphasis on Bezalel’s artistry is in contrast to Aaron’s response to Moses when confronted over his role in fashioning the Golden Calf.
They said to me, ‘Make us a god to lead us; for that fellow Moses—the man who brought us from the land of Egypt—we do not know what has happened to him.’ So I said to them, ‘Whoever has gold, take it off!’ They gave it to me and I hurled it into the fire and out came this calf!” (Ex. 32:23-24, NJPS).
Aaron’s “out came this calf” line is often read as an attempt to exonerate himself, a “dog ate my homework” style excuse. Yet, Aaron’s explanation also reflects a creative process that lacks proper time, space, skill, and intention. Rashi, the 11th century commentator, emphasizes an absence of artistic creativity in his commentary on the verse: “he (Aaron) took from them and cast in a mold, and made it into a molten calf” (Ex. 32:4, NJPS). Citing an Aramaic translation by Onkelos, Rashi imagines Aaron using a mold that can make multiple copies of the same gold object, such as letters or small figurines. In this reading, the Golden Calf is not only a betrayal of God’s covenant with the people. It is also easily-copied, unoriginal art.
Or perhaps, not really art at all. In a 2002 piece for The Guardian, novelist and critic Jeanette Winterson distinguishes between art and the mass production of the market. She writes:
Mass production is about cloned objects. Art is about individual vision. Individuals can work together, as they must in theater or opera, or where assistants work under a master, or they can work alone. However it happens, art is never a factory or a production line.
In Winterson’s model, the molded Golden Calf is not the art of individual vision but a “cloned object” of the production line, albeit an ancient one. By contrast, the mishkan is the opposite: an original, creative work. To this point, a Midrash wonders why God did not command Moses to construct the mishkan as a canvas tent with four poles—an easy-to-copy model. In response, the rabbis imagine that on Sinai, God showed Moses fires in shades of red, green, black, and white. The following parable is then offered.
This is like a king who had a splendid garment made of jewels. He said to his personal friend, ‘Make me one just like it!’ He answered, ‘My lord the king, can I make one like it?’ The king replied, ‘I remain in my glory, but you have your materials.’ Similarly, Moses said to God, ‘My God, can I make anything like these fires?! God replied [by listing the materials for making the mishkan], ‘Blue purple and crimson yarns, fine linen…’ (Bamidbar Rabbah 12:10, translated by Dr. Avivah Zornberg).
In this Midrash (parable), the king, as a stand-in for God, urges an artistic friend to replicate a bejeweled garment. While the friend pleads that he is unable to duplicate such an exquisite work, the king insists that it is the friend’s artistic creativity, or “materials,” that the king most desires.
So too, Moses receives a model for the mishkan. Yet unlike the Golden Calf, it is a model impossible to copy. This is by God’s design. Inspired by divine fires, Moses will have to creatively use “his materials” to make the mishkan. It will be a work of art. And this art will make the revolution of Sinai irresistible.
Elsewhere in her piece, Winterson speaks of art’s invitation for us to slow down, thereby expanding our awareness.
The time you spend on art is the time it spends with you; there are no shortcuts, no crash courses, no fast tracks. Only the experience. Art can’t change your life; it is not a diet programme or the latest guru—it offers no quick fixes. What art can do is prompt in us authentic desire. By that I mean it can waken us to truths about ourselves and our lives; truths that normally lie suffocated under the pressure of the 24-hour emergency zone called real life.
Today, I still sing the song I was taught in third grade before I count the omer. The omer blessing can be rattled off in a matter of seconds, but there is no shortcut to the song. The melody invites me to slow down, calling my awareness to the transition between Passover and Shavout, Egypt and Sinai. And while the golden calf pops out of the fire in only one short verse, the mishkan—thanks to Bezalel, Oholiab, and the “wise-hearted women”—is designed and built over hundreds of verses. There are no shortcuts, only real life.
A Single Whole
Vayak’heil – P’kudei, Exodus 35:1–40:38
D’VAR TORAH BY: RABBI JONATHAN K. CRANE
As I was reading this week’s parashah about the construction of the Tabernacle, I found that one repeated detail caught my attention: “And he [Bezalel] made fifty gold clasps and coupled the curtains to one another with the clasps, so that the tabernacle became one whole,” and then just a few verses later we are told again that, “He made fifty copper clasps to couple the tent together so that it might become one whole” (Exodus 36:13,18).
Before this moment, both the tabernacle and its tent cover were not unified wholes. What Bezalel had before him was a collection of beautiful, different, and distinct pieces. Only after he intentionally coupled those pieces together did the tabernacle and tent come into being as cohesive units. At first, I thought that perhaps this was a story about the whole being more than the sum of its parts. But I soon learned that these verses about physical structures and covers ironically covers up something more profound.
These verses echo earlier instructions when God told the Israelites to make a mishkan so that God could dwell among them. At the time, the order was to “make fifty gold clasps and couple the curtains one to another with the clasps, so that the tabernacle becomes one whole” (Exodus 26:6).
I noticed something curious about this redundancy: When God said, “Couple the curtains one to another with the clasps” (vḥibarta et-hayirot ishah el aḥotah bak’rasim), the verse could be read as, “Couple the curtains, a woman to her sister (ishah el aḥotah), with the clasps, and the Mishkan will become a single whole.” The hidden, or deeper meaning of the story, could be that when women unite, the Tabernacle itself becomes a viable whole. Indeed, when women come together, extraordinary things occur.
This theme of generative female collaboration reverberates throughout the Book of Exodus. It begins with strong women of all sorts risking their lives to save a youngster and train him for a unique leadership role (Exodus 1-2). In addition to the civilly disobedient midwives Shifra and Puah, and the resourceful Miriam and Yocheved (Moses’ sister and mother, respectively), there are the “vigorous” Hebrew women who gave birth or suckled children despite Pharaoh’s cruelties (Exodus 1:19; 2:7). Pharoah’s daughter and her slave girl took on personal risks to save a single child who would dramatically alter Egyptian society (Exodus 2:5-10). Later, we see women collectively secure vital resources for the Israelites’ first steps into freedom and use their skills to help build the Tabernacle (see Exodus 3:22, 11:2, and Chapter 35). Finally, there are the women serving at the entrance to the Tent of Meeting, who used their copper mirrors to entice and arouse their menfolk, ensuring that the Jewish people would endure despite the difficulties of the wilderness (Exodus 38:8; I Samuel 2:22, Tanhuma, Pekudei 9:1).
The entirety of the Book of Exodus demonstrates that the very existence of Judaism is due, in large measure, to women whose names have mostly gone unrecorded. Without all those women and their under-recognized efforts, the very structures that enable the human and the holy to commune would have collapsed into chaos, or not come into being at all.
It is ironic and tragic that women were excluded from entering the very Mishkan that they helped bring into existence. No less troubling is it that so many women go unnamed in these foundational stories. As history attests, Jewish women have been covered up and glossed over by later texts and practices. Though our sources teach us to pay attention to and applaud the named and talented, like Bezalel, doing so often comes at the expense of ignoring and even devaluing the critical and creative contributions of so many others, women included.
To make our communities cohesive—especially during these tumultuous times, we need to bring people together physically. We need to turn our collective attention to acknowledge and celebrate the diverse array of folks whose very presence and quiet contributions get covered over too frequently. Who are the unsung clasps and hooks that bring everything together? Whoever brings copper should be perceived as no less important than one who brings gold, as both must come together to make our sacred spaces and times whole.
As we continue the story of the building of the Mishkan we repeat instructions already mentioned regarding the COUNTING of the furnishings, the appointment of BETZALEL as the architect of the Mishkan, and the Priestly GARB. Why was the repetition necessary? Perhaps it is in the important LESSONS that we may learn from each of these THREE themes. The first question is why the Jews were allowed and commanded to ‘Count’ all the items within the Mishkan? After all there are many warnings about the habit of ‘counting!’ The Jews suffered a plague because they counted the people during the time of Joshua. And Balaam is chastised by our commentators for his ‘selfish personality,’ for as soon as he set his eyes upon something he “counted” it for himself’. As the Zohar says , ‘There are two types of counting, counting from the left and counting from the right.’ (Zohar Shmot, 221B). One permitted and one forbidden. What is counting from the ‘left? The Talmud points out the limitations and dangers of ‘counting, of taking accounts.’ The Talmud states, “Blessing is never found in that which is counted.” (Ta’anit 8B). Counting from the left is an indication of a temperament that can lead to an attitude of greed and acquisitiveness as a way of life, forgetting the source of one’s bounty. Moreover, the habit of singling out people, ‘counting them,’ can create a feeling of jealousy in others towards the individuals who are being recognized. Bringing special recognition to them may conjure up the ‘evil eye’ (Ayin Hara), say our Rabbis.
However, the Zohar says there is also ‘counting from the right,’ which recognizes and bring forth gratitude to the Source of the blessing and this is permissible. This counting stems from the side of holiness and this was the counting of materials in the Mishkan. It is a sacred counting and blessing resides in it. (Zohar Shemot, 223A). This is the counting with the beneficent eye, counting with the recognition that all is a gift from the Divine, and thus there is great appreciation of the abundance manifest in our midst. When we count out of gratitude for G-d’s bounty and in recognition thank the Source of our bounty, counting is a blessing; thus, the generosity expressed in the counting of the various vessels and draperies found in the Mishkan. These various vessels and draperies of the Mishkan were chosen to represent the different parts of the universe, say our Sages. If one is mindful that it is G-d’s world that we are building, the Shechina will constantly be with us. The Mishkan represents The Holy Presence dwelling in our midst as we engage in the work of the world. Moshe saw the divine light in everything, every object reflected the divine blessings, and it is this spirit, this way of seeing that brings harmony and gratitude to our world. This counting restores the link with the divine. But if counting is done only for your private ends, individual greed, this severs the link with the divine. When we dwell in a mentality of counting, it leads to wanting more; it is never enough and we inevitably forget the Source of our blessing, the Holy One.
This teaching instructs us how to see! A jealous , critical eye (ayin hara) conceals the connection with the divine, a benign eye (Ayin Tov) sees the link between every aspect of creation, and this way of ‘seeing’ the world and those who inhabit it brings blessing and warm encouragement to all who experience our love. This energy projected outward makes everyone feel better after experiencing it. Thus, we must make our hearts into G-d’s dwelling place, into a lit candle where we can see the good bestowed upon us every day. The light is always really within us, eternal, if we are only open to it, if we embody an Ayin Tov.
Our Rabbis suggest another reason for why there was an exact accounting of all the articles donated to the Mishkan. The Rabbis explain it is to protect the reputation of those handling public funds. Even the most trustworthy such as Moses must give an account. So, they listed how much gold and silver came in to prevent any slander which people in public office are vulnerable to. There is a lot of envy, slander, and projection of hostility to those in power, as the Midrash Tanchuma says: The people were envious of Moses and said, ‘Look how fat he is getting, he probably is using our donations for his benefit.” So, Moses said: ‘As the Mishkan is finished I will give them an account’. The Halacha develops this notion. The Mishna (Shekalim) says the Priests did not wear a sleeved cloak or shoes when they collected the annual shekel tax to be above suspicion. Also, charity collectors must come in two and cannot separate from one another while collecting or give change from their own money; also, surplus funds must be invested with others so they cannot derive personal profit from the investment (Bava Batra 8B, Mishna Peah 8:7, Rambam, Mishna Torah: Matanat Aniyim, 9:8-9.
Now we may ask the second question who was Betzalel and why is he mentioned again as the one chosen to build the Mishkan? We read that one reason is that he was recognized at the age of 13 to be a great artist; another mystical reason is found in his name ‘Betzalel’ which means dwelling ‘in the shadow of the Lord’, and there is a ‘destiny in a name.’ But the Talmud tells us there was a deeper reason for why he was chosen, relating to his grandfather and the history of his family. The hint stems from the mentioning of his grandfather Chur in his lineage. It is unusual to identify a person not only by his father but also include his grandfather in the lineage. The Talmud teaches us that the reason that Betzalel is identified as the son of Uri, and the grandson of Chur (Exodus 38:22) is to teach us an important lesson about forgiveness. The Sages identify Chur, Betzalel’s grandfather as the person who stood up to the group of people who chose to build the Golden Calf, and thus was as a result MURDERED by this crazed mob who were building the Calf. (Sanhedrin 7A). So Betzalel was chosen to build the Mishkan not only because he was a great artist, and a person of great courage and willpower. But the Talmud explains it had to do with his evolved, sublime character. One would think that Betzalel would be justified in resenting the people who murdered his grandfather and because of these deep feelings of resentment take the opportunity to carry out his revenge here towards them. To have him build a sanctuary that would be an atonement for the Golden Calf is asking an extraordinary capacity from him; it is essentially saying that he had the enormous quality to overcome this natural proclivity to take vengeance and instead forgive; overcoming the satisfaction that vengefulness would create and FORGIVE the very people who brought such pain upon him! You would think he would have felt some hatred toward the people who slayed his grandfather, and that this would interfere with his ability to act on their behalf with the level of purity of intention necessary. How was he able to reach this level? HE UTILIZED THE GREAT CAPACITY INHERENT IN EACH OF US TO OVERCOME OUR INSTINCTS AND FEARS. Even though revenge is a person’s only comfort for anger towards one who has wronged him/her we are also endowed with the capacity to meet that challenge. The love of his brothers and sisters possessed by Chur, that compelled him to risk his life trying to stop them from sinning, was inherited by Betzalel, and this is what made him uniquely suited to build the Mishkan. THE CAPACITY TO OVERCOME TAKING REVENGE IS PRECISELY THE CAPACITY NECESSARY TO BRING PEACE AND HARMONY TO THE WORLD.
The third question, why is the mentioning of the CLOTHES of the High priest important? Dignified clothing, on the one hand, affirms the importance of one’s office and reminds us to do G-d’s work as we are created in the image of G-d. In the garden of Eden, it is G-d who clothes Adam and Eve when they realize they are naked. A garment is called ‘Levush’ in Hebrew which means ‘Lo Yibosh’, do not be ashamed. Be proud of who you are as a child of G-d. We must constantly remind ourselves that we are each bearers of G-d’s candle, ‘Ner Hashem, Nishmat Adam,’ The light of the Lord is the soul of man! (Proverbs,20:27).The way we value ourselves affects our ability to learn and grow and contribute our gifts to the world.
However, we must never allow our outer clothing to lead to hubris. The High Priest Aaron was a man of great humility. A compassionate, forgiving soul very close to the people. When he died the people mourned him longer than they did Moses. The Torah teaches us the quality of gratitude, interconnection and humility that is possible even when wearing dignified clothes. The verse tells us that Moses made Aaron’s clothes (Ex. 28:2). And he clothed him. Thus, Aaron had great gratitude and humility as he realized that his office and stature was dependent on others, on the kindness and support of Moses. So, our Sages teach that even when one is given the clothes of grandeur (Titles, and Honors) one should attribute it to the giver, and not to the special attributes of our own. For without the clothes , one is aware of his/her true nature, and the Priests were wise and humble enough to therefore to take off their special clothes when they left the sanctuary. Thus, one must wear outer garments, to support our high purpose, yet retain humility, connected to all those who support us through our lives.
May we be capable of both love for ourselves as a candle of the Lord, and humble and thankful for all the gifts from others, and from G-d who makes our holy goals possible; may we always ‘count from the right and not from the left’ and find forgiveness in our hearts to those who have wronged us in the past! May these cherished qualities aid us in our search to bring peace to our world and let us say Amen!
Metaphors and words count. Is the devil in the details or is God is in the details? While many use these phrases, we don’t know their origins. What we do know is the concept of detail. When we “detail” a car, we painstakingly go over the inside and the outside to clean it up, to make it new. When designers “detail” their creations, they are painstakingly adding the pieces that make their dresses stand out above others. In these two parashot, God gives us every conceivable detail to add to both the Mishkan, the tabernacle that houses the ark of the covenant as well as the priestly clothing. We are asked to create beauty for both the place that God will dwell and for the priests who will visit God there.
The parshah begins with Moses gathering the whole community together to re-iterate that Shabbat is a day of complete rest, holy to God. Then, we get the instructions on how to create the Mishkan and in the next parshah, the summary and how to set it up. But also, while were wandering in the desert, we learned the details for how to encounter God in our homes – for in these descriptions we have allusions to how to celebrate Shabbat.
Our Shabbat table becomes the symbolic representation of the Mishkan in our home. We light Shabbat candles; symbolic of the sacred lamp, the menorah. We say kiddush over wine, symbolic of the sanctification of the meal, taken from the sacrifices made. We have two challahs symbolic of the shew-bread. We sprinkle salt on the challah before we eat it, symbolic of the destruction of the Temple modeled after the Mishkan. The cutting of the challah with the knife is symbolic of our sacrificing the animals brought to the altar. Some substitute the use of the knife by pulling apart the Challah as a way of demonstrating that violence is not condoned and that Shabbat is a time of peace. Before we say the Motzi, the blessing over bread before we eat, we wash our hands, symbolic of the priest’s using the laver. While we are washing our hands, we are purifying our souls. We are silent before the Motzi blessing, to make sure that that purity is sustained into the first bit of our Shabbat meal and beyond.
Our Shabbat clothing is special like the clothing described for the priest. We don’t come to the Shabbat table in torn jeans and a T-shirt. Even if we are at camp, on Friday night, the dress code is often clean white shirt and our best jeans. We are dressed for a special experience, a special encounter with the divine and our clothing signals that we are out of our ordinary realm. Moreover, we rush home or rush out of the kitchen preparations to change into our clothes before we go to minyan or greet our guests or family. We have “bells on our clothes” to greet the Shabbat bride!
Thus, we see that God is indeed in the details. Within the kabbalistic system, our mystical understanding, we encounter the mystery of the Mishkan at our table and all it entails. Shabbat descends upon us with Chesed and Hod, loving-kindness and glory, with our community or family, in celebration of God’s grace among us. We call in the Sabbath bride who brings together Malchut, our earthly kingdom, with Tiferet, the harmony and beauty of God’s presence.
God dwells in the details of the Mishkan. The priests visit God there. God made each of us a priest and a holy vessel, so that we too can encounter God. May we all be blessed with the beauty of God’s dwelling at the Mishkan of our homes, our Shabbat tables.
VAYAK-HEL
BY RABBI MATTHEW BERKOWITZ
Parashat Vayak-hel is replete with the material details of the Tabernacle and its wares. This sacred building project becomes the focus of Israelite energy in the latter part of the Book of Exodus. But more than the project itself is the quality of the people behind it. Vayak-hel pointedly and poetically reintroduces us to Bezalel and Oholiav, the master artisans responsible for the construction of the Tabernacle and its appurtenances. What makes these two individuals worthy of this sacred task?
To begin, we are first introduced to these characters in Parashat Ki Tissa: “The Lord spoke to Moses, ‘See, I have singled out by name Bezalel, son of Uri son of Hur, of the tribe of Judah. I have endowed him with a divine spirit of wisdom, insight and knowledge in every craft . . . Moreover I have assigned to him Oholiav son of Ahisamakh.” (Exodus 31:1-6). Rashi (French commentator, Troyes, France, 1040–1105) explains the qualifying characteristics of Bezalel remarking that “wisdom is that which a person learns from others”; “insight is that which one understands from the heart”; and “knowledge is a gift from God.” In other words, they are gifted with keen wisdom that is imparted from above them, around them, and within them. Intelligence, spirituality, and Divine inspiration are joined together in these remarkable creators. Or as we like to say in modern parlance, the Torah and Rashi have an appreciation for multiple intelligences: the intelligence of the brain (think), the intelligence of the heart (feel) and the intelligence granted by the Divine spark (transcend).
Second, Parashat Vayak-hel adds that they were endowed with the ability “to teach which was given to their heart.” Commenting on Exodus 35:34, Ibn Ezra (Spanish exegete, Tudela, Navarre, 1089–1167) writes that “there are many wise individuals who find it challenging to impart their knowledge effectively to others. And behold, Oholiav is the assistant to Bezalel in the creative work of building the Tabernacle—and he too has the ability to impart wisdom to another.” That said, an inability to teach effectively may derive from the lack of an innate pedagogic talent, a dearth of formal training, or an unwillingness to share. Far from holding this sacred endeavor close to their chests, Torah tells us that they were given the gift of being talented pedagogues—that is to say that they transmitted their wisdom to others. Building a space for God cannot be the narrow realm of two esoteric artists. The artisans must be able to communicate and teach others to be part of this holy project. In doing so, they are quintessential teachers: precise in instruction and generous of spirit.
Finally, Rashi highlights a final important detail about this talented pair. In response to Exodus 35:34, he writes, “Oholiav is from the tribe of Dan which was one of the lowest [status] tribes [of Israel]—coming from the sons of handmaids, and yet God placed him as an equal to Bezalel in the building of the Tabernacle, and [Bezalel] is from one of the greatest tribes [i.e. Judah]. In so doing, God fulfilled the verse in Job, “God does not favor the rich more than the poor” (Job 34:19). Accordingly, Rashi is teaching us that Bezalel and Oholiav are taken from two very different social strata in Israel. As such they model inclusivity. Call it Divine affirmative action. When undertaking a project of this scope, one must be attuned to a spectrum of voices and talents that come from the rich and the poor, from students and teachers, from the affiliated and unaffiliated. Building a place of God demands totality of vision and communal embrace.
Multivalent wisdom, the ability to teach, and inclusivity make Bezalel and Oholiav the perfect choice for the construction of a space filled with God’s Presence. It is indeed an important lesson to all of us—that ultimately, the way we bring God’s Presence into our midst is through effective teaching, wisdom learned from many sources, and connecting with the broad diversity inherent in community.
Parshat Vayakhel
Torah Reading for Week of February 24 – March 2, 2019
“Thank God Almighty — Mishkan at Last!”
by Dr. Tamar Frankiel
After all the anticipation, the instructions, and the intervening ‘golden calf incident’ with its conflict and death, now at last, the physical components of the Mishkan are fashioned and prepared for use. Often we read parshat Vayakhel with the next one, Pekudei, which addresses the making of the priestly garments and the final acts of putting everything together. But since this year has an extra month of Adar, our reading is extended over two weeks.
Nevertheless, the end is in sight. The people practically fall over themselves bringing all the materials – Moses has to tell them, “Enough!” – and everyone sets to work.
Finally, it seems, we will have a Place, a site, like a spiritual compass to orient ourselves in the unbounded desert, the Midbar that lies before us. We the Ivrim, the Hebrews, the boundary-crossers, will have a portable religious center, ensuring that God, our Redeemer and Helper, is always with us. And it is a protective structure, walled and reinforced. The Mishkan is not ephemeral like that weird cloud, nor frightening like that pillar of fire. Yes, it’s true that one has to be careful with the thing, particularly when we travel with the holy vessels; but everyone will have their instructions, so it’s all manageable. And yes, we did get a bit carried away with that calf-statue, but after all, we had lost Moses, we were a bit deranged. Now we’ll be fine. . . .
With the retrospective of more than twenty centuries of exile, we know that the longings for a permanent Center were unrealistic. Even the later Temples built of stone were not impervious to conquest and destruction. Moreover, the thought that this tamed, golden image of holiness would enable us to manage a relationship with God was naïve. Neither the people who cherished it nor its priests were able to maintain sincerity of heart and purity of practice in the Mishkan or later Temples. Was the Mishkan then just a vain external symbol of security?
I think not. There is a strange but beautiful feeling in reading about the Mishkan: a cherished place, built with heartfelt intent, to be carried and inhabited by God on all our journeys. Even after its first purpose was served, it appears to have been faithfully guarded at a few different shrines in Israel. The Mishkan may have been at Gilgal in Joshua’s time, and later at Shiloh, Nob, and Gibeon. The ark had its own travails, captured even by the Philistines for a time. The ark was brought to Jerusalem by David, and, as for the Mishkan itself, it is said that Solomon brought some remnants of the Mishkan’s furnishings for the Temple that he built.
So the Mishkan eventually aged and was dismantled, but now it survives in the Torah as an imaginal place, an image of cosmic wholeness. Rabbi Samson Rafael Hirsch understands its materials and construction as symbolic of the nature of humanity, an integration of mineral, vegetable, and animal under the umbrella of spiritual perception. The idea of a Center has been replaced by the Torah, which like the old Mishkan is portable. But ultimately, the center is the human heart, where, as Jeremiah said, “I will put My Torah inside them, and in their heart I will write it. I will be their God, and they will be My people” (Jeremiah 31:32).
Note to Self
Wilderness
We have all we need: the artist, the design, the Designer, the master of ceremonies, the one who sits with us however long it takes and listens. And we make the molten beast.
We are, of course, healed by the very things through which we were corrupted. We use the same words, we gathered together in confusion, frustration, impatience, now the one who sits with us and listens gathers us together to review the plan for living: it starts with Shabbes. Vayakhel Moshe, say it aloud, “Va-yak-hel Mo-she” give every syllable a breath and the words will settle in. That man? He gathered us together and he brought what he always brings: the healing.
On the heels of the molten beast, he gathered together the entire community. We had gathered against his brother Aaron: make us a god who will go before us, we said to Aaron, because your brother who is our heart — we do not know what happened to him. Do not say those words too slowly because they will chill you to the bone with the fear they were uttered.
We will return to the building; everything we had been directed to do, get back to the work. The materials, those colors! the clothes! where do you get such great clothes? Bring back the artist, bring back the healing, we will build it out of the free offerings of our hearts.
The building; it will be a symbol of our healing from the slip with the molten beast, a sign of deep forgiveness. The healing will come through the artist, who built it.
And that man who brought us out?
He’s back.
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Has it just vanished in smoke: l’esprit du temps? Several thousand years is a vast patch of history, perhaps in the interim, the novelty of a desert Sanctuary has simply seeped away. All its glory and wondrous color faded and stonewashed like an old beach-towel; its imminence lost on us, far more, in fact, than last week’s paper left to yellow in the sun. The Sanctuary’s time is not our time or our great-grandparents’ time. What chance is there that this Sanctuary can stir our hearts as in days of old?
Admittedly, the descriptions are pleasant enough: A portable gilded ark, crowned with cherubs; embroidered winged-sphinxes sewn into expensive curtains made of fine goat hair, perhaps a variety of Mohair or Cashmere, if we think on it. There are silver loops and clasps connecting this and that; an indoor altar and an outdoor altar; a golden candelabrum, and a great deal more.
But no amount of familiarity with the text seems to alter its foreignness. Imagine having to describe a spirited summer in Paris to someone who has never sat in a Café, or seen the inside of an art gallery, or fallen in love. The Louvre is nothing but a U-shaped palace, the Seine just another river; the scope of l’Arc de triomphe never quite translates if one has never spent ten minutes walking around its wide roundabout. Thankfully, the Torah has a way of easing us into the unfamiliar, even when most paths are shut; there is always another point of entrée.
One of the stranger aspects of the Tabernacle is that transmission of its many details is twice juxtaposed with the law of Shabbat. The initial five and-a-half chapters of Tabernacle blueprints culminate in a reminder to ‘guard the Sabbath by refraining from prohibited labor – malacha’ (Ex. 25.1 – 31.12-17).
Additionally, when the time comes for actual construction, this later section is introduced with yet another mention of Shabbat: ‘For six days shall labor be done, but on the seventh day, there shall be for you holiness, a Sabbath of solemn-rest to the Lord […] You shall kindle no fire throughout all your habitations on the Sabbath Day’ (Ex. 35.2-3).
Our Sages find in the strange proximity of these two subjects a stern warning. ‘Despite God’s command, construction of the Sanctuary was to cease on the Sabbath.’ (Rashi, Sforno) Why, some might ask? Is it not all for God? Later in the Torah Portion, we read that the people have made and donated far more material than was necessary for the building of the Sanctuary. So much so that Moses announces: “‘Let neither man nor woman make any more work for the sanctuary.’ So the people were restrained from giving” (Ex. 36.6). The exuberance of ancient Israel captures humanity’s boundless desire to fashion and make. Creation never quite ends on its own, for things can always be made better…grander…different. Then there is the danger that mindful work evolves into mindless productivity. The philosopher Raoul Vaneigem had this to say, “In an industrial society which confuses work and productivity, the necessity of producing has always been an enemy of the desire to create.”
Without Moses cry of ‘enough,’ what compels to pause from projects great and small alike, if not mandatory Sabbath? Strikingly, what is odd about the Sanctuary and the Sabbath is that they are both holy, yet they do not quite mix. Like two great magnets of the same polarity, holiness of rest and holiness of work, though infused with a sacred charge, nevertheless push one another away. The Sabbath prevents the Sanctuary from being refurbished each month, from being ever remodeled and expanded each year.
The old awe of the Sanctuary may not be felt as it ought to be, especially when the average home is a great deal bigger than the Tent of Meeting. But we know the satisfaction of successful human labor, whether it’s a simple well-made soup or seeing a skyscraper rise up and kiss the clouds. We can also appreciate the dangers of overwork, one-mindedness, Napoleonic obsession, where no palace is large enough, no monument tall enough.
It is something of interest that of the many labors needed to create the Tabernacle, only the making of fire is explicitly mentioned in the beginning of Parashat Vayekhel: ‘You shall kindle no fire…on the Sabbath Day.’ Rabbi Ovadiah Sforno suggests that fire is so basic to human industry, that a great many other labors could not be performed without it. But I prefer to end with a line by the poet Theodore Roethke:
What lives again? Only a man of straw –
Yet straw can feed a fire to melt down stone.
Fire can forge temples and cities or usher in the Sabbath with its light, but if man’s industry is left to burn unchecked, it can turn a Tabernacle into a spectacle, the Sabbath into just another day of work, and even melt the stone Tablets that reside in the Ark of the Covenant.
When I visited some of the poorest neighborhoods in Cancun with AJWS in 2010, my greatest fear was not what I would see, but what I might feel. I worried that I would feel—as so many people do—that I needed to fight for justice so that I could save the people I met there, providing for them what they could not provide themselves. This sentiment is common, but dangerous and demeaning, because a belief that the privileged must save the poor assumes that people in need lack the ability to shape their own destinies; that it is a lack of aptitude or ability that lies at the core of their misfortune.
Muhammad Yunus, the Nobel laureate and founder of the Grameen Bank in Bangladesh, argues that if we want to eradicate global poverty, we must first change our assumptions about why poverty exists. He writes:
To me, poor people are like bonsai trees. When you plant the best seed from the tallest tree in a tiny flowerpot, you get a replica of the tallest tree, only inches tall. There is nothing wrong with the seed you planted; only the soil base that you gave it is inadequate. Poor people are bonsai people. There is nothing wrong with their seeds, but society never gave them the proper base to grow in. All it takes to get poor people out of poverty is for us to create an enabling environment for them. Once the poor can unleash their energy and creativity, poverty will disappear very quickly.1
People who live in poverty can accomplish the same things as people living ensconced in wealth and privilege, and it demeans people’s humanity when we assume that they are incapable of bettering their own lives. This understanding—that people’s innate skills and talents can be inhibited by their circumstances or environment—is one that is echoed in this week’s parashah and that has profound implications for how we address poverty and work for social change.
Parashat Vayakhel concludes the Israelites’ construction of the Mishkan—God’s Tabernacle in the desert—telling us that the Mishkan wasn’t built by trained architects or craftsmen, but by “every person whose heart stirred them up, and every one whom his spirit made willing.”2 Each time I read this parashah, I am amazed at how the Israelites, who spent their entire lives engaged in the mimetic tasks of slave labor, could build a shrine that required fine craftsmanship. Responding to this question, the Ramban states,
The “stirring up of the heart” implies the arousing of their capacity to undertake the work. For none [of the Israelites] ever learned these skills before from any teacher nor had ever practiced them before. But each one discovered his natural talent or aptitude for the task, his heart rising as it were to the Divine challenge enabling him to come into Moses’ presence and say: “I can do it.”3
For the Ramban, slavery limited the Israelites’ opportunity to learn craftsmanship, but it did not make the Israelites inherently incapable of building the Mishkan. Rather, the backbreaking conditions of slavery caused the creative potential of the Israelites in Egypt to atrophy. When commanded to construct the Mishkan, Israelites who realized that previous circumstances did not forever dictate their capacity to achieve developed “confidence in their own power to undertake the work”4 of building the Mishkan. Once given the opportunity to succeed, the Israelites became what they were always capable of becoming.
The Ramban’s perspective on how the Israelites came to construct the Mishkan has profound implications for how we approach tzedakah. Our rabbis understood that the highest acts of tzedakah create conditions to help poor people succeed using their natural talents. The Rambam famously states that the highest form of charity involves giving a loan or entering into a partnership with a poor person “in order to strengthen his hand he need no longer be dependent upon others.”5 Meir Tamari, former chief economist at the Bank of Israel, writes that this approach to tzedakah focuses on “breaking the cycle of poverty and enabling the poor to establish themselves as independent and productive members of society.”6 Like Yunus’s metaphor of the bonsai trees, Jewish tradition recognizes that poor people are inherently creative and capable, and, given the right conditions, will succeed when their innate abilities are given the opportunity to flourish.
The greatest tragedy of the Israelites’ enslavement was not the backbreaking labor, but the suppression of the Israelites’ creative potential. Today, hundreds of millions of people around the world have their rights suppressed on a daily basis, stifling their ability to choose a path for their future and construct it themselves. If we are to be partners with the poor, then we must embrace a vision of tzedakah that honors the inherent capabilities of all humanity, recognizing that poverty usually comes from lack of opportunity, rather than lack of ability.
Less than a generation removed from slavery, Parashat Vayakhel celebrates a moment of collective triumph for the Israelites’ previously untapped potential. May we embrace a vision of tzedakah that will enable poor people to envision and construct their own Mishkan—a brighter world that has existed inside them all along.
Footnotes
1 Muhammad Yunus, Building Social Business: The New Kind of Capitalism that Serves Humanity’s Most Pressing Needs (New York: PublicAffairs, 2010), xiii-xiv.
1 Shemot 35:21.
1 Ramban on Shemot 35:21.
1 Ibid.
1 Rambam, Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Matanot L’Oniyim 10:7.
1 Meir Tamari, The Challenge of Wealth: A Jewish Perspective on Earning and Spending Money (Northvale, New Jersey: Jason Aronson Inc., 1995), 170.
March 17, 2012 / 23 Adar 5772
By: Rabbi Gail Labovitz
Associate Professor of Rabbinic Literature
“Come Together”
Torah Reading: Exodus 35:1 – 40:38
Maftir: Numbers 19:1-22
Haftarah Reading: Ezekiel 36:16-38
A number of commentators have observed that there is an apparent logical problem in the opening of this week’s parashah. The opening verses of Exodus, Chapter 35, are as follows:
א) ויקהל משה את כל עדת בני ישראל ויאמר אלהם אלה הדברים אשר צוה ה’ לעשת אתם
ב) ששת ימים תעשה מלאכה וביום השביעי יהיה לכם קדש שבת שבתון לה’ כל העשה בו מלאכה יומת
ג) לא תבערו אש בכל משבתיכם ביום השבת
1Now Moshe assembled the entire community of the Children of Israel and said to them: These are the things that the Lord has commanded you to do. 2For six days work is to be done, but on the seventh day, it will be holy for you, a Sabbath of complete rest for the Lord; all who do work on it shall be put to death. 3Do not kindle any fire throughout your settlements on the day of the Sabbath.
Having assembled the people to hear the most recent commands of God, Moshe gives the people the fundamental law of Shabbat, the prohibition on productive labor during that day. The problem is this: first Moshe says of this law that it is something “the Lord has commanded you to do” – but the nature of Shabbat, especially as described here, is epitomized by not doing (not doing work, not kindling fire). Nor is this the only time this apparent strange use of language appears in reference to the Sabbath in the Torah; similar usages appear in last week’s parashah, in Exodus 31:16, or in Deuteronomy 5:15. The former of these is especially interesting because it contains two words for following the laws of the Sabbath, not only “to do/make” (לעשות), but also “to observe/guard” (לשמור), which seems to be much more accurate to what Sabbath observance actually is. As the medieval commentator Ibn Ezra succinctly sums up the problem in his commentary to Exodus 31:16, “והשביתה איננה מעשה”, “But resting is not an active deed!”
One possible solution to our conundrum is that the “do” of this commandment refers to the doing of the six days of the week: “For six days work is to be done.” That is, work during the week is as much a commandment as rest is on the Sabbath; it is a commandment to be a productive and active participant in the workings of the world and the community. Or, if we want to stick a little more closely to the context in Exodus 35, the command might be read as a directive particularly regarding the building of the Tabernacle, which occupies much of what follows in this parashah (not to mention several of the parshiyot preceding this one). Even though it is a great and important commandment to build the tabernacle, that commandment only applies for six days of the week, and does not supersede the Sabbath. Even the building of the tabernacle, despite its importance, must cease for one day each week.
But these answers don’t necessarily work for the other contexts in which Shabbat is described as something that is done, so the problem remains. Another possibility is a variant of the first idea above. That is, perhaps the work is indeed the work of the other six days of the week, but more specifically the work that prepares us for the rest of Shabbat: making sure our food is cooked and our lights are lit and all the things we need are ready ahead of time, precisely so that we will not need to do that work on the Sabbath (this is the resolution given by Ibn Ezra, among others).
There are, not surprisingly, yet other suggestions in the midrashic and commentary literature, but I will encourage you to seek them out on your own rather than overwhelm you with an extended list. Instead, I’d now like to note one commentary that reads the verses in a rather different way, a way that I believe then yields an especially beautiful observation about what should happen on Shabbat and how it should be observed. The comment comes from a work called Panim Yafot” (The Beautiful Face), by R. Pinhas Horowitz, an 18th century Polish rabbi. He writes:
ואפשר לומר דהיינו דכתיב ויקהל משה את כל עדת ב”י ואמרו במדרש [ילק”ש ויקהל ת”ח] שהזהיר אותם לעשות קהלות בכל השבתות, היינו להקהל ולהתחבר באחדות האמיתי
And it is possible to say that this is what (is the meaning of what) is written, “And Moshe assembled the entire community of the Children of Israel” – it says in midrash [Yalkut Shimoni, Vayakhel] that he directed them to make assemblies on every Shabbat, that is, to assemble to unite in true oneness.
While he doesn’t quite say this explicitly, here is how I read – or perhaps it is my drasha on –what R. Horowitz is saying. The matter hinges on how we understand the words “these…things in verse 1, “These are the things that the Lord has commanded you to do.” What “things” are being referred to here? Our inclination so far has been to read these words as anticipating what comes next – that is, we would punctuate as follows: “These are the things…: For six days…” What is in verse 2 explains the meaning of the ambiguous “things in verse 1. But another possibility is to read them back to what preceded them: “And Moshe assembled the entire community of the Children of Israel and said to them: These are the things that the Lord has commanded you to do.” Moshe teaches by demonstration. When he says “These…things,” he refers back to what he has just done, i.e., gathering the people.
How do we “do” Shabbat? What positive act do we take to “make Shabbat”? We assemble. We gather together in community. Shabbat does not happen, actively or otherwise, only at the level of individual Jews, each refraining from his or her ordinary occupations and activities. It is not truly Shabbat until each of those Jews uses that freed up time to join together, in harmony, with other Jews: to pray, to learn, to eat, to talk (and yes, to love).
Shabbat shalom.
The theme of Parshat Vayakheyl is Unity. Parshat Vayakheyl follows right after the story of the ‘golden calf’. As a result of having done such this transgression a mere forty days after receiving the Torah at Mt. Sinai, we were quite demoralized and we lost our self-confidence in our ability to return to and be close to Hashem once again.
The parsha begins as follows:
“And Moshe gathered the children of Israel and said to them, “these are the things that Hashem has commanded, to do them. Six days [a week] work shall be done, but the seventh day must be holy to you, it is a Shabbos of Shabbos to Hashem…” Moshe said to the entire congreagation of B’nai Yisrael, saying, “This is the word that Hashem has commanded: Take from your possessions a ‘t’rumah’ to Hashem.” Sh’mot 35: 1-5
Rashi teaches that this gathering took place on the day following Yom Kippur. We had received the ‘Asseret haDibrot’ – the Ten Commandments on Shavuot; Moshe Rabbeinu remained on Mt. Sinai for forty days to receive the entire Torah. When he descended from the mountain and saw the golden calf that we had made, he broke the tablets. The following day he went back up the mountain for another forty days to pray for Hashem’s forgiveness. Hashem accepted Moshe’s prayers and told him to cut a new set of tablets and to ascend the mountain with them. That was on Rosh Chodesh Elul. Forty days later, on Yom Kippur Moshe Rabbeinu descended with the new tablets.
The next day, the day after Yom Kippur, he gathered us together and spoke to us about Shabbos and about the building of the sanctuary. We wonder why Moshe did all this; after all we do not find that Hashem told him to do this.
The Ishbitzer Rebbe teaches that Moshe Rabbeinu saw how broken we were over having made the golden calf. We were quite surprised at ourselves and we had lost a lot of our self confidence in our ability to serve Hashem truthfully. And so Moshe Rabbeinu gathered us together to explain to us [and also to comfort us], how it all came about and what we needed to know to prevent a similar reoccurrence.
Disunity leads to idolatry. In the very act of Moshe Rabbeinu gathering us together, we realized that we had moved apart from each other and that our disunity led us to the tragedy of the golden calf!
At Mt. Sinai, before we received the holy Torah, we were united “as one person with one heart”. Tragically this lasted for only forty days. Before the giving of the Torah, Hashem told Moshe to tell us, “v’atem ti’heyu li mamlechet kohanim v’goy kadosh” – ‘and you shall be unto Me a kingdom of Kohanim and a holy nation.” ‘And you shall be’ – all of you, individually, and every one of you together; then “you shall be unto Me” – then, when you are united ‘as one person with one heart’, then ‘you will be unto Me’ – then, and only then, will you truly and completely relate and be with Me.
Tragically, we didn’t get it.
From the Midrash on the above verse we learned that the word ‘li’ – unto Me, [which numerically equals 40 – spelled ‘lamed’ ‘yud’; ‘lamed'(30) and ‘yud'(10) = 40] Hashem alluded to Moshe Rabbeinu that our complete commitment to Him would last only forty days and that we would have to renew both our commitment to live in unity with each other and our commitment to bond with Hashem every forty days. One might say, that in our relationships with one another and also with Hashem, after 40 days we ‘experience’ a ‘loss’ of ‘something’- real or imagined. And we have to rediscover it. If we don’t, we might end up with a golden calf. What is this ‘it’ that we need to discover again and where is ‘it’ to be found? ‘It’ is to be found in and through our unity. We never get ‘there’ permanently; we get ‘there’ for 40 days at a time. After 40 days we have to go further, we have to go higher. The journey is an infinite one. If we ever stop, ‘chas v’shalom’ – that is idolatrous.
Tragically, we didn’t get it.
When Moshe Rabbeinu did not come down from the mountain, exactly when we expected him to, we thought we can’t make it without Moshe. We looked at one another and thought “I can’t make it with you, unless you agree with me.” Instead of understanding that what we attained at Sinai, we attained because of, and through our unity, we lost our understanding of the depths of unity. By making the golden calf we had caused the Shechinah to retreat from amongst us, and we felt it and were very pained by it.
To convey the importance and necessity of our re-uniting Moshe Rabbeinu did not this time transmit his teachings to us, in the usual manner, via the Kohanim and the Seventy Elders. Instead, he gathered all of us together and spoke to us in community, to realistically convey that first and foremost we must be united; to be “as one person, with one heart”. This is the first lesson of this week’s parsha.
In a shiur on renewal, this past week at our Yeshiva, Reb Avraham Aryeh Trugman, neiro yair, discovered and pointed out that the opening word of this week’s parsha, “Vayakheyl”, has the same numerical value as the word “mikveh”; both equal 151. There is a very deep connection between these two concepts. The word ‘mikveh’ actually means gathering- a gathering of waters. In a mikveh we purify ourselves. And just as we purify ourselves in a ‘gathering of waters’, we purify ourselves in a ‘gathering of the people’. To enter into the unity of Hashem, ‘to be one within One’ we need to purify our ‘selves’ of whatever dross that might cause separation. In the mikveh we have to be totally immersed, to become ‘tahor’. It is known that when tzadikkim couldn’t find a mikveh to immerse in, they would immerse themselves among the people. The word mikveh is also related to the word ‘tikvah’ which means hope. We discover our ‘tikvah’- hope, lies in our gathering and our immersion in our gathering.
Moshe Rabbeinu then speaks to us about the holiness of Shabbos and about the holy Mishkan sanctuary. We need to understand, why is Moshe Rabbeinu talking to us about these two matters in particular?
How do we restore our unity? How can we regain our self-confidence, our ‘azzut d’kedusha’ holy chutzpah, to not give up? What is the source of our unity?
Moshe Rabbeinu is speaking to us and telling us that the holy Shabbos is the source of our unity. Hakadosh Baruch Hu wants to have a dwelling place here in the lowest of worlds and He gave us the task to prepare the vessel to receive the Shechinah. Moshe Rabbeinu is teaching that if we want to build a holy sanctuary for Hashem we can only do so if we are really united, only then will the Shechinah dwell in it. As it says in the Zohar we read at ‘Kabbalat Shabbat’, the secret of Shabbos lies in being ‘one within One’. In Shabbos we can restore our unity, that is what Shabbos is all about.
The Ishbitzer Rebbe continues to explain; one of the miracles that occurred in the building of the Mishkan was that although hundreds of people were involved in its’ construction, when it was completed it looked as if it had been made by one person; it possessed an inherent unity. This was possible because miraculously all the craftspeople were inspired with a spirit of unity to work and serve Hashem in unison, and that is what made it so special and holy. By keeping Shabbos holy we are inspired by its unity, for Shabbos is the unity that permeates through each one of us and allows us to be in harmony with each other.
When we are united, when we really care about one another, then the Shechinah dwells amongst us, and no one desires to make any kind of golden calf. But if we are divided we [can] become idolatrous and make idols, i.e. we deify and worship division. The idols we make, and the worship of idols then divide us even further. But when we unite, when we live in Shabbos, Hashem joins us and dwells among us.
There is a ‘natural’ truth: the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. The vessel is greater than all its bits of clay. Then there is the additional aspect of what the vessel is filled with. When the Jewish people unite, the vessel of “Knesset Yisrael” – the community of Israel – is formed and then the holy Shechinah dwells in it. We are obligated not only to believe that Hashem is one, we are obligated to live Hashem’s oneness.
When we say the Shma Yisrael, we put our hand over our eyes and close them in order to better focus on the words “Hear O Israel, Hashem is our G-d, Hashem is One”. Then when we open our eyes we have to see that Hashem is One, that everyone and everything we see and don’t see, is all part of Hashem’s oneness. The reality of Hashem’s One-ness will be fully perceived and appreciated only when Moshiach comes.
“V’atem tee-h-you lee mamlechet kohanim v’goy kadosh”. Sh’mot 19. We are commanded to be a ‘kingdom of kohanim and a holy nation’. In Vayikra Chap. 19, Hashem tells Moshe Rabbeinu to gather everyone together in order to tell the people of Israel “kedoshim tee-h-you” you shall be holy. The commentators explain that here too we all gathered together because everyone had to be there to personally hear this mitzvah that calls upon us to live a life of holiness. Many people believe that being holy and living holy is possible only for a few select individuals in each generation. However the truth is that every one of us can live a life of ‘kedushah’ holiness. That is why everyone had to hear this mitzvah personally.
The Hemek Davar offers an additional explanation; the reason that everyone of us had to be present to hear this mitzvah together is that we were thereby being informed that kedushah-holiness can be found only in togetherness and unity. No matter how scrupulously you observe the mitzvot, no matter with how much ‘kavanah’ holy intention and focus you perform your mitzvot, you can be connected to holiness only if there is a real place for every Jew in your heart and soul.
As we have learned in the past a Sefer Torah which is missing even only one letter, or if one letter is damaged, the whole Sefer Torah is not kosher and may not be read from in public. Chassidut explains that each letter represents a neshamah, and if one letter is missing, it is as if that neshamah is missing, chas v’shalom.
The same is true about the Mishkan. Reb Shlomo ztz”l used to emphasize the teaching that if even only one tiny peg was missing in the Mishkan, then the Shechinah would not dwell in it. The Mishkan was constructed with the t’rumot contributions of every ‘nediv leyv’, everyone contributed generously, and when everyone’s ‘generosity of the heart’ was brought together, the Dwelling Place of the Shechinah was created.
“Olam chessed yiboneh”, the world was built with the attribute of chessed, kindness. Creation is an act of ‘chessed’. The building of the Mishkan was a re-creation of Bereishis, the creation of the world. Just as Hashem created the world with chessed, we too can create the home for Hashem, the Mishkan, only through our acts of chessed, generosity of the heart. Hashem, the One, created the many; we the many have to bring it all together to create the home for the One.
I once saw a teaching that ‘Chessed’ has the ‘gimatria’- numeric value- of 72, which equals 4×18. 18 is “chai”, representing life. 4×18=72, represents the life vitality which is coming through each of the four letters of Hashem’s Name… ‘Yud’- ‘Hey’ – ‘Vav’ – ‘Hey’. All together 72 = ‘chessed’ [‘Chet’=8 + ‘Samech’=60 + Daled= 4 = total 72.
The deepest generosity that we have been given is the holy Shabbos. The deepest way we can celebrate Shabbos is by being “nediv leyv”, of generous heart, sharing together rather than doing commerce with each other. The Slonimer Rebbe explains that, from the fact that the Torah is teaching us about Shabbos and the Mishkan again in this weeks parsha, right after we read the story of the golden calf last week, we learn that there is Shabbos before the sin, and there is Shabbos after the sin. Even after making a golden calf, we still have the Shabbos; we still can connect deeply with Shabbos.
It is natural for us to feel embarrassed when we daaven to Hashem after we have done something very wrong. After we made the golden calf we were very broken hearted, we were very ashamed to stand before G-d again and to sing to Hashem. How could we ever really open our mouths in song and prayer again? But we must not allow our shame to interfere with our singing to Hashem, or our celebrating Shabbos fully again…. but how do we overcome these feelings?
This Shabbos is the Shabbos [parsha] after the sin of the golden-calf. We have Shabbos again, but now we need to prepare ourselves for it. All the work that we have to put into our Shabbos preparations is but Hashem’s way of helping us overcome our shame. By allowing us the opportunity to ‘do’ something in preparation for Shabbos, Hashem is restoring our self-confidence and we are healed in our ‘making Shabbos’.
Va-Yaqhel 5771 According to SeferAz Yashir Moshe (MetaTorah)
Moshe calls together a harmonious community that includes all factions… (Ex. 35:1)
The Sanctuary (Mishqan) that Moshe calls on all of us to participate in constructing, is a portable mini-Temple. As such it has to represent and include every single essential element present within the full spectrum of the Shekhinah Herself. Every truly sacred Temple whether portable or stationary is a fractal reflection on its own level of the Shekhinah who is Everything, from the very least all the way to Eyn Sof (The ALL). We need such sacred constructions because our little eyes are too weak and easily distracted and cannot recognize directly that we are already blessed to be present within a divinely constructed Sanctuary, the Earth Herself, Goddess Gaea.
We also need a scaled-down microcosmic model to remind us that our own bodies, themselves fashioned in the “Divine Image,” have the potential to become sanctuaries, if we can master the Yoga of harmonizing all our energy systems with the deepest wisdom of the Heart, bilevavi mishqan evneh (“I’m building a sanctuary in my Heart”).
Through studying the construction and composition of this portable Sanctuary we can learn a lot about what we need to do in order to become ourselves a portable sanctuary that embodies and transports Holiness throughout time and space. (See Reb Zalman’s translation of Ana Be-Koach.)
And here we need to recognize the essential difference between a portable Sanctuary (Mishqan) and a stationary Temple (Beyt Ha-Miqdash). The Temple can only come later after all the sacred battles relevant to a specific location (Milchemot HaShem) have been won, i.e., after everything has been eliminated that obscures and stands in the way of realizing the Shekhinah directly as Reality Herself right in that very place.
Many of us would like to jump over time and “re-build” the Temple without first constructing, creating and becoming a portable Sanctuary ourselves. But such a notion is inherently reactionary and regressive, because by merely looking backwards to where the Shekhinah has already been we cannot help Her reach where She still needs to go, ( mythically, the Third Temple). To get THERE from HERE we always have to continue moving forward in order to master the construction of a portable Sanctuary. We have to become a sacred chariot (Merkavah) that can embody and transport Holiness throughout all reaches and stages of time and space. (“The Fathers and Mothers are the Chariot”)
The appeal of the “leap-frog beyond time and space” is powerful, because it appears to enable us to leap over and defy the fundamentally suffering nature of embodied experience. But it is as illusory and unsustainable as any other limited fantasy model that obscures and separates the “two partzufim” of Reality that are essentially inseparable. (Qudsha Berikh Hu u- Shekhinteh.) Any “Absolute” that is not sustained by the energy of conscious suffering within Time and Space is itself fated to fade away. (See what Gurdjieff says about the Absolute and merciless Heropass in All and Everything.) So, the Shekhinah wants and needs us here to sustain and feed her.
How we feed and sustain the Shekhinah is a matter of scale and proportion.Since most of us cannot even begin to comprehend the Shekhinah as Whole, we need to work with limited fractal models that on their own scale reflect the Totality and that means coming together on some level in the construction of a fractal Mishqan. But, regardless of the level or the scale, whether as embodied individual, family, tribe, nation, multi-national, or globally, within time and space the sacred struggles that feed and nourish the Shekhinah, the sacrificial efforts we must make to sustain holiness on the Earth and in the Universe—miLeCHeMot HaVaYaH— the “Lechem of Being,” Divine Bread—cannot be avoided. We must provide HER with food for HER sustenance.
And here is where the problem arises that the archetypal meta-Moshe addresses. The nourishing struggles we need to offer as Prasad, require of us discrimination and conscience. On the micro-Mishqan scale that means honestly acknowledging and addressing aspects of us that require refinement, however painful. From the perspective of the larger vehicles, more expansive forms of the macro-Mishqan, this same sense of justice and conscience has also to be refined and expressed. These “struggles” are unavoidable and essential for creating, spreading, and sustaining holiness on the Earth.
But here is the problem. While the conscious struggles rooted in conscience are not only required and quintessentially human, humanity on its own level cannot succeed in “bringing Mashiach,” the redeeming feature. The reason is that we have one quintessentially human flaw that makes even our best efforts as futile as Sysiphus. As long as this chief human feature is not recognized and transcended, regardless of how “right” we may be in our expression and perceptions of conscience and “justice,” we are bound to fail every time in our efforts to bring about whatever we may think is “right.” That fatal flaw is Schadenfreude, the pathological pleasure we humans experience in the face of someone else’s suffering. Unfortunately, this dubious pleasure greatly increases the more we think somebody “really deserves it.”
But no matter how terrible we may think someone else’s karma is, there is no one who is outside the reach of the All-Embracing outreach of the Thirteen Arms of the Shekhinah’s Pure Compassion (Thirteen Middot of Rachamim). This very teaching is explicit in the midrash that is repeated at every Passover Seder in the Haggadah that tells us how the Shekhinah rebuked the Israelites for celebrating the drowning of their former oppressors who died while pursuing the Israelites into the Reed Sea. (“My people are dying and you are cheering?!?!”) It is one thing to celebrate the unconditional good fortune of being the beneficiary of Divine Grace. But Schadenfreude completely undermines the merit of any such celebration and guarantees that we will “lose it” again regardless of how high a level we may have reached.
And that is why our sages teach us that when it comes to conflict and opposition, the only kind that provides sustainance for the Shekhinah is a machloqet le-shem shamayim: when we express our differences in support of Heaven’s interests. But differences cannot be expressed for Heaven’s interests as long as one is not rooted in the All-Embracing outreach of the Thirteen Arms of the Shekhinah’s Pure Compassion (Thirteen Middot of Rachamim) which exclude no one. As long as we hate someone and rejoice in their downfall, no matter how much we believe “they really deserve it,” we can know for certain that our struggle is not a machloqet le-shem shamayim and our “righteous” efforts will fail to provide sustainance for the Shekhinah.
The archetypal meta-Moshe who alone can put all the pieces together because “He” is rooted in unlimited compassion is the Divine Power calling on all of us to come together in the construction of every level of Mishqan that can feed the Shekinah by enabling holiness to move freely through all dimensions of time and space reaching everywhere, everything, and everyone.
May it be so. May it be so.
Shabbat shalom.
Received and faithfully transmitted by
Moshe Aharon
Ladyzhiner
Va-Yaqhel 5771
(The highest level is recognizing directly and clearly the absolutely limitless and all-encompassing energy of pure rachamim that is extended and includes all beings without exception. If one doesn’t attain this level of realization, regardless of how many high attainments and merits one gains for oneself, it will still be possible to “completely lose it” in some circumstance or another. Only the consciousness that is rooted in and permeated by all-encompassing rachamim can manifest critically as a machloqet le-shem shamayyim and thus have qiyyum.)
In Parshat Vayakhel the Children of Israel built the Tabernacle. The project demanded of Israel formidable helpings of both creative energy and generosity. In the punishing desert, the people were expected to furnish a marvelous array of gold, silver, bronze, linens, indigo, hides, oils, incense and precious stones.1 And from these gifts, they were to carve, spin, cut, rivet, embroider, weave and fashion the Sanctuary’s sacral architecture and furnishings.
That such an effort could be successfully undertaken in the desert was extraordinary enough. That it be executed by a mass of recently-freed slaves—who, while well-accustomed to hard labor, were untutored in skilled craft—is understood as nothing less than miraculous.2 This preternatural ingenuity is most plainly embodied in Bezalel, the man specially named by the Almighty to lead the construction efforts. A creative genius, Bezalel was “filled [ ] with a spirit of God in wisdom, in understanding, and in knowledge, and in every task.”3
The capstone of the Divine spirit that filled the accomplished craftsman was not, however, his mastery of goldsmithing or his way with joinery. It was, instead, his ability to teach others, as the parshah informs: God “has given in his heart to instruct [.]”4 Commentator Robert Alter notes the singular significance of this gift, observing that while Canaanite and Greek myth both venerated a “craftsman god; here, instead the Lord inspires a human being with the skill, or ‘wisdom’ of the craft as well as with the ability to administer the project.”5
It fell to Bezalel then to transform his fellow Israelites—these willing, but unable, manual laborers—into master craftsmen. To do so, he was surely endowed with those qualities so palpable in great teachers: He had to convey instruction plainly and engagingly, to demand excellence while exuding patience. And most critically, Bezalel needed to instill in his workmen-pupils a powerful sense of confidence that this awesome project was within their grasp.
Perhaps, then, this is the Tabernacle’s ultimate glory—that the process of its construction helped transform a mass of unskilled, uneducated slaves into a people that could make something awesome with its own hands. This was an effort that fashioned not only altar and laver, menorah and ephod—but dignity. It illuminated for people who were dependent on manna from heaven, water from a rock and protection from a cloud that God, in turn, relied upon them to build the Divine dwelling on earth. And it was Bezalel, with his gift of guidance, who shepherded the fledgling nation through this ennobling transformation.
In our times too, we can recognize the precious Bezalels who cultivate dignity and transform lives by imparting a skill, a trade—something of which to be proud. These are the people and organizations who know that teaching a man to fish does more than feed a person for a lifetime: It incubates a dignity that nurtures a different kind of sustenance.
One can see this dynamic unfolding in the work of organizations like Women for Women International (WFWI). WFWI helps women who have survived through conflict and violence to develop skills and resources that will enable them to live stable, self-sufficient lives. The core component of these programs is job training: From canning dates in Iraq to tailoring in Rwanda and gem-cutting in Afghanistan, WFWI’s efforts embolden marginalized women to become integral and powerful forces in their families, local communities and broader civil societies.6
Such a transformation is borne out, for instance, by those participating in WFWI’s training programs in Democratic Republic of Congo. While over 80 percent of these women report an improvement in their economic situations, even greater numbers report that they are now actively participating in key household decisions and have gained knowledge of their legal rights. Ninety percent of participants go on to train and mentor other community women using the skills they have acquired. In the words of Lucienne, a single mother of three who spent months as a sex-slave to rebel soldiers: “Joining the program has been a salvation…my life has changed and my children are healthy. I recovered confidence through the training.”7
It takes a special kind of focus, perseverance and patience to cultivate such transformational confidence. It is a role for which not even Moses Rabbeinu—“Our Teacher”—his nerves too often stripped by the nation of not-yet-transformed-slaves, seems to have been cut out. Today, God may not call out the names of those extraordinary people who labor and thrive in this challenging work as the Divine did for Bezalel.8 It is, instead, our duty to single them out for our admiration, and most of all, our support.
1 Exodus 35: 6-9.
2 See, for example, Nachmanides on Exodus 35:21.
3 Exodus 35: 30-31.
4 Exodus 35:34.
5 Alter, Robert. The Five Books of Moses. New York: W.W. Norton & Co., 2004. p. 517, fn. 34.
From Rav Kook
Vayakheil: The Dual Nature of the Tabernacle
An obvious question strikes anyone reading the portions of Vayakheil and Pekudei. Why did the Torah need to repeat all of the details of how the Tabernacle was built? All of these matters were already described at great length in Terumah and Tetzaveh, which record God’s command to build the Mishkan.
Command and Execution
Rav Kook frequently spoke of the divide between the path and the final goal. We tend to rush through our lives, chasing after goals – even worthwhile goals – with little regard for the path and the means. The path is seen as a stepping stone, of no importance in its own right.
With these two sets of Torah portions Terumah-Tetzaveh and Vayakheil-Pekudei, we observe a similar divide, between the command to build and the actual construction. This is the difference between study and action, between theory and practice.
Just as our world emphasizes goals at the expense of means, so too it stresses deed and accomplishment at the expense of thought and study. But a more insightful perspective finds a special significance in the path, in the abstract theory, in the initial command.
The Sages imparted a remarkable insight: “Great is Torah study, for it leads to action” (Kiddushin 40b). This statement teaches that Torah study – the theory, the path – is preferable to its apparent goal, mitzvah performance. Torah study lead us to good deeds; but it has an intrinsic worth above and beyond its value as a way to know how to act.
The Talmud discusses whether a blessing should be recited when constructing a sukkah booth. After all, the Torah commands us to build a sukkah – “The holiday of booths you shall make for yourselves” (Deut. 16:13). Nonetheless, the rabbis determined that no blessing is recited when building the sukkah, only when living in it during the Succoth holiday. Why not?
Maimonides explained that when there is a command to construct an object for the purpose of fulfilling a mitzvah, one only recites a blessing on the final, ultimate mitzvah (see Hilchot Berachot 11:8). Thus we do not recite a blessing when preparing tzitzit or when building a sukkah.
According to this line of reasoning, if Torah study were only a means to know how to keep mitzvot, no blessing would be recited over studying Torah. The fact that we do recite blessings over Torah study indicates that this study is a mitzvah in its own right, independent of its function as a preparation to fulfill other mitzvot.
These two aspects of Torah may be described as Divine influence traversing in opposite directions, like the angels in Jacob’s dream. The Torah’s fulfillment through practical mitzvot indicates a shefa that flows from above to below, the realization of God’s elevated will, ratzon Hashem, in the lower physical realm. The intrinsic value of Torah study, on the other hand, indicates spiritual movement in the opposite direction. It ascends from below to above – our intellectual activity without expression in the physical world, our Torah thoughts without practical application.
Dual Purpose
The repetition in the account of the Mishkan reflects this dichotomy. The two sets of Torah readings are divided between command and execution, study and deed.
And on a deeper level, the repetition expresses the dual function of the Mishkan. On the practical level, it was a central location for offering korbanot. The Mishkan served as a center dedicated to holy actions. But on the abstract, metaphysical level, the Mishkan was a focal point for God’s Presence, a dwelling place for His Shekhinah. “They shall make for Me a Temple, and I will dwell (ve-shekhanti) among them” (Ex. 25:8).
Like the converse influences of Torah, one descending and one ascending, each of the Tabernacle’s functions indicated an opposite direction. Its construction, the dedication of physical materials and talents to holy purposes, and the offering of korbanot to God, flowed upwards – an ascent from the physical world below to the heavens above. The indwelling of the Shekhinah, on the other hand, was a descending phenomenon from above to below, as God’s Divine Presence resided in the physical universe.
(Adapted from Shemuot HaRe’iyah, Vayakheil-Pekudei (1931))
While Aaron is at the foot of Mount Sinai making a golden calf, Moses is on top of the mountain receiving divine instruc-tions for making the sanctuary God wants. In last week’s Torah portion, Moses descends and destroys the calf and the people who worshiped it. In this week’s Torah portion, Vayakheil (“And he assembled”), Moses calls together the surviving people and gives them God’s instructions for making the sanctuary. These include God’s description of the lamp-stand (menorah), and God’s choice of Betzaleil as the master craftsman.
Moses said to the children of Israel: See, God has called by name Betzaleil … He (God) filled him with a spirit of God in wisdom, in understanding, and in knowledge, and in every creative skill. (Exodus/Shemot 35:30-31)
chochmah = wisdom, knowledge of a craft, thinking in terms of unity
tevunah = understanding, discernment, insight, thinking in terms of distinctions
da-at = knowledge, direct knowledge (either sensory or intuitive)
He (Betzaleil) made the lamp-stand of pure gold … He make its seven lamps and its tongs and its fire-pans of pure gold. (Exodus/Shemot 37:17, 23)
The last time I wrote about the gold lamp-stand, in my blog on January 30 on Terumah: Waking Up, I focused on why God tells Moses to make the lamp-stand like an almond tree. Now it’s time to ask why it has seven lamps.
Of course there are many theories. One is that the seven lamps stand for the seven days of creation at the beginning of the Torah. The seventh day is the sabbath/Shabbat, when God rested from the creative work. At the beginning of this week’s Torah portion, Moses first tells the people to do their own creative work (malachah) on six days, but make the seventh day holy through a complete rest for God. Only after reminding them about this rule does Moses begin to describe how they will create a sanctuary for God.
If the seven lamps reflect the seven days of creation, we also need to look at the master craftsman who creates them: Betzaleil. Classic commentaries (from the 5th-century Tanchuma on) say that Moses could not visualize the lamp-stand from God’s original description. But Betzaleil could.
What gave him this ability? The Torah says God filled Betzaleil with chochmah, tevunah, and da-at. In Kabbalah, chochmah/wisdom, binah/discernment (from the same root as tevunah), and da-at/knowledge are three of the ten sefirot (divine powers; facets of God’s emanation, which creates the universe). Chochmah, binah, and da-at are the three highest sefirot accessible to human beings, containing the most divine energy.
Once I noticed that God fills Betzaleil with the top three sefirot, I looked for the other seven. And since divine emanation is so often symbolized by light, I thought of the seven lamps in a row across the top of the golden lamp-stand.
It’s not easy to decide which of the seven lower sefirah corresponds to which lamp. I’d say that the three lamps closer to the Holy of Holies containing the ark represent the middle triad of sefirot: chessed/kindness, gevurah/discipline, and tiferet/harmony. The three lamps on the other side, closer to the entrance and the altar for animal sacrifices, would represent the lower triad of sefirot: netzchak/endurance, hod/beauty in physical movement, and yesod/ego. That leaves the middle lamp for malchut/kingdom, also called shechinah. Shechinah is the place of divine emanation of our whole physical universe, and the spirit of God in our universe. And the shechinah comes closest to us on the seventh day, the sabbath/Shabbat!
Still, speculations about specific correspondences between lamps and sefirot are not as important as the idea that God’s blueprint for the lamp-stand calls for not one lamp, but seven. The orthodox 19th-century Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch noted that a single lamp would imply a one-sided spirit of service. Seven lamps imply that the spirits of those who serve God must have many different aspects.
Betzaleil, the master craftsman, was filled with not one but three different aspects of the divine, three different sefirot: wisdom, understanding, and knowledge. And in the same verse, the Torah says God filled him with ruach Elohim, which means a spirit of God … or a spirit of gods, in the plural. Elohim is the word for God that appears first in the story of creation; but some Kabbalists believe the unknowable God created the universe through “gods”, through various divine powers emanating from the One God; in other words, through the sefirot.
Reading about the lamp-stand in the sanctuary can remind us that we serve God by lighting all the lamps of our spirits. We can move toward holiness—and spread enlightenment—through discipline as well as through loving-kindness, through individual egos as well as through harmony.
First holiness of time
keep the Sabbath
then subdue the space
build the sanctuary.
And everyone who excelled in ability
and everyone whose spirit moved
came, bringing to God an offering
terumah
for the work of the Tent of Meeting
and for all its service. [Ex.35:21]
Terumah –
what is lifted up
if we are lifted up
every gift is good –
there will be plenty of money
maybe too much.
There can be too much money.
Here
at the beginning of the enterprise
we brought too much money.
The stuff we had was sufficient [Ex.36:7]
and our teacher asked us not to bring any more.
There is always the temptation
even when doing the holy work
to bring too much stuff.
Enough, our teacher said,
enough stuff
– bring your bones.
jsg, usa
O holy Shabbes Inspiration Vayakhel
Maqam Hoseini
D [1/2] E-flat [1] F [1] G
Each Shabbes is associated with a maqam
Cognate maqom
Signifying Place.
This week’s Torah reading opens with Moshe/Moses gathering together the entire community and instructing them regarding the building of the Mishkan/Temple.
The reading begins with the words “Moshe gathered the whole community… to assemble, and said… These are the things that Hashem commanded to make…Six days work may be done, but on the seventh day (Shabbas) you shall have sanctity (rest from work).” Moshe continues regarding the offerings that were given to build the Mishkan/ Temple in the desert; “every generous hearted person shall bring …gold, silver, and copper.” (35:1;5)
Moshe has already received the detailed instructions as to the building of the mishkan. Now he assembles the whole community to relay to them the building plans for the mishkan. Before he begins the construction details however, he first tells the entire assemble about the day of Shabbos.
Creation begins with work, “six days” and concludes with Shabbos, rest. Adam and Eve however, were created on the cusp of Shabbos, and their reality began with Shabbos and continued with the work week.
Moshe is imparting a deep and lasting truth to the assembled people.
Before we can go out into the world and create, we must first come from a place of Shabbos.
The place of Shabbos is a state of ‘being’ versus a state of ‘doing.’ An oasis in time, wherein we can simply exist, revealing our innermost expression of self, unrelated to our work week titles and job descriptions. A time in which we identify ourselves by our essence, rather than external expressions or labels.
The building of the Mishkan represents the work that we do throughout the week. The creation of the mishkan required participation, individuality and creativity. The final structure was a result of the collective creative output of the nation – every capable man and woman participating in its creation.
In our state of ‘doing’, expressing our individual creativity and prowess, we risk arrogance – perhaps feeling that ‘my work is more important than yours’, or worse still – ‘I am better than you.’
So before Moshe relays to them the instructions of building the Mishkan he “gathers together the entire community” and “assembles” them. The gathering together is symbolic, as Moshe is teaching them about unity within a group, about how when they are gathered together they are all equal.
In work, in doing, in producing, in creativity we are all different, everyone has something unique to contribute, and one person may “do” better than another. Yet, in ‘non-doing,’ in resting, in being, we recognize that at our essence we are equal.
This then is the lesson that Moshe imparts. The foundation of our ‘doing’, of building a Mishkan, of carving our own space in this world, should be founded on the principle of Shabbos, the equalizing state of our ‘beingness.’
Our Doing must come from our place of Being.
What we do, and create, should be founded on who we are.
And who are we?
We are all, at our very essence, a spark of the Infinite Divine Oneness
This awareness ensures that all the wonderful and amazing things that we will accomplish in our Doing, will be deeply rooted in our awareness of our essential self, the Divine spark that enlivens each and every one of us.
The Energy of the Week:
Doing from a place of BeingThis week’s Torah reading imbues us with the energy of Beingness, even as we create and express our individuality in a myriad of ways.
We take the energy of Shabbos, of just ‘Being’ and draw it into our life’s work.
We recognize ourselves as being part of an equal collective – and within that group, having our own unique abilities and life path. Therefore contributing to our utmost capabilities and still remaining rooted and humble in our essential self.
As we move into the ‘doing’ reality this week, we take the life force of Shabbos with us – imbuing all our accomplishments with a deep sense of our true self, where our doing is rooted in our being.
These are the four additional Torah readings of the last few weeks, that read in preparation for the establishment of the Mishkan and the holiday of Pessach. The names and the content of these four ‘parshiot’ provide us with much guidance for returning to the home of our souls.
The Mishkan is called Mishkan haEydut – the Mishkan of Testimony. Rashi explains:
The Mishkan of Testimony: So-called because it bears witness for Yisrael that G-d pardoned them for the deed of the [Golden] Calf, for [through the Mishkan] He rested His Shechinah among them.
Tragically our Beit Hamikdash has been lying in ruin for close to 2000 years. We hardly have a sense of what life was like and would be like with the Shechinah’s presence in our midst. It is our deepest yearning, we pray for it three times a day: “Return in mercy to Yerushalayim Your city and dwell therein as You have promised.” (the daily Amiddah)
We also strive for the rebuilding of Hashem’s dwelling place as we are commanded: “And they shall make for Me a Mishkan and I shall dwell in their midst.” As we have learned on numerous occasions, this is both a communal and personal command. Each one of us individually is commanded to transform our beings into a dwelling place for the holy Shechinah.
Parshat Shkalim teaches us to contribute generously to the Mishkan [as we have learned in the last few weeks]. All contributions of material goods were to be made with a ‘generous heart’ – Hashem desires contributions of the heart; He desires our hearts.
The word ‘shkalim’ is the plural form of ‘shekel’ – a coin consisting of a certain weight of silver. In the infinitive ‘lishkol’ is to weigh; to take. The first step in making a contribution toward the building of Hashem’s dwelling place is to weigh, to consider what we are about to do, why we wish to do it and how best to do it. Consider whether our actions are nourishing or starving our souls. Consider the soul’s loneliness and its yearning for union with Hashem. May we be compassionate and generously nourish our souls.
Parshat Zachor teaches us to beware of being affected by the evil dangers of Amalek – the dangers of doubting the worthiness of our good deeds and of serving Hashem in a cold manner. We must do every mitzvah with love and passion and even when we don’t manage to do so, we must believe and completely trust that every one of our ‘contributions’, even the smallest of contributions is worthy and valuable.
Parshat Parah teaches us that in order to enter Hashem’s dwelling place we must be tahor – purified of anger, of the anger of death. The Talmud teaches when one wants to be tahor he is given help from heaven. Hashem desires and is waiting to help us live true life. We must first ‘come forward’ to be purified and then Hashem will purify us.
Parshat Hachodesh teaches the importance of renewal. Reb Shlomo zt”l taught that a ‘neshamah person’ is always new. King David, concludes the Book of Psalms with this verse: “Let every ‘neshamah’ – soul, praise the LORD. Hallelujah! (Tehillim 150:6) The Rabbis explained the verse as follows: praise Hashem for every single breath. The word ‘neshamah’- soul, is the same word as ‘neshimah’- breath. A healthy living person breathes and doesn’t stop breathing, he doesn’t say “I already took a breath, why do I need another one?” At every moment Hashem is breathing new life into our nostrils; and we in turn must be fresh and new at all times, even when doing a mitzvah for the hundredth or thousandth time we must strive to do it as if this is the very first time.
Wendy
Before this blog, I had a difficult time relating to the description of the Mishkan. Now I am entranced by the images and the teachings in this part of the Torah.
One image that stands out for me is from Rabbi Jill Hammer. In the Jewish Book of Days she says that the tribe associated with the month of Adar is the tribe of Naftali. Adar is when we read about the building of the Mishkan. Reb Jill says that the Midrash, Exodus Rabbah 94:8, says that the tribe of Naftali wove the the curtains of the Mishkan. This part of the Torah is about community building. I imagine the tribe of Naftali, most likely the women, (see Rav Kook’s teaching) weaving the threads of the sacred curtains representing the threads of all of us, our appearances, temperments, and contributions to make the cloth of community.
There is an interesting tradition about the beautiful tapestries covering the Tabernacle. The Tabernacle covering was comprised of ten large tapestries, with patterns of cherubs woven into them. These colorful tapestries were sewn together in two sets of five. The two sections were then fastened together with fifty gold fasteners.
We know that the structure of the Tabernacle corresponded to the entire universe. What did these metal fasteners represent?
Like the Stars
The Talmud (Shabbat 99a) tells us that from inside the Tabernacle, the gold fasteners would sparkle against the background of the rich tapestries like stars twinkling in the sky.
This analogy of fasteners to the stars requires further examination. Stars and constellations represent powerful natural forces in the universe, influencing and controlling our world. “Good are the luminaries that our God has created … He granted them strength and power, to be dominant within the world.” (from the Sabbath morning prayers)
The Tabernacle fasteners, however, indicate another function of the stars.
The function of the fasteners was to hold the tapestries together. In fact, they emphasized the overall unity of the Tabernacle. By securing the two sets of tapestries together, they would “make the tabernacle one” (Ex. 36:13).
Holding the Universe Together
In general, the design of the Tabernacle reflected the structure of the universe and its underlying unity. For example, the tabernacle building consisted of wooden beams with pegs that slid into silver sockets (the adanim). The precise interlocking of the Tabernacle’s supporting base of adanim with the upright beams emphasized the synchronization of the universe’s foundations with the diversified forces and mechanisms that regulate and develop the world. Insight into this tightly-bound relationship allows us to recognize that everything is the work of the Creator, Who unites all aspects of creation in His sublime Oneness.
For all of their grandeur and apparent autonomy, the true function of the stars is to act like the Tabernacle fasteners. They hold together the great canopy of the cosmos, in accordance with the Divine plan of creation. Like the sparkling fasteners, the stars “are filled with luster and radiate brightness” on their own accord. Yet their true function is to bind together the forces of the world, making the universe one.
Two spun coverings stretched out across the roof of the Tabernacle (Mishkan). The inner covering was a beautiful work of fine linen and wool dyed indigo, purple, crimson. The outer covering, on the other hand, was a simpler affair, made solely of goat-wool. One might think that the magnificent inner covering was the greater of the two. Yet the Talmud points out that the outer wool covering required greater wisdom to make. How do we know this?
The Torah describes the women involved in spinning the multi- colored covering as being ‘wise-hearted.’ Regarding the simpler, outer covering, on the other hand, the Torah indicates that the women utilized a special, sublime wisdom: “the women whose heart uplifted them in wisdom …” (Ex. 35:25).
What was this special wisdom? According to the Talmud, the wool was washed and spun — while it was still on the goats (Shabbat 99).
Two Forms of Wisdom
The details of the Tabernacle construction correspond to the configuration of the universe — physically, and especially spiritually. The Sages compared the building of the Mishkan to the creation of heaven and earth.
Rav Kook explained that these two Tabernacle coverings relate to two separate layers of sublime wisdom, the basis for spiritual light and holiness in the world. The first form of wisdom is abstract and general in nature; the second is practical and detailed. The abstract wisdom shines brilliantly with the multiple facets of the intellect and the varied hues of the imagination. This general wisdom deals with inner, sublime matters, and thus corresponds with the colorful, inner covering.
The practical wisdom, on the other hand, would appear to be a simpler matter, serving primarily to protect and guard the abstract concepts of the inner, hidden wisdom. But in truth, the wisdom of practical application of abstract principles is deep and rare. While spiritual abstractions may be revealed through normal prophecy and divine inspiration, the eternal Torah of deeds and mitzvot was revealed to the world only by means of Moses’ unique prophetic vision.
“The women whose heart uplifted them in wisdom.” These women were gifted with the innermost wisdom. By virtue of its profound depth, they were able to elevate the entire heart, all of life, all senses and emotions, all actions and all deeds. Their wisdom reached the level of “they spun (on) the goats.” Even the most mischievous, base forms of life — as represented by the goat — were bound and tied to the supernal light of eternity.
“Moses told the Israelites: ‘God has selected Betzalel … and has filled him with a divine spirit of wisdom, insight and knowledge in all craftsmanship.'” (Ex. 35:30-31)
What exactly were these gifts of wisdom, insight and knowledge that God bestowed to Betzalel? The Sages wrote that the master craftsman knew the very secrets of creation. Betzalel knew how to “combine the letters with which the heavens and the earth were created,” and used this esoteric knowledge to build the Tabernacle (Berachot 55a).
We find that King Solomon mentioned the very same three qualities when describing the creation of the universe:
“God founded the earth in wisdom ; He established the heavens in insight. With His knowledge the depths opened, and the skies dripped dew.” (Proverbs 3:4)
What is the difference between wisdom, insight, and knowledge? How do they apply both to the Creator and to the artist?
Chochmah, Binah and Da’at
Wisdom (chochmah) is needed for designing the basic structure. In the creation of the world, this refers to the laws of nature governing the universe and guaranteeing its continued existence. The amazing balance of natural forces, the finely-tuned ecosystem of life — this is the underlying wisdom of creation. In art, chochmah fulfills a similar function, determining the work’s underlying structure. Using wisdom, the artist decides on the overall composition, the balance of light and shade, color and perspective, and so on.
Insight (binah) refers to the future vision or final purpose. The Hebrew word binah is related to the word ‘to build’ (“boneh”). The emphasis is not on the current reality, but on the process of gradually building and progressing towards the final, complete form. Therefore, King Solomon ascribed chochmah to forming the earth, and binah to establishing the heavens. The foundation of the earth — its current physical structure — is based on wisdom. Insight, on the other hand, corresponds to the heavens, the spiritual content that indicates the final form.
What is binah with regard to art? The spiritual aspect of art is the interest and wonderment that a master artist can awaken through his work. Betzalel was able to imbue the Tabernacle with a magnificent splendor, thus inspiring the observer with a profound sense of reverence and holiness. The sacred beauty of his work elevated the emotions to a majestic image of God’s grandeur.
The third attribute, Knowledge (da’at), refers to thorough attention to all details. “With His knowledge … the skies dripped dew.” The rain and dew were created with da’at. They sustain every plant, every blade of grass, every creature. God created the universe not only with its fundamental laws of nature (chochmah) and spiritual direction (binah), but also with meticulous care for all its myriad details — da’at.
Attention towards details is similarly important in art. The artist should make sure that the finest details match the overall composition and heighten the work’s emotional impact.
Betzalel knew the letters of Creation — he knew the secret wisdom used to create the universe. With his gifts of chochmah, binah and da’at, Betzalel was able to ensure perfection in the Tabernacle’s structure, vision and details. His exquisite Tabernacle became a suitable vessel to contain God’s Holy Presence, completing the sanctity of Israel by enabling their special closeness to God.
This week we read the last two parshiot of ‘sefer Shmot’, the book of Exodus. In addition we have an additional reading for ‘Parshat Hachodesh’, from Exodus chap. 12. “This month shall be for you the beginning of all months, it is the first of the months of the year”.
The themes of Parshat Vayakheyl and parshat Pekudei are Unity and the preciousness of every Jewish soul. Three weeks ago we first learned about the commandment to build the Mishkan, a dwelling place for Hashem in our midst. The instructions for the construction of the Miskan and all its objects and vessels were taught in great detail. Instead of the torah telling us simply that the Children Of Israel did as Hashem commanded them to do, we find in these two parshiot, Vayakheyl and Pekudei a very detailed accounting of all the contributions that were collected, how much gold was used for this and how much silver for that etc. and exactly how each item was made and by whom.
We know that the Torah is very conservative with its use of language and does not waste a single word or even a single letter so everyone is asking why all the repetition? The Lubavitcher Rebbe zt”l explains that the detailed repetition indicates that every contribution, large or small, and every bit of work that went into the construction of the Mishkan was so much appreciated and loved by Hashem.
The name of the last parsha of sefer Shemot is Pekudei. “Eileh Pe’kudei ha’mishkan” – the accounting of all the donations received and used in the making of the Mishkan. Each part of the Mishkan is accounted for. Each contribution was noted, respected and valued. Every half-shekel, even the smallest button and peg, was noted and significant. The Shechinah would dwell only in a complete and unified Mishkan.
Let us take a look at the word “Pekudei”. The letters ‘pei’ – ‘kuf’ – ‘da-led’ are the root of this word. Hebrew, or as we call it ‘LASHON HAKODESH’ is a most beautiful language, and this one root, [like many others], provides us with many words of different but related meanings, each providing a deeper understanding of the other. Here are some of the uses of this verb:
LIFKOD [inf.]: to remember’; to count; to appoint; to order [to command]; to remember; to notice the absence of.
In other words the very name of the parsha- Pekudei teaches us that each contribution consisted of both a worldly dimension as well as a spiritual dimension – the generosity of the heart, the effort it took to make the contribution and the ‘kavanah’- intention of the contributor – all these were noted dearly by Hashem.
The Mishkan:
A physical and spiritual guided tour for serving Hashem
The Lubavithcher Rebbe zt”l always emphasized, that we are to learn a practical lesson in serving Hashem from everything found in the Torah. What can we learn from the Mishkan and its objects? [The following lesson is taken from the Rebbe’s notes on the parsha entitled “The Mishkan and the dedication of the Mishkan” 2 Nissan 1937, Paris.]
When one leaves the ‘public domain’ and enters the Mishkan, he first finds himself in the ‘courtyard’ of the Mishkan. The holy vessels that were placed in the courtyard were the laver and the copper Altar. Further inside was the “Ohel Mo’ed” – the Tent of Meeting, which consisted of two sections separated by a curtain: the “kodesh” and the “kodesh hakodoshim” – the ‘holy’ and the ‘holy of holies”. Inside the “Kodesh” there were three objects: the Incense Altar, the Shulchan of the Showbread and the Menorah. In the “inside of the inside” in the Holy of Holies there was the Aron Hakodesh and the Tablets of the Covenant.
The Rebbe explained that when a person wants to enter into the Sanctuary and he wants to be sanctified within Hashem’s holiness, he first has to wash and cleanse his hands and feet of the ‘dirt’ that attached itself to him as he was involved in the worldly matters of the public domain. The waters of the ‘kior’-laver are known as the ‘waters of tshuvah’ [Targum Yonatan ben Uziel]. On the inside every Jewish neshamah is pure and good, the worldly dirt that attaches itself to us can be removed with the washing of the hands and feet with the waters of tshuvah.
After the washing at the laver, the next object encountered in the courtyard is the Altar upon which the daily sacrifices were offered. When one enters into the domain of the holy, he is obligated to “slaughter” the animal; that is his “animal soul”. To “slaughter”, the Rabbis z”l explain, means to “draw”. The animal soul is to be drawn to the Altar – meaning that the ‘animal soul’ should be drawn to desire only that which is holy.
Then the fats and the blood were burnt on the Altar. The fats represent the delight and pleasure of the animal soul. The blood represents the passion and heat of the animal soul. The intention in burning these on the Altar is that delight, pleasure and passion should all be directed to the holy. When this is done, one can then engage in worldly mundane matters without getting overly involved in them.
The Altar itself which was made of copper on the outside and filled with earth on the inside teaches us that in order to offer the fats and the blood up to Hashem, we need to make use of two contradictory character traits. Toward the outside we need to be strong and shielded like copper; we need to be impervious to the scoffing that is hurled at the observant, and not to feel ashamed in the practice of mitzvot. At the same time we need to be simple dirt on the inside – to be humble before every person. As we say in our daily prayers, “let my soul be like dust to all.”
After completing the above preparatory services, one can then enter into the “kodesh” – the first section of the Tent of Meeting, to get involved with “tikkun haolam” – the fixing of the world. In the language of the Kabbalah this is the service of selecting the good from the dross. This work is done on two tracks- represented by the Shulchan and by the Menorah. There are those whose primary service in Tikkun Olam pertains to the Shulchan – involvement with the proper use of wealth, particularly in matters of tzedakkah and gemilut chassadim- acts of loving kindness. And there are those whose primary Tikkun Olam service is the service of the Menorah – the service of true Torah scholarship.
However in order to truly and practically engage in either of these two tracks of Tikkun Olam one must first enter into the holy words of prayer – to first connect with Hashem. The Incense Altar represents the service of prayer and thus it was the first object encountered inside the “kodesh”. Neither involvement with the mundane, nor involvement in the study of Torah can be done properly and effectively without first engaging in devout prayer.
The ultimate destination of all the above is to enter into the Kodesh Hakodoshim – the Holy of Holies; to enter into complete unification and bonding with Hashem. This is achieved through the study of ‘pnimiut haTorah” – the inner dimensions of the Torah, represented by the ‘two tablets of the Covenant’ which could be read from all sides [thus they had no ‘out-side’]. Pnimiut HaTorah opens us up to bonding and relating with Hashem on the deepest of levels. Through this bonding we can find and achieve “dveikut” in all aspects of the service of Hashem. The ‘sefer Torah’ which was inside the Aron haKodesh along with the actual tablets – “shnei luchot habris” represents finding our deep bonds with Hashem in His revealed Torah. This capability is acquired through the study of ‘pnimiut haTorah’.
Shabbos Parshat Hachodesh
This Shabbos is known as Shabbos Hachodesh, since we will have an additional reading from Shemos [Exodus] chapter 12, serving as a reminder to get ready for the holiday of Pesach.
In this passage we are given the first mitzvah that we ever received as a nation. this is the mitzvah of “Kiddush Hachodesh” – the sanctification of the new moon, the establishment of the month of Nissan as the first month of the year, as well as the commandments concerning the ‘korban Pesach’ and Pesach, all in preparation for ‘yetziat Mitzrayim’, the exodus from Egypt.
In each generation, each year, each day and each moment we are to see ourselves as having been liberated from Mitzrayim/Egypt. The reading of parshas Hachodesh is a heavenly reminder to get ready to be free, for in just a few more days we are all invited to sit at Hashem’s Seder table. It is also a divine gift and infusion of hope and faith, a heavenly inspiration to reassure us that we can and that we truly want to be free, that we can and we truly want to sit at Hashem’s table.
From Mt. Sinai to the Golden Calf to the Mishkan
Parshat Vayakheyl follows right after the story of the ‘golden calf’. As a result of having committed such a transgression a mere forty days after receiving the Torah at Mt. Sinai, we were quite demoralized and we lost our self-confidence in our ability to return to and be close to Hashem once again.
The parsha begins as follows:
“And Moshe gathered the children of Israel and said to them, “these are the things that Hashem has commanded, to do them. Six days [a week] work shall be done, but the seventh day must be holy to you, it is a Shabbos of Shabbos to Hashem…” Moshe said to the entire congreagation of B’nai Yisrael, saying, “This is the word that Hashem has commanded: Take from your possessions a ‘t’rumah’ to Hashem.” Sh’mot 35: 1-5
We wonder why Moshe gathered us together; after all we do not find that Hashem told him to do this? And why did he choose to speak to us about Shabbos and about the building of the sanctuary, again without having been instructed to do so by Hashem!
I heard this teaching from Reb Shlomo zt”l, in the name of the Ishbitzer Rebbe zt”l. The Ishbitzer Rebbe teaches that Moshe Rabbeinu gathered us together to explain to us how it came about that we made a golden calf, to comfort us in spite of our doing so, and to tell us what we needed to know to prevent a recurrence. We are told by Moshe Rabbeinu that we made the golden calf because we did not maintain our unity! Before receiving the holy Torah at Har Sinai, we were united “as one person with one heart”. Tragically this lasted for only forty days. By making the golden calf we had caused the Shechinah to retreat from amongst us. But how did our fragmentation come about?
To convey the importance and necessity of our re-uniting Moshe Rabbeinu did not this time transmit his teachings in the usual manner, via the Kohanim and the Seventy Elders. Instead, he gathered all of us together and spoke to us in community, to realistically convey that first and foremost we must be united; to be “as one person, with one heart”.
Moshe Rabbeinu then speaks to us about the holiness of Shabbos and about the holy Mishkan sanctuary. We need to understand why Moshe Rabbeinu talks to us about these two matters in particular?
How do we restore our unity? How can we regain our self-confidence, our ‘azzut d’kedusha’ holy chutzpah, to not give up? What is the source of our unity?
Moshe Rabbeinu speaks to us, teaching us that the holy Shabbos is the source of our unity. Hakadosh Baruch Hu wants to have a dwelling place here in the lowest of worlds and He gave us the task to prepare the vessel to receive the Shechinah. Moshe Rabbeinu further teaches that if we want to build a holy sanctuary for Hashem we can do so only if we are truly united, only then will the Shechinah dwell in it.
The Ishbitzer Rebbe continues to explain; one of the miracles that occurred in the building of the Mishkan was that although hundreds of people were involved in its construction, when it was completed it looked as if it had been made by one person. The Mishkan possessed an inherent unity. This was possible because miraculously all the craftspeople were inspired with a spirit of unity to work in unison and that is what made it so special and holy. By keeping Shabbos holy we are inspired by its unity, for Shabbos is the unity that permeates each one of us and allows us to be in harmony with each other.
When we are united, when we really care about one another the Shechinah dwells amongst us, and no one even desires to make any kind of golden calf. But if we are divided we [can] become idolatrous and make idols, i.e. we deify and worship division. The idols we make and idolatrous worship then divide us even further. But when we unite, when we live ‘in Shabbos’, Hashem joins us and dwells among us.
There is a ‘natural’ truth: the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. The vessel is greater than all its bits of clay. Then there is the additional aspect of what fills the vessel. When the Jewish people unite, the vessel of “Knesset Yisrael” – the community of Israel – is formed and then the holy Shechinah dwells in it. We are obligated not only to believe that Hashem is one, we are obligated to live Hashem’s oneness and to draw His oneness into all aspects of our lives.
When we say the Shma Yisrael, we put our hand over our eyes and close them in order to better focus on the words “Hear O Israel, Hashem is our G-d, Hashem is One”. Then when we open our eyes we have to see that Hashem is One, that everyone and everything we see and don’t see, is all part of Hashem’s oneness. The truth of this concept will be fully appreciated only when Moshiach comes.
“V’atem tee-h-you lee mamlechet kohanim v’goy kadosh”. Sh’mot 19. We are commanded to be a ‘kingdom of kohanim and a holy nation’. In Vayikra Chap. 19, Hashem tells Moshe Rabbeinu to gather everyone together in order to tell the people of Israel “kedoshim tee-h-you” you shall be holy. The commentators explain that here too we all gathered together because everyone had to be there to personally hear this mitzvah that calls upon us to live a life of holiness. Many people believe that being holy and living in a holy way is possible only for a few select individuals in each generation. However the truth is that every one of us can live a life of ‘kedushah’ holiness. That is why everyone had to hear this mitzvah personally.
The Hemek Davar offers an additional explanation; the reason that everyone of us had to be present to hear this mitzvah together is that we were thereby being informed that kedushah-holiness can be found only in togetherness and unity. No matter how scrupulously you observe the mitzvot, no matter with how much ‘kavanah’ holy intention and focus you perform your mitzvot, you can be connected to holiness only if there is a real place for every Jew in your heart and soul.
As we have learned in the past that if a Sefer Torah is missing even one letter, or if one letter is damaged, the whole Sefer Torah is not kosher and may not be read from in public, becaused as explained in Chassidut, each letter represents a neshamah, and if one letter is missing, it is as if that neshamah is missing, chas v’shalom from this sefer Torah
The same is true about the Mishkan. Reb Shlomo ztz”l used to emphasize the teaching that if even only one tiny peg was missing in the Mishkan, then the Shechinah would not dwell in it. The Mishkan was constructed with the t’rumot contributions of every ‘nediv leyv’, everyone contributed generously, and when everyone’s ‘generosity of the heart’ was brought together, the Dwelling Place of the Shechinah was created.
“Olam chessed yiboneh”, the world was built with the attribute of chessed, kindness. Creation is an act of ‘chessed’. The building of the Mishkan was a re-creation of Bereishis, the creation of the world. Just as Hashem created the world with chessed, we too can create the home for Hashem, the Mishkan, only through our acts of chessed, generosity of the heart. Hashem, the One, created the many; we the many have to bring it all together to create the home for the One.
I once saw a teaching that ‘Chessed’ has the ‘gimatria’- numeric value- of 72, which equals 4×18. 18 is “chai”, representing life. 4×18=72, represents the life vitality which comes through each of the four letters of Hashem’s Name… ‘Yud’- ‘Hey’ – ‘Vav’ – ‘Hey’. All together 72 = ‘chessed’ [‘Chet’=8 + ‘Samech’=60 + Daled= 4 = total 72. By doing acts of loving kindness we merit to bring divine life energy into the world.
I was visiting with Rashi the poet on a hillside in eastern France, it was still winter. Snow on the ground. We were sitting on bales in a circle as the sun began to set.
Rashi opened with the first verse of the portion, And Moses assembled the entire assembly of the children of Israel. When? Rashi asked. Rashi’s daughter (I think her name was Miriam) was speaking in quiet tones from behind a screen to her father. My daughter reminds me, Rashi used a word in medieval French for reminds, that Moses assembled the community the day after Yom Kippur, when he came down from the mountain. What’s the significance of the day? Rashi asked us.
It was getting dark so Rashi lit some candles. He also gave us grapes about then, they were translucent dark, blue black, almost lapis. I had never seen such grapes. Rashi continued, the Mishkan (Sanctuary) is the symbol of forgiveness, God’s gift to Israel signifying that the sin of the golden calf had been forgiven. This Torah, this Mishkan — these gifts from God all signify forgiveness.
There was whispering all around. It’s about forgiveness, isn’t it? said the one sitting to my left. We ate more grapes.
It’s all about forgiveness, said Rashi’s daughter.
We all asked for God’s purifying forgiveness as we prepared ourselves for our liberation saga, this being the last of four special Shabbes portions before the month of Pesach, our freedom story.
Soon we will mark the beginning of our freedom saga, of this we were all aware. There is a long way to go, we have come so far already.
By this time it was dark. The candles had burned down. There were no candles left. Rashi asked me to get some icicles from across the field. I brought back four or five icicles, Rashi put them in the candle holders, it them, and we continued learning.
Rashi said, the first light, created day one, was specially created, the light that sustains but it was hidden away for the future. The future, said Rashi, we will have to be cautious, he was looking at his daughter.
As he spoke I saw him gather the light with his hands, like he was moving the air around above the flames, as if he was gathering light into his arms.
From Rabbi Rachel Barenblat
A home for God among us (Radical Torah repost)
Here’s the d’var Torah I wrote in 2007 for this week’s portion, originally published at Radical Torah.
Parashat Vayekhel-Pekudei: the end of the book of Exodus, and — after much prelude — the actual construction of the mishkan, the home for God’s presence among the community.
And everyone who excelled in ability and everyone whose spirit moved him came, bringing to the Lord his offering for the work of the Tent of Meeting and for all its service and for the sacral vestments. Men and women, all whose hearts moved them, all who would make an elevation offering of gold to the Lord, came bringing brooches, earrings, rings, and pendants — gold objects of all kinds. And everyone who had in his possession blue, purple, and crimson yarns, fine linen, goats’ hair, tanned ram skins, and dolphin skins, brought them; everyone who would make gifts of silver or copper brought them as gifts for the Lord; and everyone who had in his possession acacia wood for any work of the service brought that. And all the skilled women spun with their own hands, and brought what they had spun, in blue, purple, and crimson yarns, and in fine linen…
What I love about this passage, this rich and detailed description of a construction project I can hardly imagine, is how grassroots it sounds. This isn’t some decreed-from-above, top-down, serfs-laboring kind of process; this is everyone with a talent bringing that talent to bear on the work at hand. This is everyone in the community donating what they’ve got, whether it’s gold or fine linen or soft leather. This is a veritable barn-raising, folks. Except that in a traditional barn-raising, the community comes together to build a structure for one of its members; here in our story, the community comes together to build a structure which will be inhabited not by any individual or family, but by the presence of God.
As a contemporary feminist reader of this text, I find much to savor in this passage. Here, women’s contributions are valued and honored alongside the contributions of men. And, notably, women contribute in at least two different ways. Both women and men make elevation offerings of gold to God, and women are specifically commended for their skilled weaving-work. In other words, women contribute to the building of the mishkan both on a fiscal level, and on a creative level. They give physical items of value, as well as the spiritually-valuable work of their hands and hearts.
People bring every kind of beautiful thing they had. Cloth and leather, polished wood and precious stones. On a metaphorical level, I imagine, people bring every kind of temperament and creative skill to the process. Those who are even-keeled bring their serenity; those who are hot-headed bring their fire. Woodworkers and weavers, careful introverts and spontaneous extroverts, bring what they have, and who they are, to this work — work which, the text notes, is fueled by the entire community, each person giving as she or he feels called.
In this week’s part of our story, the Israelites take every opportunity to be generous, and that generosity transforms them. The craftsmen Bezalel and Oholiab, and “every skilled person whom God had endowed with skill,” together undertake the project of building a suitable home for God’s presence. They take, from Moses, all of the gifts the Israelites brought, in order to fashion them into the mishkan. But then, we read:
But when these continued to bring freewill offerings to him morning after morning, all the artisans who were engaged in the tasks of the sanctuary came, each from the task upon which he was engaged, and said to Moses, “The people are bringing more than is needed for the tasks entailed in the work that the Lord has commanded to be done.” Moses thereupon had this proclamation made throughout the camp: “Let no man or woman make further effort toward gifts for the sanctuary!” So the people stopped bringing: their efforts had been more than enough for all the tasks to be done.
The community has become so swept up in the experience of being generous, of donating both items of value and the gift of heart and spirit that accompanies those items, that their generosity overwhelms the artisans. They give too much; Moses has to remind them to stop. A boundary (some gevurah) is needed to balance the community’s overflowing lovingkindness (chesed) and willingness to give.
How can this speak to us today, so many centuries removed from the construction of the mishkan? Maybe in this way: it can exhort us to give freely of ourselves, our gifts and our talents, in the communal work of creating a sacred space where the Presence of God can dwell…and can also remind us that once we’ve built that space for God, it’s also our job to pull back and to turn our generosity in other directions. To make God’s presence manifest through building homes for the needy, weaving garments for those who are cold, and adorning our world with all the beauty we’re capable of creating.
This is how we can build a mishkan, a home for the Shekhinah (indwelling and immanent Presence of God), in our midst. We close the book of Exodus as we approach the retelling of our liberation story on the seasonal calendar — but wherever we are in our journeys toward liberation, may God travel with us and among us, and may we be able to give freely of ourselves, both to God and to one another, in our wanderings.
VAYAKHEL DESCRIBES THE ACTUAL CONSTRUCTION of the Mishkan. Our spiritual work is laid out before us; our enthusiasm is kindled.
When Moses calls the people together for their final instructions for building the Mishkan, we are first warned that there must be a holy rhythm to our lives. We are blessed with the knowledge that rest and reflection are absolutely necessary to the success of this project. Without the practice of Shabbat, we are warned, this work, even though it is holy work, will kill us. The blessing of Shabbat makes our work possible. Work becomes life-giving and wholesome only when it is balanced with Shabbat.
In the practice of Yoga, each series of poses is followed by a resting pose to integrate and fully receive the benefits of the preceding postures. The practice of Shabbat fulfills this same purpose, creating a space to receive, integrate, and deepen the benefits of our spiritual work. For six days we work at building the Mishkan and on the seventh day we can enter into that Holy dwelling and simply receive the Divine influx.
VAYAKHEL BLESSES US WITH THE AWARENESS of the true nature of the heart that is unconstrained by fear. Even though the disaster of the Golden Calf is still a fresh memory, Moses can look out at us and see that our true nature is ruled by a generous heart. When he calls on the gifts and talents and generosity of the people, he does not do so only for what they come to offer to the communal project. He is calling the people to know their own gifts and to experience the blessing of a generous heart.
When we can experience the flowing and giving heart, freed from the constraints of fear, we begin to know and trust ourselves as if for the first time. We can relax and let go of worries about not having or being enough, because the experience of flowing generosity feels effortless and infinite. Vayakhel tells us that Moses had to ask the people to stop giving because they had become so intoxicated with their experience of generous flow. We are reminded that together we have more than enough to complete the task of making a place for God to dwell among us, between us and within us.
THE SPIRITUAL CHALLENGE
AT THE ENTRANCE TO OUR SANCTUARY the laver is built. Here we wash and prepare ourselves for the holy encounter. The laver is made from the mirrors that the women bring.
When I was 22, I went on a three-week trip kayaking down the Green River in southern Utah. It was quite an adventure and those 3 weeks proved to be transformative. Besides getting my first real experience of wilderness and solitude, it changed the way I perceived myself. For those three weeks I didn’t look at a mirror and so began to know myself from the inside-out. Without the daily reminder of outer appearance and the worry about how others might see me, I discovered my inner beauty and strength. I was surprised by a new image of myself that arose in the context of my relationship to water and rock and sun. I had become used to believing what others saw and reflected back to me. A new woman emerged that hardly resembled the image that others perceived or that I perceived through their eyes. The mirror had lied to me. It merely showed me the surface.
IN OUR CULTURE where it seems we (women especially) are judged by our appearance, we are given the spiritual challenge of knowing ourselves from the inside. We bring our mirrors as offerings to build a vessel of purification. Washing ourselves of others’ projections and expectations, clearing away judgment and the need for approval, wiping away shame, we clean every pore of its need for artifice, till the skin can let our radiance shine through. Only then will we be ready to encounter God in the Tent of Meeting. We must offer up the judgments, criticism, and vanity that obscure our depths. The spiritual challenge of Vaykhel asks: How do we transform the mirror – our self-image – into an instrument that prepares us for the Divine encounter?
A DISTORTED SELF-IMAGE can be an obstacle on the spiritual path yet this obstacle can be transformed. I once had a dream that I was dying. All of my friends and family were gathered around me. Some of them were grieving; others trying to heal me. Everyone was caught up in the escalating drama.
I excused myself to go to the bathroom and there I looked into the mirror. I was for the first time profoundly grateful for the face that had served me through my incarnation. I felt some remorse at how I had wasted so much time worrying over that face (Did it look alright?) or avoiding it (I didn’t want to be vain).
Finally I could see myself – the self that was shining through from my eternal soul – and I felt great peace with who I had been and who I was becoming through the passage of my death.
When we are freed from the obsession with self-image, we can become playful with the gifts of incarnation. We can play with style and color and texture, bringing joy to the image we project and letting it express the truth and uniqueness of the inner dimensions of beauty that we encounter on our journeys. Without the worry about ‘how I look,’ or about ‘how others might see me,’ I am free to explore and expand my understanding of beauty. I can be grateful for the face I have been given and I can allow it to shine with God’s radiance.
From Rabbi David Kasher
AN INVISIBLE PALACE – Parshat Vayakhel-Pikudei
There is something hidden in the Tabernacle.
Nechama Leibowitz, the great twentieth-century compiler of Torah commentary, points out that it is modern scholars, in particular, who sensitized us to the use of repetition as a rhetorical device in the description of the building of the Tabernacle. She cites a list of the greats: “Buber, Rosenzweig, Benno Jacob, Cassuto, Meir Weiss and others,” who all highlight the way key phrases in our text echo an earlier story in the Torah – the earliest, in fact.
It is the legendary Jewish philosopher Martin Buber – also a fine Biblical scholar – who is credited with “discovering” the striking parallels between the language of the Tabernacle instructions and the story of Creation. He lays it out magnificently for us and, though it requires some rearranging, the resemblance is undeniable. Listen:
Creation:
And God saw all that he had made, and behold, it was very good. And it was morning, and it was evening, one day. And the heavens and the earth were finished, and all their array. On the seventh day, God finished His work which He had made, and He rested on the seventh day. And God blessed the seventh day, and sanctified it. (Genesis 1:31-2:3)
לא וַיַּרְא אֱלֹקים אֶת-כָּל-אֲשֶׁר עָשָׂה, וְהִנֵּה-טוֹב מְאֹד; וַיְהִי-עֶרֶב וַיְהִי-בֹקֶר, יוֹם הַשִּׁשִּׁי. א וַיְכֻלּוּ הַשָּׁמַיִם וְהָאָרֶץ, וְכָל-צְבָאָם. ב וַיְכַל אֱלֹקים בַּיּוֹם הַשְּׁבִיעִי, מְלַאכְתּוֹ אֲשֶׁר עָשָׂה; וַיִּשְׁבֹּת בַּיּוֹם הַשְּׁבִיעִי, מִכָּל-מְלַאכְתּוֹ אֲשֶׁר עָשָׂה. ג וַיְבָרֶךְ אֱלֹקים אֶת-יוֹם הַשְּׁבִיעִי, וַיְקַדֵּשׁ אֹתוֹ:
Tabernacle:
And Moses saw all of the work, and behold, they had made it just as the Lord had commanded….(Exodus. 39:43) And all the labor of the Tabernacle was finished… (39:22) And on the seventh day, He called out to Moses from within the cloud… (24:16) And Moses finished the work… (40:33) And Moses blessed them… (39:43) Make me a sanctuary, and I will dwell among you. (25:8)
לט:מג וַיַּרְא מֹשֶׁה אֶת-כָּל-הַמְּלָאכָה, וְהִנֵּה עָשׂוּ אֹתָהּ–כַּאֲשֶׁר צִוָּה ה, כֵּן עָשׂוּ… לט:לב וַתֵּכֶל–כָּל-עֲבֹדַת, מִשְׁכַּן…כד:טז וַיִּקְרָא אֶל-מֹשֶׁה בַּיּוֹם הַשְּׁבִיעִי, מִתּוֹךְ הֶעָנָן… מ:לג וַיְכַל מֹשֶׁה, אֶת-הַמְּלָאכָה…לט:מג וַיְבָרֶךְ אֹתָם, מֹשֶׁה… כה:ח וְעָשׂוּ לִי, מִקְדָּשׁ; וְשָׁכַנְתִּי, בְּתוֹכָם.
The reverberation is stunning, and the message of this parallelism seems easy enough to extrapolate. As Nechama Leibowitz puts it:
The Lord created heaven and earth and all therein for man to dwell in, and created them in six days and rested on the seventh day. Similarly, Moses was summoned on the seventh day to the cloud to see the pattern of the Tabernacle that it was his duty to erect, in order to provide a place on earth for the Divine Presence. (Leibowitz, Studies in Shemot, Terumah 2)
As God made a home for us on earth, so now we make a home for God on earth. Buber’s excavation, through modern literary technique, of the symmetry embedded in the text, appears to us like a revelation.
But of course, there is nothing new under the Enlightenment sun, and we so should not be surprised to find that the rabbis of the midrashic period had already spotted much of this pattern, many centuries earlier. Here is a version we find in the Midrash Tanchuma on Parshat Pekudei:
Rabbi Yakov said in the name of Rabbi Asi, why does it say (in Psalms 26:8), “Lord, I loved your House and abode, the dwelling place of your glory”? Because it is being equated with the creation of the world. How so?… On the seventh day, “the heavens and the earth were finished.” And with the Tabernacle it is written, “And all the labor was finished.” With the creation of the world, it is written, “And God Blessed.” And with the Tabernacle, it is written, “And Moses blessed them.” (Tanchuma Pikudei 11:2)
אמר רבי יעקב ברבי אסי, למה הוא אומר, ה’ אהבתי מעון ביתך ומקום משכן כבודך (תהלים כו ח), בשביל ששקול כנגד בריאת עולם. כיצד….בשביעי, ויכולו השמים והארץ. ובמשכן כתיב, ותכל כל עבודת. בבריאת העולם כתיב, ויברך אלהים. ובמשכן כתיב, ויברך אותם משה.
There you have it – the very same references, suggesting the very same comparison, picked up hundreds of years earlier by the ancient rabbis, whose keen literary eyes were never sleeping.
And they didn’t stop there. For there was one other primary link between Creation and Construction that they wanted to establish. That is, they noticed that, over the course of the chapters that detail the building of the Tabernacle, the observance of the Sabbath day is mentioned twice, once in back in Parshat Ki Tisa (Ch. 31), and again this week in Parshat Vayakhel. Here is how our parsha begins:
Moses gathered together the whole community of the Children Israel and said to them, “These are the things that the Lord has commanded you to do: On six days you shall have a sabbath of complete rest, holy to the Lord; whoever does work on it shall be put to death.” (Exod. 35:1-2)
א וַיַּקְהֵל מֹשֶׁה, אֶת-כָּל-עֲדַת בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל–וַיֹּאמֶר אֲלֵהֶם: אֵלֶּה, הַדְּבָרִים, אֲשֶׁר-צִוָּה ה, לַעֲשֹׂת אֹתָם. ב שֵׁשֶׁת יָמִים, תֵּעָשֶׂה מְלָאכָה, וּבַיּוֹם הַשְּׁבִיעִי יִהְיֶה לָכֶם קֹדֶשׁ שַׁבַּת שַׁבָּתוֹן, לַה; כָּל-הָעֹשֶׂה בוֹ מְלָאכָה, יוּמָת.
What did the rabbis make of this abrupt insertion of the commandment to keep the Sabbath, just before the final description of the Tabernacle? Surely this can be fit into the framework of the other creation parallels we have seen so far. The Sabbath is the culmination of Creation, after all – the time to stop and reflect on the work that has been done, and to refresh.
But the rabbis went further than just observing these thematic parallels. In their discussion of laws of the Sabbath in the Talmud, this passage above, from Parshat Vayakhel, contains the very phrase they use as the source for the 39 categories of prohibited work. The derivation is based an intricate bit of play with the words, “These are the things..” :
It was taught, Rebbe [Yehudah HaNasi] said “things” counts for 2, “the things” makes it 3, and [the letters in the Hebrew word for] “these” has the numerical value of 36 – so “these are the things” is a hint for the 39 forbidden labors that Moses was told on Mount Sinai. (Shabbat 98b)
והתניא רבי אומר דברים הדברים אלה הדברים אלו ל“ט מלאכות שנאמרו למשה בסיני
The interpretive method here is rather extreme. The rabbis see the phrase, “These are the things that the Lord has commanded you to do,” and in order to figure out what and how many of those things there are, they give themselves permission to count up the words in the sentence, and then even the numerical value of the Hebrew letters in the word for “these,” following the numerological tradition of ‘gematria.’ With all those rules in place, they arrive at the number 39 – so 39 forbidden labors.
Add to that the use of the word melacha (מלאכה), ‘work,’ as both the term for that which is forbidden on the Sabbath, and for that which is required to build the Tabernacle, and we soon come to the conclusion that the work that is to be forbidden on the Sabbath is precisely those 39 categories of work which were required in the Tabernacle. That is, after all, precisely, what God rested from on that first seventh day: all the work that he had done, כָּל-מְלַאכְתּוֹ אֲשֶׁר עָשָׂה.
The parallel between the Sabbath and the Sanctuary slowly becomes clear. We engage in work to build the Tabernacle, and then we refrain from just that work when it is completed – and then,as promised, God dwells among us. This mirrors the way that God engaged in work to build the world and then refrained from that work when it was completed. And the name for that completion was “Shabbat” – the Sabbath day. And so, it turns out that this Tabernacle, the thing we have been building now for 5 weeks of parshot, is in fact the Sabbath herself. It is she who will be the eternal Sanctuary, in which both God and Israel shall dwell.
The Tabernacle was to be temporary, after all, only lasting through the desert journey. And even the Temple turned out to be temporary – for physical buildings can always be destroyed. But the Sabbath is to carry us through time.
These links forged with the words of the Torah – first, broadly, between the creation of world and the building of the Tabernacle, and then, specifically, between the Sabbath the completion of the Tabernacle – lend new force to Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel’s famous phrasing in his book, “The Sabbath”:
The seventh day is a palace in time which we build. (p. 15)
He may have meant that poetically, but now we are able to understand it literally. We actually build ourselves a Sabbath; at least, we did so once. For it was not enough to create a sanctuary in space for God to dwell in, as God had done once for us. We then had to finish all the work we had done, to step back and see it completed, and then to rest and be refreshed on the seventh day – as God also once did.
And so we build and complete this palace in time again, anew, every week. We bless it with the light of our candles, and sanctify it with wine. And though our structure is invisible to the naked eye, we who sit within it know that there God dwells among us.
From The Hebrew College
The Role of the Wise Heart
By Emmanuel Cantor (Rabbinical Student
Parashat Vayak’hel-Pekudei (Exodus 35:1-40:38)
I vividly remember being in my third grade Jewish day school class and learning about the Omer, the ritual counting of the days between Passover and Shavuot. Perhaps I had a contrarian impulse that day, as the first thing that I remember is rolling my eyes. I assumed that counting days would be a little boring. Then my teacher taught the class a song to sing before we counted, a tune set to the Torah verses describing the omer. I loved the drama of the melody and the rhythm of the chanting. Thanks to the song, I grew excited to count the omer each morning.
The power of art to transform the mundane into the magical— as it did for me in my third grade classroom—is on full display in this week’s double-parashah, Vayak’hel-Pekudei. The portion describes the building of the mishkan, or Tabernacle, and its stars are artists—the architect Bezalel and his assistant Oholiab, and the unnamed women who weave blue, purple, and crimson yarn into the mishkan‘s vibrant curtains.
“The role of the artist is to make the revolution irresistible,” taught the Black Arts Movement writer and activist Toni Cade Bambara. Although rooted in her life and work, we can apply Cade Bambara’s words to Vayak’hel-Pekudei as well. In the aftermath of last week’s Golden Calf reading, the newly-liberated Israelites appear unable to get onboard with the spiritual revolution of Sinai. This week, the artists Bezalel, Oholiab, and the women who weave make that revolution irresistible.
The Golden Calf provides a backdrop to the focus Vayak’hel-Pekudei places on art and artists. The artists are described seven times as chacham lev, or wise-hearted. Bezalel, in particular, is noted for his “divine spirit of skill, ability, and knowledge in every kind of craft” (Ex. 35:32, NJPS). This emphasis on Bezalel’s artistry is in contrast to Aaron’s response to Moses when confronted over his role in fashioning the Golden Calf.
They said to me, ‘Make us a god to lead us; for that fellow Moses—the man who brought us from the land of Egypt—we do not know what has happened to him.’ So I said to them, ‘Whoever has gold, take it off!’ They gave it to me and I hurled it into the fire and out came this calf!” (Ex. 32:23-24, NJPS).
Aaron’s “out came this calf” line is often read as an attempt to exonerate himself, a “dog ate my homework” style excuse. Yet, Aaron’s explanation also reflects a creative process that lacks proper time, space, skill, and intention. Rashi, the 11th century commentator, emphasizes an absence of artistic creativity in his commentary on the verse: “he (Aaron) took from them and cast in a mold, and made it into a molten calf” (Ex. 32:4, NJPS). Citing an Aramaic translation by Onkelos, Rashi imagines Aaron using a mold that can make multiple copies of the same gold object, such as letters or small figurines. In this reading, the Golden Calf is not only a betrayal of God’s covenant with the people. It is also easily-copied, unoriginal art.
Or perhaps, not really art at all. In a 2002 piece for The Guardian, novelist and critic Jeanette Winterson distinguishes between art and the mass production of the market. She writes:
Mass production is about cloned objects. Art is about individual vision. Individuals can work together, as they must in theater or opera, or where assistants work under a master, or they can work alone. However it happens, art is never a factory or a production line.
In Winterson’s model, the molded Golden Calf is not the art of individual vision but a “cloned object” of the production line, albeit an ancient one. By contrast, the mishkan is the opposite: an original, creative work. To this point, a Midrash wonders why God did not command Moses to construct the mishkan as a canvas tent with four poles—an easy-to-copy model. In response, the rabbis imagine that on Sinai, God showed Moses fires in shades of red, green, black, and white. The following parable is then offered.
This is like a king who had a splendid garment made of jewels. He said to his personal friend, ‘Make me one just like it!’ He answered, ‘My lord the king, can I make one like it?’ The king replied, ‘I remain in my glory, but you have your materials.’ Similarly, Moses said to God, ‘My God, can I make anything like these fires?! God replied [by listing the materials for making the mishkan], ‘Blue purple and crimson yarns, fine linen…’ (Bamidbar Rabbah 12:10, translated by Dr. Avivah Zornberg).
In this Midrash (parable), the king, as a stand-in for God, urges an artistic friend to replicate a bejeweled garment. While the friend pleads that he is unable to duplicate such an exquisite work, the king insists that it is the friend’s artistic creativity, or “materials,” that the king most desires.
So too, Moses receives a model for the mishkan. Yet unlike the Golden Calf, it is a model impossible to copy. This is by God’s design. Inspired by divine fires, Moses will have to creatively use “his materials” to make the mishkan. It will be a work of art. And this art will make the revolution of Sinai irresistible.
Elsewhere in her piece, Winterson speaks of art’s invitation for us to slow down, thereby expanding our awareness.
The time you spend on art is the time it spends with you; there are no shortcuts, no crash courses, no fast tracks. Only the experience. Art can’t change your life; it is not a diet programme or the latest guru—it offers no quick fixes. What art can do is prompt in us authentic desire. By that I mean it can waken us to truths about ourselves and our lives; truths that normally lie suffocated under the pressure of the 24-hour emergency zone called real life.
Today, I still sing the song I was taught in third grade before I count the omer. The omer blessing can be rattled off in a matter of seconds, but there is no shortcut to the song. The melody invites me to slow down, calling my awareness to the transition between Passover and Shavout, Egypt and Sinai. And while the golden calf pops out of the fire in only one short verse, the mishkan—thanks to Bezalel, Oholiab, and the “wise-hearted women”—is designed and built over hundreds of verses. There are no shortcuts, only real life.
From reform judaism.org
A Single Whole
Vayak’heil – P’kudei, Exodus 35:1–40:38
D’VAR TORAH BY: RABBI JONATHAN K. CRANE
As I was reading this week’s parashah about the construction of the Tabernacle, I found that one repeated detail caught my attention: “And he [Bezalel] made fifty gold clasps and coupled the curtains to one another with the clasps, so that the tabernacle became one whole,” and then just a few verses later we are told again that, “He made fifty copper clasps to couple the tent together so that it might become one whole” (Exodus 36:13,18).
Before this moment, both the tabernacle and its tent cover were not unified wholes. What Bezalel had before him was a collection of beautiful, different, and distinct pieces. Only after he intentionally coupled those pieces together did the tabernacle and tent come into being as cohesive units. At first, I thought that perhaps this was a story about the whole being more than the sum of its parts. But I soon learned that these verses about physical structures and covers ironically covers up something more profound.
These verses echo earlier instructions when God told the Israelites to make a mishkan so that God could dwell among them. At the time, the order was to “make fifty gold clasps and couple the curtains one to another with the clasps, so that the tabernacle becomes one whole” (Exodus 26:6).
I noticed something curious about this redundancy: When God said, “Couple the curtains one to another with the clasps” (vḥibarta et-hayirot ishah el aḥotah bak’rasim), the verse could be read as, “Couple the curtains, a woman to her sister (ishah el aḥotah), with the clasps, and the Mishkan will become a single whole.” The hidden, or deeper meaning of the story, could be that when women unite, the Tabernacle itself becomes a viable whole. Indeed, when women come together, extraordinary things occur.
This theme of generative female collaboration reverberates throughout the Book of Exodus. It begins with strong women of all sorts risking their lives to save a youngster and train him for a unique leadership role (Exodus 1-2). In addition to the civilly disobedient midwives Shifra and Puah, and the resourceful Miriam and Yocheved (Moses’ sister and mother, respectively), there are the “vigorous” Hebrew women who gave birth or suckled children despite Pharaoh’s cruelties (Exodus 1:19; 2:7). Pharoah’s daughter and her slave girl took on personal risks to save a single child who would dramatically alter Egyptian society (Exodus 2:5-10). Later, we see women collectively secure vital resources for the Israelites’ first steps into freedom and use their skills to help build the Tabernacle (see Exodus 3:22, 11:2, and Chapter 35). Finally, there are the women serving at the entrance to the Tent of Meeting, who used their copper mirrors to entice and arouse their menfolk, ensuring that the Jewish people would endure despite the difficulties of the wilderness (Exodus 38:8; I Samuel 2:22, Tanhuma, Pekudei 9:1).
The entirety of the Book of Exodus demonstrates that the very existence of Judaism is due, in large measure, to women whose names have mostly gone unrecorded. Without all those women and their under-recognized efforts, the very structures that enable the human and the holy to commune would have collapsed into chaos, or not come into being at all.
It is ironic and tragic that women were excluded from entering the very Mishkan that they helped bring into existence. No less troubling is it that so many women go unnamed in these foundational stories. As history attests, Jewish women have been covered up and glossed over by later texts and practices. Though our sources teach us to pay attention to and applaud the named and talented, like Bezalel, doing so often comes at the expense of ignoring and even devaluing the critical and creative contributions of so many others, women included.
To make our communities cohesive—especially during these tumultuous times, we need to bring people together physically. We need to turn our collective attention to acknowledge and celebrate the diverse array of folks whose very presence and quiet contributions get covered over too frequently. Who are the unsung clasps and hooks that bring everything together? Whoever brings copper should be perceived as no less important than one who brings gold, as both must come together to make our sacred spaces and times whole.
From AJR/CA
Rabbi Mel Gottlieb
As we continue the story of the building of the Mishkan we repeat instructions already mentioned regarding the COUNTING of the furnishings, the appointment of BETZALEL as the architect of the Mishkan, and the Priestly GARB. Why was the repetition necessary? Perhaps it is in the important LESSONS that we may learn from each of these THREE themes. The first question is why the Jews were allowed and commanded to ‘Count’ all the items within the Mishkan? After all there are many warnings about the habit of ‘counting!’ The Jews suffered a plague because they counted the people during the time of Joshua. And Balaam is chastised by our commentators for his ‘selfish personality,’ for as soon as he set his eyes upon something he “counted” it for himself’. As the Zohar says , ‘There are two types of counting, counting from the left and counting from the right.’ (Zohar Shmot, 221B). One permitted and one forbidden. What is counting from the ‘left? The Talmud points out the limitations and dangers of ‘counting, of taking accounts.’ The Talmud states, “Blessing is never found in that which is counted.” (Ta’anit 8B). Counting from the left is an indication of a temperament that can lead to an attitude of greed and acquisitiveness as a way of life, forgetting the source of one’s bounty. Moreover, the habit of singling out people, ‘counting them,’ can create a feeling of jealousy in others towards the individuals who are being recognized. Bringing special recognition to them may conjure up the ‘evil eye’ (Ayin Hara), say our Rabbis.
However, the Zohar says there is also ‘counting from the right,’ which recognizes and bring forth gratitude to the Source of the blessing and this is permissible. This counting stems from the side of holiness and this was the counting of materials in the Mishkan. It is a sacred counting and blessing resides in it. (Zohar Shemot, 223A). This is the counting with the beneficent eye, counting with the recognition that all is a gift from the Divine, and thus there is great appreciation of the abundance manifest in our midst. When we count out of gratitude for G-d’s bounty and in recognition thank the Source of our bounty, counting is a blessing; thus, the generosity expressed in the counting of the various vessels and draperies found in the Mishkan. These various vessels and draperies of the Mishkan were chosen to represent the different parts of the universe, say our Sages. If one is mindful that it is G-d’s world that we are building, the Shechina will constantly be with us. The Mishkan represents The Holy Presence dwelling in our midst as we engage in the work of the world. Moshe saw the divine light in everything, every object reflected the divine blessings, and it is this spirit, this way of seeing that brings harmony and gratitude to our world. This counting restores the link with the divine. But if counting is done only for your private ends, individual greed, this severs the link with the divine. When we dwell in a mentality of counting, it leads to wanting more; it is never enough and we inevitably forget the Source of our blessing, the Holy One.
This teaching instructs us how to see! A jealous , critical eye (ayin hara) conceals the connection with the divine, a benign eye (Ayin Tov) sees the link between every aspect of creation, and this way of ‘seeing’ the world and those who inhabit it brings blessing and warm encouragement to all who experience our love. This energy projected outward makes everyone feel better after experiencing it. Thus, we must make our hearts into G-d’s dwelling place, into a lit candle where we can see the good bestowed upon us every day. The light is always really within us, eternal, if we are only open to it, if we embody an Ayin Tov.
Our Rabbis suggest another reason for why there was an exact accounting of all the articles donated to the Mishkan. The Rabbis explain it is to protect the reputation of those handling public funds. Even the most trustworthy such as Moses must give an account. So, they listed how much gold and silver came in to prevent any slander which people in public office are vulnerable to. There is a lot of envy, slander, and projection of hostility to those in power, as the Midrash Tanchuma says: The people were envious of Moses and said, ‘Look how fat he is getting, he probably is using our donations for his benefit.” So, Moses said: ‘As the Mishkan is finished I will give them an account’. The Halacha develops this notion. The Mishna (Shekalim) says the Priests did not wear a sleeved cloak or shoes when they collected the annual shekel tax to be above suspicion. Also, charity collectors must come in two and cannot separate from one another while collecting or give change from their own money; also, surplus funds must be invested with others so they cannot derive personal profit from the investment (Bava Batra 8B, Mishna Peah 8:7, Rambam, Mishna Torah: Matanat Aniyim, 9:8-9.
Now we may ask the second question who was Betzalel and why is he mentioned again as the one chosen to build the Mishkan? We read that one reason is that he was recognized at the age of 13 to be a great artist; another mystical reason is found in his name ‘Betzalel’ which means dwelling ‘in the shadow of the Lord’, and there is a ‘destiny in a name.’ But the Talmud tells us there was a deeper reason for why he was chosen, relating to his grandfather and the history of his family. The hint stems from the mentioning of his grandfather Chur in his lineage. It is unusual to identify a person not only by his father but also include his grandfather in the lineage. The Talmud teaches us that the reason that Betzalel is identified as the son of Uri, and the grandson of Chur (Exodus 38:22) is to teach us an important lesson about forgiveness. The Sages identify Chur, Betzalel’s grandfather as the person who stood up to the group of people who chose to build the Golden Calf, and thus was as a result MURDERED by this crazed mob who were building the Calf. (Sanhedrin 7A). So Betzalel was chosen to build the Mishkan not only because he was a great artist, and a person of great courage and willpower. But the Talmud explains it had to do with his evolved, sublime character. One would think that Betzalel would be justified in resenting the people who murdered his grandfather and because of these deep feelings of resentment take the opportunity to carry out his revenge here towards them. To have him build a sanctuary that would be an atonement for the Golden Calf is asking an extraordinary capacity from him; it is essentially saying that he had the enormous quality to overcome this natural proclivity to take vengeance and instead forgive; overcoming the satisfaction that vengefulness would create and FORGIVE the very people who brought such pain upon him! You would think he would have felt some hatred toward the people who slayed his grandfather, and that this would interfere with his ability to act on their behalf with the level of purity of intention necessary. How was he able to reach this level? HE UTILIZED THE GREAT CAPACITY INHERENT IN EACH OF US TO OVERCOME OUR INSTINCTS AND FEARS. Even though revenge is a person’s only comfort for anger towards one who has wronged him/her we are also endowed with the capacity to meet that challenge. The love of his brothers and sisters possessed by Chur, that compelled him to risk his life trying to stop them from sinning, was inherited by Betzalel, and this is what made him uniquely suited to build the Mishkan. THE CAPACITY TO OVERCOME TAKING REVENGE IS PRECISELY THE CAPACITY NECESSARY TO BRING PEACE AND HARMONY TO THE WORLD.
The third question, why is the mentioning of the CLOTHES of the High priest important? Dignified clothing, on the one hand, affirms the importance of one’s office and reminds us to do G-d’s work as we are created in the image of G-d. In the garden of Eden, it is G-d who clothes Adam and Eve when they realize they are naked. A garment is called ‘Levush’ in Hebrew which means ‘Lo Yibosh’, do not be ashamed. Be proud of who you are as a child of G-d. We must constantly remind ourselves that we are each bearers of G-d’s candle, ‘Ner Hashem, Nishmat Adam,’ The light of the Lord is the soul of man! (Proverbs,20:27).The way we value ourselves affects our ability to learn and grow and contribute our gifts to the world.
However, we must never allow our outer clothing to lead to hubris. The High Priest Aaron was a man of great humility. A compassionate, forgiving soul very close to the people. When he died the people mourned him longer than they did Moses. The Torah teaches us the quality of gratitude, interconnection and humility that is possible even when wearing dignified clothes. The verse tells us that Moses made Aaron’s clothes (Ex. 28:2). And he clothed him. Thus, Aaron had great gratitude and humility as he realized that his office and stature was dependent on others, on the kindness and support of Moses. So, our Sages teach that even when one is given the clothes of grandeur (Titles, and Honors) one should attribute it to the giver, and not to the special attributes of our own. For without the clothes , one is aware of his/her true nature, and the Priests were wise and humble enough to therefore to take off their special clothes when they left the sanctuary. Thus, one must wear outer garments, to support our high purpose, yet retain humility, connected to all those who support us through our lives.
May we be capable of both love for ourselves as a candle of the Lord, and humble and thankful for all the gifts from others, and from G-d who makes our holy goals possible; may we always ‘count from the right and not from the left’ and find forgiveness in our hearts to those who have wronged us in the past! May these cherished qualities aid us in our search to bring peace to our world and let us say Amen!
Have a most cherished Shabbat!
With Blessings and Love,
Rabbi Mel
From AJR/CA
Parshat Vayakhel-Pekudei
“Shabbat”
By Rabbi Cheryl Weiner,
Metaphors and words count. Is the devil in the details or is God is in the details? While many use these phrases, we don’t know their origins. What we do know is the concept of detail. When we “detail” a car, we painstakingly go over the inside and the outside to clean it up, to make it new. When designers “detail” their creations, they are painstakingly adding the pieces that make their dresses stand out above others. In these two parashot, God gives us every conceivable detail to add to both the Mishkan, the tabernacle that houses the ark of the covenant as well as the priestly clothing. We are asked to create beauty for both the place that God will dwell and for the priests who will visit God there.
The parshah begins with Moses gathering the whole community together to re-iterate that Shabbat is a day of complete rest, holy to God. Then, we get the instructions on how to create the Mishkan and in the next parshah, the summary and how to set it up. But also, while were wandering in the desert, we learned the details for how to encounter God in our homes – for in these descriptions we have allusions to how to celebrate Shabbat.
Our Shabbat table becomes the symbolic representation of the Mishkan in our home. We light Shabbat candles; symbolic of the sacred lamp, the menorah. We say kiddush over wine, symbolic of the sanctification of the meal, taken from the sacrifices made. We have two challahs symbolic of the shew-bread. We sprinkle salt on the challah before we eat it, symbolic of the destruction of the Temple modeled after the Mishkan. The cutting of the challah with the knife is symbolic of our sacrificing the animals brought to the altar. Some substitute the use of the knife by pulling apart the Challah as a way of demonstrating that violence is not condoned and that Shabbat is a time of peace. Before we say the Motzi, the blessing over bread before we eat, we wash our hands, symbolic of the priest’s using the laver. While we are washing our hands, we are purifying our souls. We are silent before the Motzi blessing, to make sure that that purity is sustained into the first bit of our Shabbat meal and beyond.
Our Shabbat clothing is special like the clothing described for the priest. We don’t come to the Shabbat table in torn jeans and a T-shirt. Even if we are at camp, on Friday night, the dress code is often clean white shirt and our best jeans. We are dressed for a special experience, a special encounter with the divine and our clothing signals that we are out of our ordinary realm. Moreover, we rush home or rush out of the kitchen preparations to change into our clothes before we go to minyan or greet our guests or family. We have “bells on our clothes” to greet the Shabbat bride!
Thus, we see that God is indeed in the details. Within the kabbalistic system, our mystical understanding, we encounter the mystery of the Mishkan at our table and all it entails. Shabbat descends upon us with Chesed and Hod, loving-kindness and glory, with our community or family, in celebration of God’s grace among us. We call in the Sabbath bride who brings together Malchut, our earthly kingdom, with Tiferet, the harmony and beauty of God’s presence.
God dwells in the details of the Mishkan. The priests visit God there. God made each of us a priest and a holy vessel, so that we too can encounter God. May we all be blessed with the beauty of God’s dwelling at the Mishkan of our homes, our Shabbat tables.
Shabbat Shalom!
From Rabbi Simon Jacobson
The Visionary and the Builder
https://www.meaningfullife.com/vayakhel-visionary-builder/?utm_source=Meaningful+Life+Center&utm_campaign=d29649fe7a-EMAIL_CAMPAIGN_2019_02_25_04_39&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_0bcb4308af-d29649fe7a-82293597
From JTS
Bezalel and Oholiav: Models Then, Models Now
VAYAK-HEL
BY RABBI MATTHEW BERKOWITZ
Parashat Vayak-hel is replete with the material details of the Tabernacle and its wares. This sacred building project becomes the focus of Israelite energy in the latter part of the Book of Exodus. But more than the project itself is the quality of the people behind it. Vayak-hel pointedly and poetically reintroduces us to Bezalel and Oholiav, the master artisans responsible for the construction of the Tabernacle and its appurtenances. What makes these two individuals worthy of this sacred task?
To begin, we are first introduced to these characters in Parashat Ki Tissa: “The Lord spoke to Moses, ‘See, I have singled out by name Bezalel, son of Uri son of Hur, of the tribe of Judah. I have endowed him with a divine spirit of wisdom, insight and knowledge in every craft . . . Moreover I have assigned to him Oholiav son of Ahisamakh.” (Exodus 31:1-6). Rashi (French commentator, Troyes, France, 1040–1105) explains the qualifying characteristics of Bezalel remarking that “wisdom is that which a person learns from others”; “insight is that which one understands from the heart”; and “knowledge is a gift from God.” In other words, they are gifted with keen wisdom that is imparted from above them, around them, and within them. Intelligence, spirituality, and Divine inspiration are joined together in these remarkable creators. Or as we like to say in modern parlance, the Torah and Rashi have an appreciation for multiple intelligences: the intelligence of the brain (think), the intelligence of the heart (feel) and the intelligence granted by the Divine spark (transcend).
Second, Parashat Vayak-hel adds that they were endowed with the ability “to teach which was given to their heart.” Commenting on Exodus 35:34, Ibn Ezra (Spanish exegete, Tudela, Navarre, 1089–1167) writes that “there are many wise individuals who find it challenging to impart their knowledge effectively to others. And behold, Oholiav is the assistant to Bezalel in the creative work of building the Tabernacle—and he too has the ability to impart wisdom to another.” That said, an inability to teach effectively may derive from the lack of an innate pedagogic talent, a dearth of formal training, or an unwillingness to share. Far from holding this sacred endeavor close to their chests, Torah tells us that they were given the gift of being talented pedagogues—that is to say that they transmitted their wisdom to others. Building a space for God cannot be the narrow realm of two esoteric artists. The artisans must be able to communicate and teach others to be part of this holy project. In doing so, they are quintessential teachers: precise in instruction and generous of spirit.
Finally, Rashi highlights a final important detail about this talented pair. In response to Exodus 35:34, he writes, “Oholiav is from the tribe of Dan which was one of the lowest [status] tribes [of Israel]—coming from the sons of handmaids, and yet God placed him as an equal to Bezalel in the building of the Tabernacle, and [Bezalel] is from one of the greatest tribes [i.e. Judah]. In so doing, God fulfilled the verse in Job, “God does not favor the rich more than the poor” (Job 34:19). Accordingly, Rashi is teaching us that Bezalel and Oholiav are taken from two very different social strata in Israel. As such they model inclusivity. Call it Divine affirmative action. When undertaking a project of this scope, one must be attuned to a spectrum of voices and talents that come from the rich and the poor, from students and teachers, from the affiliated and unaffiliated. Building a place of God demands totality of vision and communal embrace.
Multivalent wisdom, the ability to teach, and inclusivity make Bezalel and Oholiav the perfect choice for the construction of a space filled with God’s Presence. It is indeed an important lesson to all of us—that ultimately, the way we bring God’s Presence into our midst is through effective teaching, wisdom learned from many sources, and connecting with the broad diversity inherent in community.
From AJR/CA
Parshat Vayakhel
Torah Reading for Week of February 24 – March 2, 2019
“Thank God Almighty — Mishkan at Last!”
by Dr. Tamar Frankiel
After all the anticipation, the instructions, and the intervening ‘golden calf incident’ with its conflict and death, now at last, the physical components of the Mishkan are fashioned and prepared for use. Often we read parshat Vayakhel with the next one, Pekudei, which addresses the making of the priestly garments and the final acts of putting everything together. But since this year has an extra month of Adar, our reading is extended over two weeks.
Nevertheless, the end is in sight. The people practically fall over themselves bringing all the materials – Moses has to tell them, “Enough!” – and everyone sets to work.
Finally, it seems, we will have a Place, a site, like a spiritual compass to orient ourselves in the unbounded desert, the Midbar that lies before us. We the Ivrim, the Hebrews, the boundary-crossers, will have a portable religious center, ensuring that God, our Redeemer and Helper, is always with us. And it is a protective structure, walled and reinforced. The Mishkan is not ephemeral like that weird cloud, nor frightening like that pillar of fire. Yes, it’s true that one has to be careful with the thing, particularly when we travel with the holy vessels; but everyone will have their instructions, so it’s all manageable. And yes, we did get a bit carried away with that calf-statue, but after all, we had lost Moses, we were a bit deranged. Now we’ll be fine. . . .
With the retrospective of more than twenty centuries of exile, we know that the longings for a permanent Center were unrealistic. Even the later Temples built of stone were not impervious to conquest and destruction. Moreover, the thought that this tamed, golden image of holiness would enable us to manage a relationship with God was naïve. Neither the people who cherished it nor its priests were able to maintain sincerity of heart and purity of practice in the Mishkan or later Temples. Was the Mishkan then just a vain external symbol of security?
I think not. There is a strange but beautiful feeling in reading about the Mishkan: a cherished place, built with heartfelt intent, to be carried and inhabited by God on all our journeys. Even after its first purpose was served, it appears to have been faithfully guarded at a few different shrines in Israel. The Mishkan may have been at Gilgal in Joshua’s time, and later at Shiloh, Nob, and Gibeon. The ark had its own travails, captured even by the Philistines for a time. The ark was brought to Jerusalem by David, and, as for the Mishkan itself, it is said that Solomon brought some remnants of the Mishkan’s furnishings for the Temple that he built.
So the Mishkan eventually aged and was dismantled, but now it survives in the Torah as an imaginal place, an image of cosmic wholeness. Rabbi Samson Rafael Hirsch understands its materials and construction as symbolic of the nature of humanity, an integration of mineral, vegetable, and animal under the umbrella of spiritual perception. The idea of a Center has been replaced by the Torah, which like the old Mishkan is portable. But ultimately, the center is the human heart, where, as Jeremiah said, “I will put My Torah inside them, and in their heart I will write it. I will be their God, and they will be My people” (Jeremiah 31:32).
From Rabbi James Stone Goodman
Note to Self
Wilderness
We have all we need: the artist, the design, the Designer, the master of ceremonies, the one who sits with us however long it takes and listens. And we make the molten beast.
We are, of course, healed by the very things through which we were corrupted. We use the same words, we gathered together in confusion, frustration, impatience, now the one who sits with us and listens gathers us together to review the plan for living: it starts with Shabbes. Vayakhel Moshe, say it aloud, “Va-yak-hel Mo-she” give every syllable a breath and the words will settle in. That man? He gathered us together and he brought what he always brings: the healing.
On the heels of the molten beast, he gathered together the entire community. We had gathered against his brother Aaron: make us a god who will go before us, we said to Aaron, because your brother who is our heart — we do not know what happened to him. Do not say those words too slowly because they will chill you to the bone with the fear they were uttered.
We will return to the building; everything we had been directed to do, get back to the work. The materials, those colors! the clothes! where do you get such great clothes? Bring back the artist, bring back the healing, we will build it out of the free offerings of our hearts.
The building; it will be a symbol of our healing from the slip with the molten beast, a sign of deep forgiveness. The healing will come through the artist, who built it.
And that man who brought us out?
He’s back.
jsg
From Brian Yosef Schachter-Brooks
The Car Ride: Parshat Vayakhel
http://www.torahofawakening.com/weekly-torah-blog/the-car-ride-parshat-vayakhel
From Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies
Rabbi Yehuda Hausman
The Spirit of Industry
Torah Reading: Genesis Exodus 35:1 – 38:20
Haftarah Reading: 1 Kings 7:40-50
Has it just vanished in smoke: l’esprit du temps? Several thousand years is a vast patch of history, perhaps in the interim, the novelty of a desert Sanctuary has simply seeped away. All its glory and wondrous color faded and stonewashed like an old beach-towel; its imminence lost on us, far more, in fact, than last week’s paper left to yellow in the sun. The Sanctuary’s time is not our time or our great-grandparents’ time. What chance is there that this Sanctuary can stir our hearts as in days of old?
Admittedly, the descriptions are pleasant enough: A portable gilded ark, crowned with cherubs; embroidered winged-sphinxes sewn into expensive curtains made of fine goat hair, perhaps a variety of Mohair or Cashmere, if we think on it. There are silver loops and clasps connecting this and that; an indoor altar and an outdoor altar; a golden candelabrum, and a great deal more.
But no amount of familiarity with the text seems to alter its foreignness. Imagine having to describe a spirited summer in Paris to someone who has never sat in a Café, or seen the inside of an art gallery, or fallen in love. The Louvre is nothing but a U-shaped palace, the Seine just another river; the scope of l’Arc de triomphe never quite translates if one has never spent ten minutes walking around its wide roundabout. Thankfully, the Torah has a way of easing us into the unfamiliar, even when most paths are shut; there is always another point of entrée.
One of the stranger aspects of the Tabernacle is that transmission of its many details is twice juxtaposed with the law of Shabbat. The initial five and-a-half chapters of Tabernacle blueprints culminate in a reminder to ‘guard the Sabbath by refraining from prohibited labor – malacha’ (Ex. 25.1 – 31.12-17).
Additionally, when the time comes for actual construction, this later section is introduced with yet another mention of Shabbat: ‘For six days shall labor be done, but on the seventh day, there shall be for you holiness, a Sabbath of solemn-rest to the Lord […] You shall kindle no fire throughout all your habitations on the Sabbath Day’ (Ex. 35.2-3).
Our Sages find in the strange proximity of these two subjects a stern warning. ‘Despite God’s command, construction of the Sanctuary was to cease on the Sabbath.’ (Rashi, Sforno) Why, some might ask? Is it not all for God? Later in the Torah Portion, we read that the people have made and donated far more material than was necessary for the building of the Sanctuary. So much so that Moses announces: “‘Let neither man nor woman make any more work for the sanctuary.’ So the people were restrained from giving” (Ex. 36.6). The exuberance of ancient Israel captures humanity’s boundless desire to fashion and make. Creation never quite ends on its own, for things can always be made better…grander…different. Then there is the danger that mindful work evolves into mindless productivity. The philosopher Raoul Vaneigem had this to say, “In an industrial society which confuses work and productivity, the necessity of producing has always been an enemy of the desire to create.”
Without Moses cry of ‘enough,’ what compels to pause from projects great and small alike, if not mandatory Sabbath? Strikingly, what is odd about the Sanctuary and the Sabbath is that they are both holy, yet they do not quite mix. Like two great magnets of the same polarity, holiness of rest and holiness of work, though infused with a sacred charge, nevertheless push one another away. The Sabbath prevents the Sanctuary from being refurbished each month, from being ever remodeled and expanded each year.
The old awe of the Sanctuary may not be felt as it ought to be, especially when the average home is a great deal bigger than the Tent of Meeting. But we know the satisfaction of successful human labor, whether it’s a simple well-made soup or seeing a skyscraper rise up and kiss the clouds. We can also appreciate the dangers of overwork, one-mindedness, Napoleonic obsession, where no palace is large enough, no monument tall enough.
It is something of interest that of the many labors needed to create the Tabernacle, only the making of fire is explicitly mentioned in the beginning of Parashat Vayekhel: ‘You shall kindle no fire…on the Sabbath Day.’ Rabbi Ovadiah Sforno suggests that fire is so basic to human industry, that a great many other labors could not be performed without it. But I prefer to end with a line by the poet Theodore Roethke:
What lives again? Only a man of straw –
Yet straw can feed a fire to melt down stone.
Fire can forge temples and cities or usher in the Sabbath with its light, but if man’s industry is left to burn unchecked, it can turn a Tabernacle into a spectacle, the Sabbath into just another day of work, and even melt the stone Tablets that reside in the Ark of the Covenant.
Shabbat Shalom
From the Maqam Project
From American Jewish World Service
Rabbi Joshua Rabin
When I visited some of the poorest neighborhoods in Cancun with AJWS in 2010, my greatest fear was not what I would see, but what I might feel. I worried that I would feel—as so many people do—that I needed to fight for justice so that I could save the people I met there, providing for them what they could not provide themselves. This sentiment is common, but dangerous and demeaning, because a belief that the privileged must save the poor assumes that people in need lack the ability to shape their own destinies; that it is a lack of aptitude or ability that lies at the core of their misfortune.
Muhammad Yunus, the Nobel laureate and founder of the Grameen Bank in Bangladesh, argues that if we want to eradicate global poverty, we must first change our assumptions about why poverty exists. He writes:
To me, poor people are like bonsai trees. When you plant the best seed from the tallest tree in a tiny flowerpot, you get a replica of the tallest tree, only inches tall. There is nothing wrong with the seed you planted; only the soil base that you gave it is inadequate. Poor people are bonsai people. There is nothing wrong with their seeds, but society never gave them the proper base to grow in. All it takes to get poor people out of poverty is for us to create an enabling environment for them. Once the poor can unleash their energy and creativity, poverty will disappear very quickly.1
People who live in poverty can accomplish the same things as people living ensconced in wealth and privilege, and it demeans people’s humanity when we assume that they are incapable of bettering their own lives. This understanding—that people’s innate skills and talents can be inhibited by their circumstances or environment—is one that is echoed in this week’s parashah and that has profound implications for how we address poverty and work for social change.
Parashat Vayakhel concludes the Israelites’ construction of the Mishkan—God’s Tabernacle in the desert—telling us that the Mishkan wasn’t built by trained architects or craftsmen, but by “every person whose heart stirred them up, and every one whom his spirit made willing.”2 Each time I read this parashah, I am amazed at how the Israelites, who spent their entire lives engaged in the mimetic tasks of slave labor, could build a shrine that required fine craftsmanship. Responding to this question, the Ramban states,
The “stirring up of the heart” implies the arousing of their capacity to undertake the work. For none [of the Israelites] ever learned these skills before from any teacher nor had ever practiced them before. But each one discovered his natural talent or aptitude for the task, his heart rising as it were to the Divine challenge enabling him to come into Moses’ presence and say: “I can do it.”3
For the Ramban, slavery limited the Israelites’ opportunity to learn craftsmanship, but it did not make the Israelites inherently incapable of building the Mishkan. Rather, the backbreaking conditions of slavery caused the creative potential of the Israelites in Egypt to atrophy. When commanded to construct the Mishkan, Israelites who realized that previous circumstances did not forever dictate their capacity to achieve developed “confidence in their own power to undertake the work”4 of building the Mishkan. Once given the opportunity to succeed, the Israelites became what they were always capable of becoming.
The Ramban’s perspective on how the Israelites came to construct the Mishkan has profound implications for how we approach tzedakah. Our rabbis understood that the highest acts of tzedakah create conditions to help poor people succeed using their natural talents. The Rambam famously states that the highest form of charity involves giving a loan or entering into a partnership with a poor person “in order to strengthen his hand he need no longer be dependent upon others.”5 Meir Tamari, former chief economist at the Bank of Israel, writes that this approach to tzedakah focuses on “breaking the cycle of poverty and enabling the poor to establish themselves as independent and productive members of society.”6 Like Yunus’s metaphor of the bonsai trees, Jewish tradition recognizes that poor people are inherently creative and capable, and, given the right conditions, will succeed when their innate abilities are given the opportunity to flourish.
The greatest tragedy of the Israelites’ enslavement was not the backbreaking labor, but the suppression of the Israelites’ creative potential. Today, hundreds of millions of people around the world have their rights suppressed on a daily basis, stifling their ability to choose a path for their future and construct it themselves. If we are to be partners with the poor, then we must embrace a vision of tzedakah that honors the inherent capabilities of all humanity, recognizing that poverty usually comes from lack of opportunity, rather than lack of ability.
Less than a generation removed from slavery, Parashat Vayakhel celebrates a moment of collective triumph for the Israelites’ previously untapped potential. May we embrace a vision of tzedakah that will enable poor people to envision and construct their own Mishkan—a brighter world that has existed inside them all along.
Footnotes
1 Muhammad Yunus, Building Social Business: The New Kind of Capitalism that Serves Humanity’s Most Pressing Needs (New York: PublicAffairs, 2010), xiii-xiv.
1 Shemot 35:21.
1 Ramban on Shemot 35:21.
1 Ibid.
1 Rambam, Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Matanot L’Oniyim 10:7.
1 Meir Tamari, The Challenge of Wealth: A Jewish Perspective on Earning and Spending Money (Northvale, New Jersey: Jason Aronson Inc., 1995), 170.
From Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies
Shabbat Parashat Vayakhel-Pekudei /
Shabbat Parah
March 17, 2012 / 23 Adar 5772
By: Rabbi Gail Labovitz
Associate Professor of Rabbinic Literature
“Come Together”
Torah Reading: Exodus 35:1 – 40:38
Maftir: Numbers 19:1-22
Haftarah Reading: Ezekiel 36:16-38
A number of commentators have observed that there is an apparent logical problem in the opening of this week’s parashah. The opening verses of Exodus, Chapter 35, are as follows:
א) ויקהל משה את כל עדת בני ישראל ויאמר אלהם אלה הדברים אשר צוה ה’ לעשת אתם
ב) ששת ימים תעשה מלאכה וביום השביעי יהיה לכם קדש שבת שבתון לה’ כל העשה בו מלאכה יומת
ג) לא תבערו אש בכל משבתיכם ביום השבת
1Now Moshe assembled the entire community of the Children of Israel and said to them: These are the things that the Lord has commanded you to do. 2For six days work is to be done, but on the seventh day, it will be holy for you, a Sabbath of complete rest for the Lord; all who do work on it shall be put to death. 3Do not kindle any fire throughout your settlements on the day of the Sabbath.
Having assembled the people to hear the most recent commands of God, Moshe gives the people the fundamental law of Shabbat, the prohibition on productive labor during that day. The problem is this: first Moshe says of this law that it is something “the Lord has commanded you to do” – but the nature of Shabbat, especially as described here, is epitomized by not doing (not doing work, not kindling fire). Nor is this the only time this apparent strange use of language appears in reference to the Sabbath in the Torah; similar usages appear in last week’s parashah, in Exodus 31:16, or in Deuteronomy 5:15. The former of these is especially interesting because it contains two words for following the laws of the Sabbath, not only “to do/make” (לעשות), but also “to observe/guard” (לשמור), which seems to be much more accurate to what Sabbath observance actually is. As the medieval commentator Ibn Ezra succinctly sums up the problem in his commentary to Exodus 31:16, “והשביתה איננה מעשה”, “But resting is not an active deed!”
One possible solution to our conundrum is that the “do” of this commandment refers to the doing of the six days of the week: “For six days work is to be done.” That is, work during the week is as much a commandment as rest is on the Sabbath; it is a commandment to be a productive and active participant in the workings of the world and the community. Or, if we want to stick a little more closely to the context in Exodus 35, the command might be read as a directive particularly regarding the building of the Tabernacle, which occupies much of what follows in this parashah (not to mention several of the parshiyot preceding this one). Even though it is a great and important commandment to build the tabernacle, that commandment only applies for six days of the week, and does not supersede the Sabbath. Even the building of the tabernacle, despite its importance, must cease for one day each week.
But these answers don’t necessarily work for the other contexts in which Shabbat is described as something that is done, so the problem remains. Another possibility is a variant of the first idea above. That is, perhaps the work is indeed the work of the other six days of the week, but more specifically the work that prepares us for the rest of Shabbat: making sure our food is cooked and our lights are lit and all the things we need are ready ahead of time, precisely so that we will not need to do that work on the Sabbath (this is the resolution given by Ibn Ezra, among others).
There are, not surprisingly, yet other suggestions in the midrashic and commentary literature, but I will encourage you to seek them out on your own rather than overwhelm you with an extended list. Instead, I’d now like to note one commentary that reads the verses in a rather different way, a way that I believe then yields an especially beautiful observation about what should happen on Shabbat and how it should be observed. The comment comes from a work called Panim Yafot” (The Beautiful Face), by R. Pinhas Horowitz, an 18th century Polish rabbi. He writes:
ואפשר לומר דהיינו דכתיב ויקהל משה את כל עדת ב”י ואמרו במדרש [ילק”ש ויקהל ת”ח] שהזהיר אותם לעשות קהלות בכל השבתות, היינו להקהל ולהתחבר באחדות האמיתי
And it is possible to say that this is what (is the meaning of what) is written, “And Moshe assembled the entire community of the Children of Israel” – it says in midrash [Yalkut Shimoni, Vayakhel] that he directed them to make assemblies on every Shabbat, that is, to assemble to unite in true oneness.
While he doesn’t quite say this explicitly, here is how I read – or perhaps it is my drasha on –what R. Horowitz is saying. The matter hinges on how we understand the words “these…things in verse 1, “These are the things that the Lord has commanded you to do.” What “things” are being referred to here? Our inclination so far has been to read these words as anticipating what comes next – that is, we would punctuate as follows: “These are the things…: For six days…” What is in verse 2 explains the meaning of the ambiguous “things in verse 1. But another possibility is to read them back to what preceded them: “And Moshe assembled the entire community of the Children of Israel and said to them: These are the things that the Lord has commanded you to do.” Moshe teaches by demonstration. When he says “These…things,” he refers back to what he has just done, i.e., gathering the people.
How do we “do” Shabbat? What positive act do we take to “make Shabbat”? We assemble. We gather together in community. Shabbat does not happen, actively or otherwise, only at the level of individual Jews, each refraining from his or her ordinary occupations and activities. It is not truly Shabbat until each of those Jews uses that freed up time to join together, in harmony, with other Jews: to pray, to learn, to eat, to talk (and yes, to love).
Shabbat shalom.
Reb Sholom Brodt
The theme of Parshat Vayakheyl is Unity. Parshat Vayakheyl follows right after the story of the ‘golden calf’. As a result of having done such this transgression a mere forty days after receiving the Torah at Mt. Sinai, we were quite demoralized and we lost our self-confidence in our ability to return to and be close to Hashem once again.
The parsha begins as follows:
“And Moshe gathered the children of Israel and said to them, “these are the things that Hashem has commanded, to do them. Six days [a week] work shall be done, but the seventh day must be holy to you, it is a Shabbos of Shabbos to Hashem…” Moshe said to the entire congreagation of B’nai Yisrael, saying, “This is the word that Hashem has commanded: Take from your possessions a ‘t’rumah’ to Hashem.” Sh’mot 35: 1-5
Rashi teaches that this gathering took place on the day following Yom Kippur. We had received the ‘Asseret haDibrot’ – the Ten Commandments on Shavuot; Moshe Rabbeinu remained on Mt. Sinai for forty days to receive the entire Torah. When he descended from the mountain and saw the golden calf that we had made, he broke the tablets. The following day he went back up the mountain for another forty days to pray for Hashem’s forgiveness. Hashem accepted Moshe’s prayers and told him to cut a new set of tablets and to ascend the mountain with them. That was on Rosh Chodesh Elul. Forty days later, on Yom Kippur Moshe Rabbeinu descended with the new tablets.
The next day, the day after Yom Kippur, he gathered us together and spoke to us about Shabbos and about the building of the sanctuary. We wonder why Moshe did all this; after all we do not find that Hashem told him to do this.
The Ishbitzer Rebbe teaches that Moshe Rabbeinu saw how broken we were over having made the golden calf. We were quite surprised at ourselves and we had lost a lot of our self confidence in our ability to serve Hashem truthfully. And so Moshe Rabbeinu gathered us together to explain to us [and also to comfort us], how it all came about and what we needed to know to prevent a similar reoccurrence.
Disunity leads to idolatry. In the very act of Moshe Rabbeinu gathering us together, we realized that we had moved apart from each other and that our disunity led us to the tragedy of the golden calf!
At Mt. Sinai, before we received the holy Torah, we were united “as one person with one heart”. Tragically this lasted for only forty days. Before the giving of the Torah, Hashem told Moshe to tell us, “v’atem ti’heyu li mamlechet kohanim v’goy kadosh” – ‘and you shall be unto Me a kingdom of Kohanim and a holy nation.” ‘And you shall be’ – all of you, individually, and every one of you together; then “you shall be unto Me” – then, when you are united ‘as one person with one heart’, then ‘you will be unto Me’ – then, and only then, will you truly and completely relate and be with Me.
Tragically, we didn’t get it.
From the Midrash on the above verse we learned that the word ‘li’ – unto Me, [which numerically equals 40 – spelled ‘lamed’ ‘yud’; ‘lamed'(30) and ‘yud'(10) = 40] Hashem alluded to Moshe Rabbeinu that our complete commitment to Him would last only forty days and that we would have to renew both our commitment to live in unity with each other and our commitment to bond with Hashem every forty days. One might say, that in our relationships with one another and also with Hashem, after 40 days we ‘experience’ a ‘loss’ of ‘something’- real or imagined. And we have to rediscover it. If we don’t, we might end up with a golden calf. What is this ‘it’ that we need to discover again and where is ‘it’ to be found? ‘It’ is to be found in and through our unity. We never get ‘there’ permanently; we get ‘there’ for 40 days at a time. After 40 days we have to go further, we have to go higher. The journey is an infinite one. If we ever stop, ‘chas v’shalom’ – that is idolatrous.
Tragically, we didn’t get it.
When Moshe Rabbeinu did not come down from the mountain, exactly when we expected him to, we thought we can’t make it without Moshe. We looked at one another and thought “I can’t make it with you, unless you agree with me.” Instead of understanding that what we attained at Sinai, we attained because of, and through our unity, we lost our understanding of the depths of unity. By making the golden calf we had caused the Shechinah to retreat from amongst us, and we felt it and were very pained by it.
To convey the importance and necessity of our re-uniting Moshe Rabbeinu did not this time transmit his teachings to us, in the usual manner, via the Kohanim and the Seventy Elders. Instead, he gathered all of us together and spoke to us in community, to realistically convey that first and foremost we must be united; to be “as one person, with one heart”. This is the first lesson of this week’s parsha.
In a shiur on renewal, this past week at our Yeshiva, Reb Avraham Aryeh Trugman, neiro yair, discovered and pointed out that the opening word of this week’s parsha, “Vayakheyl”, has the same numerical value as the word “mikveh”; both equal 151. There is a very deep connection between these two concepts. The word ‘mikveh’ actually means gathering- a gathering of waters. In a mikveh we purify ourselves. And just as we purify ourselves in a ‘gathering of waters’, we purify ourselves in a ‘gathering of the people’. To enter into the unity of Hashem, ‘to be one within One’ we need to purify our ‘selves’ of whatever dross that might cause separation. In the mikveh we have to be totally immersed, to become ‘tahor’. It is known that when tzadikkim couldn’t find a mikveh to immerse in, they would immerse themselves among the people. The word mikveh is also related to the word ‘tikvah’ which means hope. We discover our ‘tikvah’- hope, lies in our gathering and our immersion in our gathering.
Moshe Rabbeinu then speaks to us about the holiness of Shabbos and about the holy Mishkan sanctuary. We need to understand, why is Moshe Rabbeinu talking to us about these two matters in particular?
How do we restore our unity? How can we regain our self-confidence, our ‘azzut d’kedusha’ holy chutzpah, to not give up? What is the source of our unity?
Moshe Rabbeinu is speaking to us and telling us that the holy Shabbos is the source of our unity. Hakadosh Baruch Hu wants to have a dwelling place here in the lowest of worlds and He gave us the task to prepare the vessel to receive the Shechinah. Moshe Rabbeinu is teaching that if we want to build a holy sanctuary for Hashem we can only do so if we are really united, only then will the Shechinah dwell in it. As it says in the Zohar we read at ‘Kabbalat Shabbat’, the secret of Shabbos lies in being ‘one within One’. In Shabbos we can restore our unity, that is what Shabbos is all about.
The Ishbitzer Rebbe continues to explain; one of the miracles that occurred in the building of the Mishkan was that although hundreds of people were involved in its’ construction, when it was completed it looked as if it had been made by one person; it possessed an inherent unity. This was possible because miraculously all the craftspeople were inspired with a spirit of unity to work and serve Hashem in unison, and that is what made it so special and holy. By keeping Shabbos holy we are inspired by its unity, for Shabbos is the unity that permeates through each one of us and allows us to be in harmony with each other.
When we are united, when we really care about one another, then the Shechinah dwells amongst us, and no one desires to make any kind of golden calf. But if we are divided we [can] become idolatrous and make idols, i.e. we deify and worship division. The idols we make, and the worship of idols then divide us even further. But when we unite, when we live in Shabbos, Hashem joins us and dwells among us.
There is a ‘natural’ truth: the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. The vessel is greater than all its bits of clay. Then there is the additional aspect of what the vessel is filled with. When the Jewish people unite, the vessel of “Knesset Yisrael” – the community of Israel – is formed and then the holy Shechinah dwells in it. We are obligated not only to believe that Hashem is one, we are obligated to live Hashem’s oneness.
When we say the Shma Yisrael, we put our hand over our eyes and close them in order to better focus on the words “Hear O Israel, Hashem is our G-d, Hashem is One”. Then when we open our eyes we have to see that Hashem is One, that everyone and everything we see and don’t see, is all part of Hashem’s oneness. The reality of Hashem’s One-ness will be fully perceived and appreciated only when Moshiach comes.
“V’atem tee-h-you lee mamlechet kohanim v’goy kadosh”. Sh’mot 19. We are commanded to be a ‘kingdom of kohanim and a holy nation’. In Vayikra Chap. 19, Hashem tells Moshe Rabbeinu to gather everyone together in order to tell the people of Israel “kedoshim tee-h-you” you shall be holy. The commentators explain that here too we all gathered together because everyone had to be there to personally hear this mitzvah that calls upon us to live a life of holiness. Many people believe that being holy and living holy is possible only for a few select individuals in each generation. However the truth is that every one of us can live a life of ‘kedushah’ holiness. That is why everyone had to hear this mitzvah personally.
The Hemek Davar offers an additional explanation; the reason that everyone of us had to be present to hear this mitzvah together is that we were thereby being informed that kedushah-holiness can be found only in togetherness and unity. No matter how scrupulously you observe the mitzvot, no matter with how much ‘kavanah’ holy intention and focus you perform your mitzvot, you can be connected to holiness only if there is a real place for every Jew in your heart and soul.
As we have learned in the past a Sefer Torah which is missing even only one letter, or if one letter is damaged, the whole Sefer Torah is not kosher and may not be read from in public. Chassidut explains that each letter represents a neshamah, and if one letter is missing, it is as if that neshamah is missing, chas v’shalom.
The same is true about the Mishkan. Reb Shlomo ztz”l used to emphasize the teaching that if even only one tiny peg was missing in the Mishkan, then the Shechinah would not dwell in it. The Mishkan was constructed with the t’rumot contributions of every ‘nediv leyv’, everyone contributed generously, and when everyone’s ‘generosity of the heart’ was brought together, the Dwelling Place of the Shechinah was created.
“Olam chessed yiboneh”, the world was built with the attribute of chessed, kindness. Creation is an act of ‘chessed’. The building of the Mishkan was a re-creation of Bereishis, the creation of the world. Just as Hashem created the world with chessed, we too can create the home for Hashem, the Mishkan, only through our acts of chessed, generosity of the heart. Hashem, the One, created the many; we the many have to bring it all together to create the home for the One.
I once saw a teaching that ‘Chessed’ has the ‘gimatria’- numeric value- of 72, which equals 4×18. 18 is “chai”, representing life. 4×18=72, represents the life vitality which is coming through each of the four letters of Hashem’s Name… ‘Yud’- ‘Hey’ – ‘Vav’ – ‘Hey’. All together 72 = ‘chessed’ [‘Chet’=8 + ‘Samech’=60 + Daled= 4 = total 72.
The deepest generosity that we have been given is the holy Shabbos. The deepest way we can celebrate Shabbos is by being “nediv leyv”, of generous heart, sharing together rather than doing commerce with each other. The Slonimer Rebbe explains that, from the fact that the Torah is teaching us about Shabbos and the Mishkan again in this weeks parsha, right after we read the story of the golden calf last week, we learn that there is Shabbos before the sin, and there is Shabbos after the sin. Even after making a golden calf, we still have the Shabbos; we still can connect deeply with Shabbos.
It is natural for us to feel embarrassed when we daaven to Hashem after we have done something very wrong. After we made the golden calf we were very broken hearted, we were very ashamed to stand before G-d again and to sing to Hashem. How could we ever really open our mouths in song and prayer again? But we must not allow our shame to interfere with our singing to Hashem, or our celebrating Shabbos fully again…. but how do we overcome these feelings?
This Shabbos is the Shabbos [parsha] after the sin of the golden-calf. We have Shabbos again, but now we need to prepare ourselves for it. All the work that we have to put into our Shabbos preparations is but Hashem’s way of helping us overcome our shame. By allowing us the opportunity to ‘do’ something in preparation for Shabbos, Hashem is restoring our self-confidence and we are healed in our ‘making Shabbos’.
Rabbi Miles Krassen
Va-Yaqhel 5771 According to SeferAz Yashir Moshe (MetaTorah)
Moshe calls together a harmonious community that includes all factions… (Ex. 35:1)
The Sanctuary (Mishqan) that Moshe calls on all of us to participate in constructing, is a portable mini-Temple. As such it has to represent and include every single essential element present within the full spectrum of the Shekhinah Herself. Every truly sacred Temple whether portable or stationary is a fractal reflection on its own level of the Shekhinah who is Everything, from the very least all the way to Eyn Sof (The ALL). We need such sacred constructions because our little eyes are too weak and easily distracted and cannot recognize directly that we are already blessed to be present within a divinely constructed Sanctuary, the Earth Herself, Goddess Gaea.
We also need a scaled-down microcosmic model to remind us that our own bodies, themselves fashioned in the “Divine Image,” have the potential to become sanctuaries, if we can master the Yoga of harmonizing all our energy systems with the deepest wisdom of the Heart, bilevavi mishqan evneh (“I’m building a sanctuary in my Heart”).
Through studying the construction and composition of this portable Sanctuary we can learn a lot about what we need to do in order to become ourselves a portable sanctuary that embodies and transports Holiness throughout time and space. (See Reb Zalman’s translation of Ana Be-Koach.)
And here we need to recognize the essential difference between a portable Sanctuary (Mishqan) and a stationary Temple (Beyt Ha-Miqdash). The Temple can only come later after all the sacred battles relevant to a specific location (Milchemot HaShem) have been won, i.e., after everything has been eliminated that obscures and stands in the way of realizing the Shekhinah directly as Reality Herself right in that very place.
Many of us would like to jump over time and “re-build” the Temple without first constructing, creating and becoming a portable Sanctuary ourselves. But such a notion is inherently reactionary and regressive, because by merely looking backwards to where the Shekhinah has already been we cannot help Her reach where She still needs to go, ( mythically, the Third Temple). To get THERE from HERE we always have to continue moving forward in order to master the construction of a portable Sanctuary. We have to become a sacred chariot (Merkavah) that can embody and transport Holiness throughout all reaches and stages of time and space. (“The Fathers and Mothers are the Chariot”)
The appeal of the “leap-frog beyond time and space” is powerful, because it appears to enable us to leap over and defy the fundamentally suffering nature of embodied experience. But it is as illusory and unsustainable as any other limited fantasy model that obscures and separates the “two partzufim” of Reality that are essentially inseparable. (Qudsha Berikh Hu u- Shekhinteh.) Any “Absolute” that is not sustained by the energy of conscious suffering within Time and Space is itself fated to fade away. (See what Gurdjieff says about the Absolute and merciless Heropass in All and Everything.) So, the Shekhinah wants and needs us here to sustain and feed her.
How we feed and sustain the Shekhinah is a matter of scale and proportion.Since most of us cannot even begin to comprehend the Shekhinah as Whole, we need to work with limited fractal models that on their own scale reflect the Totality and that means coming together on some level in the construction of a fractal Mishqan. But, regardless of the level or the scale, whether as embodied individual, family, tribe, nation, multi-national, or globally, within time and space the sacred struggles that feed and nourish the Shekhinah, the sacrificial efforts we must make to sustain holiness on the Earth and in the Universe—miLeCHeMot HaVaYaH— the “Lechem of Being,” Divine Bread—cannot be avoided. We must provide HER with food for HER sustenance.
And here is where the problem arises that the archetypal meta-Moshe addresses. The nourishing struggles we need to offer as Prasad, require of us discrimination and conscience. On the micro-Mishqan scale that means honestly acknowledging and addressing aspects of us that require refinement, however painful. From the perspective of the larger vehicles, more expansive forms of the macro-Mishqan, this same sense of justice and conscience has also to be refined and expressed. These “struggles” are unavoidable and essential for creating, spreading, and sustaining holiness on the Earth.
But here is the problem. While the conscious struggles rooted in conscience are not only required and quintessentially human, humanity on its own level cannot succeed in “bringing Mashiach,” the redeeming feature. The reason is that we have one quintessentially human flaw that makes even our best efforts as futile as Sysiphus. As long as this chief human feature is not recognized and transcended, regardless of how “right” we may be in our expression and perceptions of conscience and “justice,” we are bound to fail every time in our efforts to bring about whatever we may think is “right.” That fatal flaw is Schadenfreude, the pathological pleasure we humans experience in the face of someone else’s suffering. Unfortunately, this dubious pleasure greatly increases the more we think somebody “really deserves it.”
But no matter how terrible we may think someone else’s karma is, there is no one who is outside the reach of the All-Embracing outreach of the Thirteen Arms of the Shekhinah’s Pure Compassion (Thirteen Middot of Rachamim). This very teaching is explicit in the midrash that is repeated at every Passover Seder in the Haggadah that tells us how the Shekhinah rebuked the Israelites for celebrating the drowning of their former oppressors who died while pursuing the Israelites into the Reed Sea. (“My people are dying and you are cheering?!?!”) It is one thing to celebrate the unconditional good fortune of being the beneficiary of Divine Grace. But Schadenfreude completely undermines the merit of any such celebration and guarantees that we will “lose it” again regardless of how high a level we may have reached.
And that is why our sages teach us that when it comes to conflict and opposition, the only kind that provides sustainance for the Shekhinah is a machloqet le-shem shamayim: when we express our differences in support of Heaven’s interests. But differences cannot be expressed for Heaven’s interests as long as one is not rooted in the All-Embracing outreach of the Thirteen Arms of the Shekhinah’s Pure Compassion (Thirteen Middot of Rachamim) which exclude no one. As long as we hate someone and rejoice in their downfall, no matter how much we believe “they really deserve it,” we can know for certain that our struggle is not a machloqet le-shem shamayim and our “righteous” efforts will fail to provide sustainance for the Shekhinah.
The archetypal meta-Moshe who alone can put all the pieces together because “He” is rooted in unlimited compassion is the Divine Power calling on all of us to come together in the construction of every level of Mishqan that can feed the Shekinah by enabling holiness to move freely through all dimensions of time and space reaching everywhere, everything, and everyone.
May it be so. May it be so.
Shabbat shalom.
Received and faithfully transmitted by
Moshe Aharon
Ladyzhiner
Va-Yaqhel 5771
(The highest level is recognizing directly and clearly the absolutely limitless and all-encompassing energy of pure rachamim that is extended and includes all beings without exception. If one doesn’t attain this level of realization, regardless of how many high attainments and merits one gains for oneself, it will still be possible to “completely lose it” in some circumstance or another. Only the consciousness that is rooted in and permeated by all-encompassing rachamim can manifest critically as a machloqet le-shem shamayyim and thus have qiyyum.)
From the American Jewish World Service
Rachel Farbiarz. 2011
In Parshat Vayakhel the Children of Israel built the Tabernacle. The project demanded of Israel formidable helpings of both creative energy and generosity. In the punishing desert, the people were expected to furnish a marvelous array of gold, silver, bronze, linens, indigo, hides, oils, incense and precious stones.1 And from these gifts, they were to carve, spin, cut, rivet, embroider, weave and fashion the Sanctuary’s sacral architecture and furnishings.
That such an effort could be successfully undertaken in the desert was extraordinary enough. That it be executed by a mass of recently-freed slaves—who, while well-accustomed to hard labor, were untutored in skilled craft—is understood as nothing less than miraculous.2 This preternatural ingenuity is most plainly embodied in Bezalel, the man specially named by the Almighty to lead the construction efforts. A creative genius, Bezalel was “filled [ ] with a spirit of God in wisdom, in understanding, and in knowledge, and in every task.”3
The capstone of the Divine spirit that filled the accomplished craftsman was not, however, his mastery of goldsmithing or his way with joinery. It was, instead, his ability to teach others, as the parshah informs: God “has given in his heart to instruct [.]”4 Commentator Robert Alter notes the singular significance of this gift, observing that while Canaanite and Greek myth both venerated a “craftsman god; here, instead the Lord inspires a human being with the skill, or ‘wisdom’ of the craft as well as with the ability to administer the project.”5
It fell to Bezalel then to transform his fellow Israelites—these willing, but unable, manual laborers—into master craftsmen. To do so, he was surely endowed with those qualities so palpable in great teachers: He had to convey instruction plainly and engagingly, to demand excellence while exuding patience. And most critically, Bezalel needed to instill in his workmen-pupils a powerful sense of confidence that this awesome project was within their grasp.
Perhaps, then, this is the Tabernacle’s ultimate glory—that the process of its construction helped transform a mass of unskilled, uneducated slaves into a people that could make something awesome with its own hands. This was an effort that fashioned not only altar and laver, menorah and ephod—but dignity. It illuminated for people who were dependent on manna from heaven, water from a rock and protection from a cloud that God, in turn, relied upon them to build the Divine dwelling on earth. And it was Bezalel, with his gift of guidance, who shepherded the fledgling nation through this ennobling transformation.
In our times too, we can recognize the precious Bezalels who cultivate dignity and transform lives by imparting a skill, a trade—something of which to be proud. These are the people and organizations who know that teaching a man to fish does more than feed a person for a lifetime: It incubates a dignity that nurtures a different kind of sustenance.
One can see this dynamic unfolding in the work of organizations like Women for Women International (WFWI). WFWI helps women who have survived through conflict and violence to develop skills and resources that will enable them to live stable, self-sufficient lives. The core component of these programs is job training: From canning dates in Iraq to tailoring in Rwanda and gem-cutting in Afghanistan, WFWI’s efforts embolden marginalized women to become integral and powerful forces in their families, local communities and broader civil societies.6
Such a transformation is borne out, for instance, by those participating in WFWI’s training programs in Democratic Republic of Congo. While over 80 percent of these women report an improvement in their economic situations, even greater numbers report that they are now actively participating in key household decisions and have gained knowledge of their legal rights. Ninety percent of participants go on to train and mentor other community women using the skills they have acquired. In the words of Lucienne, a single mother of three who spent months as a sex-slave to rebel soldiers: “Joining the program has been a salvation…my life has changed and my children are healthy. I recovered confidence through the training.”7
It takes a special kind of focus, perseverance and patience to cultivate such transformational confidence. It is a role for which not even Moses Rabbeinu—“Our Teacher”—his nerves too often stripped by the nation of not-yet-transformed-slaves, seems to have been cut out. Today, God may not call out the names of those extraordinary people who labor and thrive in this challenging work as the Divine did for Bezalel.8 It is, instead, our duty to single them out for our admiration, and most of all, our support.
1 Exodus 35: 6-9.
2 See, for example, Nachmanides on Exodus 35:21.
3 Exodus 35: 30-31.
4 Exodus 35:34.
5 Alter, Robert. The Five Books of Moses. New York: W.W. Norton & Co., 2004. p. 517, fn. 34.
6 WFWI, “What We Do.” http://www.womenforwomen.org/programs-supporting-women/programs-for-helping-women.php
7 WFWI, “Taking a Stand Against Violence: The Women of DR Congo.” http://www.womenforwomen.org/global-initiatives-helping-women/help-women-congo.php
8 Exodus 35:30
From Rav Kook
Vayakheil: The Dual Nature of the Tabernacle
An obvious question strikes anyone reading the portions of Vayakheil and Pekudei. Why did the Torah need to repeat all of the details of how the Tabernacle was built? All of these matters were already described at great length in Terumah and Tetzaveh, which record God’s command to build the Mishkan.
Command and Execution
Rav Kook frequently spoke of the divide between the path and the final goal. We tend to rush through our lives, chasing after goals – even worthwhile goals – with little regard for the path and the means. The path is seen as a stepping stone, of no importance in its own right.
With these two sets of Torah portions Terumah-Tetzaveh and Vayakheil-Pekudei, we observe a similar divide, between the command to build and the actual construction. This is the difference between study and action, between theory and practice.
Just as our world emphasizes goals at the expense of means, so too it stresses deed and accomplishment at the expense of thought and study. But a more insightful perspective finds a special significance in the path, in the abstract theory, in the initial command.
The Sages imparted a remarkable insight: “Great is Torah study, for it leads to action” (Kiddushin 40b). This statement teaches that Torah study – the theory, the path – is preferable to its apparent goal, mitzvah performance. Torah study lead us to good deeds; but it has an intrinsic worth above and beyond its value as a way to know how to act.
The Talmud discusses whether a blessing should be recited when constructing a sukkah booth. After all, the Torah commands us to build a sukkah – “The holiday of booths you shall make for yourselves” (Deut. 16:13). Nonetheless, the rabbis determined that no blessing is recited when building the sukkah, only when living in it during the Succoth holiday. Why not?
Maimonides explained that when there is a command to construct an object for the purpose of fulfilling a mitzvah, one only recites a blessing on the final, ultimate mitzvah (see Hilchot Berachot 11:8). Thus we do not recite a blessing when preparing tzitzit or when building a sukkah.
According to this line of reasoning, if Torah study were only a means to know how to keep mitzvot, no blessing would be recited over studying Torah. The fact that we do recite blessings over Torah study indicates that this study is a mitzvah in its own right, independent of its function as a preparation to fulfill other mitzvot.
These two aspects of Torah may be described as Divine influence traversing in opposite directions, like the angels in Jacob’s dream. The Torah’s fulfillment through practical mitzvot indicates a shefa that flows from above to below, the realization of God’s elevated will, ratzon Hashem, in the lower physical realm. The intrinsic value of Torah study, on the other hand, indicates spiritual movement in the opposite direction. It ascends from below to above – our intellectual activity without expression in the physical world, our Torah thoughts without practical application.
Dual Purpose
The repetition in the account of the Mishkan reflects this dichotomy. The two sets of Torah readings are divided between command and execution, study and deed.
And on a deeper level, the repetition expresses the dual function of the Mishkan. On the practical level, it was a central location for offering korbanot. The Mishkan served as a center dedicated to holy actions. But on the abstract, metaphysical level, the Mishkan was a focal point for God’s Presence, a dwelling place for His Shekhinah. “They shall make for Me a Temple, and I will dwell (ve-shekhanti) among them” (Ex. 25:8).
Like the converse influences of Torah, one descending and one ascending, each of the Tabernacle’s functions indicated an opposite direction. Its construction, the dedication of physical materials and talents to holy purposes, and the offering of korbanot to God, flowed upwards – an ascent from the physical world below to the heavens above. The indwelling of the Shekhinah, on the other hand, was a descending phenomenon from above to below, as God’s Divine Presence resided in the physical universe.
(Adapted from Shemuot HaRe’iyah, Vayakheil-Pekudei (1931))
From Melissa Carpenter
Vayakheil: Seven Lamps
While Aaron is at the foot of Mount Sinai making a golden calf, Moses is on top of the mountain receiving divine instruc-tions for making the sanctuary God wants. In last week’s Torah portion, Moses descends and destroys the calf and the people who worshiped it. In this week’s Torah portion, Vayakheil (“And he assembled”), Moses calls together the surviving people and gives them God’s instructions for making the sanctuary. These include God’s description of the lamp-stand (menorah), and God’s choice of Betzaleil as the master craftsman.
Moses said to the children of Israel: See, God has called by name Betzaleil … He (God) filled him with a spirit of God in wisdom, in understanding, and in knowledge, and in every creative skill. (Exodus/Shemot 35:30-31)
chochmah = wisdom, knowledge of a craft, thinking in terms of unity
tevunah = understanding, discernment, insight, thinking in terms of distinctions
da-at = knowledge, direct knowledge (either sensory or intuitive)
He (Betzaleil) made the lamp-stand of pure gold … He make its seven lamps and its tongs and its fire-pans of pure gold. (Exodus/Shemot 37:17, 23)
The last time I wrote about the gold lamp-stand, in my blog on January 30 on Terumah: Waking Up, I focused on why God tells Moses to make the lamp-stand like an almond tree. Now it’s time to ask why it has seven lamps.
Of course there are many theories. One is that the seven lamps stand for the seven days of creation at the beginning of the Torah. The seventh day is the sabbath/Shabbat, when God rested from the creative work. At the beginning of this week’s Torah portion, Moses first tells the people to do their own creative work (malachah) on six days, but make the seventh day holy through a complete rest for God. Only after reminding them about this rule does Moses begin to describe how they will create a sanctuary for God.
If the seven lamps reflect the seven days of creation, we also need to look at the master craftsman who creates them: Betzaleil. Classic commentaries (from the 5th-century Tanchuma on) say that Moses could not visualize the lamp-stand from God’s original description. But Betzaleil could.
What gave him this ability? The Torah says God filled Betzaleil with chochmah, tevunah, and da-at. In Kabbalah, chochmah/wisdom, binah/discernment (from the same root as tevunah), and da-at/knowledge are three of the ten sefirot (divine powers; facets of God’s emanation, which creates the universe). Chochmah, binah, and da-at are the three highest sefirot accessible to human beings, containing the most divine energy.
Once I noticed that God fills Betzaleil with the top three sefirot, I looked for the other seven. And since divine emanation is so often symbolized by light, I thought of the seven lamps in a row across the top of the golden lamp-stand.
It’s not easy to decide which of the seven lower sefirah corresponds to which lamp. I’d say that the three lamps closer to the Holy of Holies containing the ark represent the middle triad of sefirot: chessed/kindness, gevurah/discipline, and tiferet/harmony. The three lamps on the other side, closer to the entrance and the altar for animal sacrifices, would represent the lower triad of sefirot: netzchak/endurance, hod/beauty in physical movement, and yesod/ego. That leaves the middle lamp for malchut/kingdom, also called shechinah. Shechinah is the place of divine emanation of our whole physical universe, and the spirit of God in our universe. And the shechinah comes closest to us on the seventh day, the sabbath/Shabbat!
Still, speculations about specific correspondences between lamps and sefirot are not as important as the idea that God’s blueprint for the lamp-stand calls for not one lamp, but seven. The orthodox 19th-century Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch noted that a single lamp would imply a one-sided spirit of service. Seven lamps imply that the spirits of those who serve God must have many different aspects.
Betzaleil, the master craftsman, was filled with not one but three different aspects of the divine, three different sefirot: wisdom, understanding, and knowledge. And in the same verse, the Torah says God filled him with ruach Elohim, which means a spirit of God … or a spirit of gods, in the plural. Elohim is the word for God that appears first in the story of creation; but some Kabbalists believe the unknowable God created the universe through “gods”, through various divine powers emanating from the One God; in other words, through the sefirot.
Reading about the lamp-stand in the sanctuary can remind us that we serve God by lighting all the lamps of our spirits. We can move toward holiness—and spread enlightenment—through discipline as well as through loving-kindness, through individual egos as well as through harmony.
May we be blessed to kindle all of our lamps.
From Rabbi James Stone Goodman
Gathered Up 2011
First holiness of time
keep the Sabbath
then subdue the space
build the sanctuary.
And everyone who excelled in ability
and everyone whose spirit moved
came, bringing to God an offering
terumah
for the work of the Tent of Meeting
and for all its service. [Ex.35:21]
Terumah –
what is lifted up
if we are lifted up
every gift is good –
there will be plenty of money
maybe too much.
There can be too much money.
Here
at the beginning of the enterprise
we brought too much money.
The stuff we had was sufficient [Ex.36:7]
and our teacher asked us not to bring any more.
There is always the temptation
even when doing the holy work
to bring too much stuff.
Enough, our teacher said,
enough stuff
– bring your bones.
jsg, usa
O holy Shabbes Inspiration Vayakhel
Maqam Hoseini
D [1/2] E-flat [1] F [1] G
Each Shabbes is associated with a maqam
Cognate maqom
Signifying Place.
From Rav DovBer Pinson
B”H
Week’s Energy for Parshas Vayakhel
Rav DovBer Pinson
Doing from a Place of Being
This week’s Torah reading opens with Moshe/Moses gathering together the entire community and instructing them regarding the building of the Mishkan/Temple.
The reading begins with the words “Moshe gathered the whole community… to assemble, and said… These are the things that Hashem commanded to make…Six days work may be done, but on the seventh day (Shabbas) you shall have sanctity (rest from work).” Moshe continues regarding the offerings that were given to build the Mishkan/ Temple in the desert; “every generous hearted person shall bring …gold, silver, and copper.” (35:1;5)
Moshe has already received the detailed instructions as to the building of the mishkan. Now he assembles the whole community to relay to them the building plans for the mishkan. Before he begins the construction details however, he first tells the entire assemble about the day of Shabbos.
Creation begins with work, “six days” and concludes with Shabbos, rest. Adam and Eve however, were created on the cusp of Shabbos, and their reality began with Shabbos and continued with the work week.
Moshe is imparting a deep and lasting truth to the assembled people.
Before we can go out into the world and create, we must first come from a place of Shabbos.
The place of Shabbos is a state of ‘being’ versus a state of ‘doing.’ An oasis in time, wherein we can simply exist, revealing our innermost expression of self, unrelated to our work week titles and job descriptions. A time in which we identify ourselves by our essence, rather than external expressions or labels.
The building of the Mishkan represents the work that we do throughout the week. The creation of the mishkan required participation, individuality and creativity. The final structure was a result of the collective creative output of the nation – every capable man and woman participating in its creation.
In our state of ‘doing’, expressing our individual creativity and prowess, we risk arrogance – perhaps feeling that ‘my work is more important than yours’, or worse still – ‘I am better than you.’
So before Moshe relays to them the instructions of building the Mishkan he “gathers together the entire community” and “assembles” them. The gathering together is symbolic, as Moshe is teaching them about unity within a group, about how when they are gathered together they are all equal.
In work, in doing, in producing, in creativity we are all different, everyone has something unique to contribute, and one person may “do” better than another. Yet, in ‘non-doing,’ in resting, in being, we recognize that at our essence we are equal.
This then is the lesson that Moshe imparts. The foundation of our ‘doing’, of building a Mishkan, of carving our own space in this world, should be founded on the principle of Shabbos, the equalizing state of our ‘beingness.’
Our Doing must come from our place of Being.
What we do, and create, should be founded on who we are.
And who are we?
We are all, at our very essence, a spark of the Infinite Divine Oneness
This awareness ensures that all the wonderful and amazing things that we will accomplish in our Doing, will be deeply rooted in our awareness of our essential self, the Divine spark that enlivens each and every one of us.
The Energy of the Week:
Doing from a place of BeingThis week’s Torah reading imbues us with the energy of Beingness, even as we create and express our individuality in a myriad of ways.
We take the energy of Shabbos, of just ‘Being’ and draw it into our life’s work.
We recognize ourselves as being part of an equal collective – and within that group, having our own unique abilities and life path. Therefore contributing to our utmost capabilities and still remaining rooted and humble in our essential self.
As we move into the ‘doing’ reality this week, we take the life force of Shabbos with us – imbuing all our accomplishments with a deep sense of our true self, where our doing is rooted in our being.
From Reb Sholom Brodt for the year 5770
Shkalim, Zachor, Parah and Hachodesh
These are the four additional Torah readings of the last few weeks, that read in preparation for the establishment of the Mishkan and the holiday of Pessach. The names and the content of these four ‘parshiot’ provide us with much guidance for returning to the home of our souls.
The Mishkan is called Mishkan haEydut – the Mishkan of Testimony. Rashi explains:
The Mishkan of Testimony: So-called because it bears witness for Yisrael that G-d pardoned them for the deed of the [Golden] Calf, for [through the Mishkan] He rested His Shechinah among them.
Tragically our Beit Hamikdash has been lying in ruin for close to 2000 years. We hardly have a sense of what life was like and would be like with the Shechinah’s presence in our midst. It is our deepest yearning, we pray for it three times a day: “Return in mercy to Yerushalayim Your city and dwell therein as You have promised.” (the daily Amiddah)
We also strive for the rebuilding of Hashem’s dwelling place as we are commanded: “And they shall make for Me a Mishkan and I shall dwell in their midst.” As we have learned on numerous occasions, this is both a communal and personal command. Each one of us individually is commanded to transform our beings into a dwelling place for the holy Shechinah.
Parshat Shkalim teaches us to contribute generously to the Mishkan [as we have learned in the last few weeks]. All contributions of material goods were to be made with a ‘generous heart’ – Hashem desires contributions of the heart; He desires our hearts.
The word ‘shkalim’ is the plural form of ‘shekel’ – a coin consisting of a certain weight of silver. In the infinitive ‘lishkol’ is to weigh; to take. The first step in making a contribution toward the building of Hashem’s dwelling place is to weigh, to consider what we are about to do, why we wish to do it and how best to do it. Consider whether our actions are nourishing or starving our souls. Consider the soul’s loneliness and its yearning for union with Hashem. May we be compassionate and generously nourish our souls.
Parshat Zachor teaches us to beware of being affected by the evil dangers of Amalek – the dangers of doubting the worthiness of our good deeds and of serving Hashem in a cold manner. We must do every mitzvah with love and passion and even when we don’t manage to do so, we must believe and completely trust that every one of our ‘contributions’, even the smallest of contributions is worthy and valuable.
Parshat Parah teaches us that in order to enter Hashem’s dwelling place we must be tahor – purified of anger, of the anger of death. The Talmud teaches when one wants to be tahor he is given help from heaven. Hashem desires and is waiting to help us live true life. We must first ‘come forward’ to be purified and then Hashem will purify us.
Parshat Hachodesh teaches the importance of renewal. Reb Shlomo zt”l taught that a ‘neshamah person’ is always new. King David, concludes the Book of Psalms with this verse: “Let every ‘neshamah’ – soul, praise the LORD. Hallelujah! (Tehillim 150:6) The Rabbis explained the verse as follows: praise Hashem for every single breath. The word ‘neshamah’- soul, is the same word as ‘neshimah’- breath. A healthy living person breathes and doesn’t stop breathing, he doesn’t say “I already took a breath, why do I need another one?” At every moment Hashem is breathing new life into our nostrils; and we in turn must be fresh and new at all times, even when doing a mitzvah for the hundredth or thousandth time we must strive to do it as if this is the very first time.
Wendy
Before this blog, I had a difficult time relating to the description of the Mishkan. Now I am entranced by the images and the teachings in this part of the Torah.
One image that stands out for me is from Rabbi Jill Hammer. In the Jewish Book of Days she says that the tribe associated with the month of Adar is the tribe of Naftali. Adar is when we read about the building of the Mishkan. Reb Jill says that the Midrash, Exodus Rabbah 94:8, says that the tribe of Naftali wove the the curtains of the Mishkan. This part of the Torah is about community building. I imagine the tribe of Naftali, most likely the women, (see Rav Kook’s teaching) weaving the threads of the sacred curtains representing the threads of all of us, our appearances, temperments, and contributions to make the cloth of community.
From Rav Kook
VaYakhel: Stars in the Tabernacle
There is an interesting tradition about the beautiful tapestries covering the Tabernacle. The Tabernacle covering was comprised of ten large tapestries, with patterns of cherubs woven into them. These colorful tapestries were sewn together in two sets of five. The two sections were then fastened together with fifty gold fasteners.
We know that the structure of the Tabernacle corresponded to the entire universe. What did these metal fasteners represent?
Like the Stars
The Talmud (Shabbat 99a) tells us that from inside the Tabernacle, the gold fasteners would sparkle against the background of the rich tapestries like stars twinkling in the sky.
This analogy of fasteners to the stars requires further examination. Stars and constellations represent powerful natural forces in the universe, influencing and controlling our world. “Good are the luminaries that our God has created … He granted them strength and power, to be dominant within the world.” (from the Sabbath morning prayers)
The Tabernacle fasteners, however, indicate another function of the stars.
The function of the fasteners was to hold the tapestries together. In fact, they emphasized the overall unity of the Tabernacle. By securing the two sets of tapestries together, they would “make the tabernacle one” (Ex. 36:13).
Holding the Universe Together
In general, the design of the Tabernacle reflected the structure of the universe and its underlying unity. For example, the tabernacle building consisted of wooden beams with pegs that slid into silver sockets (the adanim). The precise interlocking of the Tabernacle’s supporting base of adanim with the upright beams emphasized the synchronization of the universe’s foundations with the diversified forces and mechanisms that regulate and develop the world. Insight into this tightly-bound relationship allows us to recognize that everything is the work of the Creator, Who unites all aspects of creation in His sublime Oneness.
For all of their grandeur and apparent autonomy, the true function of the stars is to act like the Tabernacle fasteners. They hold together the great canopy of the cosmos, in accordance with the Divine plan of creation. Like the sparkling fasteners, the stars “are filled with luster and radiate brightness” on their own accord. Yet their true function is to bind together the forces of the world, making the universe one.
(adapted from Ein Eyah vol. IV p. 245)
Copyright © 2006 by Chanan Morrison
From Rav Kook
VaYakhel: Two Layers of Wisdom
Two spun coverings stretched out across the roof of the Tabernacle (Mishkan). The inner covering was a beautiful work of fine linen and wool dyed indigo, purple, crimson. The outer covering, on the other hand, was a simpler affair, made solely of goat-wool. One might think that the magnificent inner covering was the greater of the two. Yet the Talmud points out that the outer wool covering required greater wisdom to make. How do we know this?
The Torah describes the women involved in spinning the multi- colored covering as being ‘wise-hearted.’ Regarding the simpler, outer covering, on the other hand, the Torah indicates that the women utilized a special, sublime wisdom: “the women whose heart uplifted them in wisdom …” (Ex. 35:25).
What was this special wisdom? According to the Talmud, the wool was washed and spun — while it was still on the goats (Shabbat 99).
Two Forms of Wisdom
The details of the Tabernacle construction correspond to the configuration of the universe — physically, and especially spiritually. The Sages compared the building of the Mishkan to the creation of heaven and earth.
Rav Kook explained that these two Tabernacle coverings relate to two separate layers of sublime wisdom, the basis for spiritual light and holiness in the world. The first form of wisdom is abstract and general in nature; the second is practical and detailed. The abstract wisdom shines brilliantly with the multiple facets of the intellect and the varied hues of the imagination. This general wisdom deals with inner, sublime matters, and thus corresponds with the colorful, inner covering.
The practical wisdom, on the other hand, would appear to be a simpler matter, serving primarily to protect and guard the abstract concepts of the inner, hidden wisdom. But in truth, the wisdom of practical application of abstract principles is deep and rare. While spiritual abstractions may be revealed through normal prophecy and divine inspiration, the eternal Torah of deeds and mitzvot was revealed to the world only by means of Moses’ unique prophetic vision.
“The women whose heart uplifted them in wisdom.” These women were gifted with the innermost wisdom. By virtue of its profound depth, they were able to elevate the entire heart, all of life, all senses and emotions, all actions and all deeds. Their wisdom reached the level of “they spun (on) the goats.” Even the most mischievous, base forms of life — as represented by the goat — were bound and tied to the supernal light of eternity.
(adapted from Ein Eyah vol. IV, pp. 245-246)
Copyright © 2006 by Chanan Morrison
From Rav Kook
VaYakhel: Art and Creation
“Moses told the Israelites: ‘God has selected Betzalel … and has filled him with a divine spirit of wisdom, insight and knowledge in all craftsmanship.'” (Ex. 35:30-31)
What exactly were these gifts of wisdom, insight and knowledge that God bestowed to Betzalel? The Sages wrote that the master craftsman knew the very secrets of creation. Betzalel knew how to “combine the letters with which the heavens and the earth were created,” and used this esoteric knowledge to build the Tabernacle (Berachot 55a).
We find that King Solomon mentioned the very same three qualities when describing the creation of the universe:
“God founded the earth in wisdom ; He established the heavens in insight. With His knowledge the depths opened, and the skies dripped dew.” (Proverbs 3:4)
What is the difference between wisdom, insight, and knowledge? How do they apply both to the Creator and to the artist?
Chochmah, Binah and Da’at
Wisdom (chochmah) is needed for designing the basic structure. In the creation of the world, this refers to the laws of nature governing the universe and guaranteeing its continued existence. The amazing balance of natural forces, the finely-tuned ecosystem of life — this is the underlying wisdom of creation. In art, chochmah fulfills a similar function, determining the work’s underlying structure. Using wisdom, the artist decides on the overall composition, the balance of light and shade, color and perspective, and so on.
Insight (binah) refers to the future vision or final purpose. The Hebrew word binah is related to the word ‘to build’ (“boneh”). The emphasis is not on the current reality, but on the process of gradually building and progressing towards the final, complete form. Therefore, King Solomon ascribed chochmah to forming the earth, and binah to establishing the heavens. The foundation of the earth — its current physical structure — is based on wisdom. Insight, on the other hand, corresponds to the heavens, the spiritual content that indicates the final form.
What is binah with regard to art? The spiritual aspect of art is the interest and wonderment that a master artist can awaken through his work. Betzalel was able to imbue the Tabernacle with a magnificent splendor, thus inspiring the observer with a profound sense of reverence and holiness. The sacred beauty of his work elevated the emotions to a majestic image of God’s grandeur.
The third attribute, Knowledge (da’at), refers to thorough attention to all details. “With His knowledge … the skies dripped dew.” The rain and dew were created with da’at. They sustain every plant, every blade of grass, every creature. God created the universe not only with its fundamental laws of nature (chochmah) and spiritual direction (binah), but also with meticulous care for all its myriad details — da’at.
Attention towards details is similarly important in art. The artist should make sure that the finest details match the overall composition and heighten the work’s emotional impact.
Betzalel knew the letters of Creation — he knew the secret wisdom used to create the universe. With his gifts of chochmah, binah and da’at, Betzalel was able to ensure perfection in the Tabernacle’s structure, vision and details. His exquisite Tabernacle became a suitable vessel to contain God’s Holy Presence, completing the sanctity of Israel by enabling their special closeness to God.
(adapted from Ein Eyah vol. II, pp. 263-264)
Copyright © 2006 by Chanan Morrison
From Reb Sholom Brodt
Parshas Vayakheyl – Pekudei 5769
For The Sake of The Unity of Am Yisrael
This week we read the last two parshiot of ‘sefer Shmot’, the book of Exodus. In addition we have an additional reading for ‘Parshat Hachodesh’, from Exodus chap. 12. “This month shall be for you the beginning of all months, it is the first of the months of the year”.
The themes of Parshat Vayakheyl and parshat Pekudei are Unity and the preciousness of every Jewish soul. Three weeks ago we first learned about the commandment to build the Mishkan, a dwelling place for Hashem in our midst. The instructions for the construction of the Miskan and all its objects and vessels were taught in great detail. Instead of the torah telling us simply that the Children Of Israel did as Hashem commanded them to do, we find in these two parshiot, Vayakheyl and Pekudei a very detailed accounting of all the contributions that were collected, how much gold was used for this and how much silver for that etc. and exactly how each item was made and by whom.
We know that the Torah is very conservative with its use of language and does not waste a single word or even a single letter so everyone is asking why all the repetition? The Lubavitcher Rebbe zt”l explains that the detailed repetition indicates that every contribution, large or small, and every bit of work that went into the construction of the Mishkan was so much appreciated and loved by Hashem.
The name of the last parsha of sefer Shemot is Pekudei. “Eileh Pe’kudei ha’mishkan” – the accounting of all the donations received and used in the making of the Mishkan. Each part of the Mishkan is accounted for. Each contribution was noted, respected and valued. Every half-shekel, even the smallest button and peg, was noted and significant. The Shechinah would dwell only in a complete and unified Mishkan.
Let us take a look at the word “Pekudei”. The letters ‘pei’ – ‘kuf’ – ‘da-led’ are the root of this word. Hebrew, or as we call it ‘LASHON HAKODESH’ is a most beautiful language, and this one root, [like many others], provides us with many words of different but related meanings, each providing a deeper understanding of the other. Here are some of the uses of this verb:
LIFKOD [inf.]: to remember’; to count; to appoint; to order [to command]; to remember; to notice the absence of.
In other words the very name of the parsha- Pekudei teaches us that each contribution consisted of both a worldly dimension as well as a spiritual dimension – the generosity of the heart, the effort it took to make the contribution and the ‘kavanah’- intention of the contributor – all these were noted dearly by Hashem.
The Mishkan:
A physical and spiritual guided tour for serving Hashem
The Lubavithcher Rebbe zt”l always emphasized, that we are to learn a practical lesson in serving Hashem from everything found in the Torah. What can we learn from the Mishkan and its objects? [The following lesson is taken from the Rebbe’s notes on the parsha entitled “The Mishkan and the dedication of the Mishkan” 2 Nissan 1937, Paris.]
When one leaves the ‘public domain’ and enters the Mishkan, he first finds himself in the ‘courtyard’ of the Mishkan. The holy vessels that were placed in the courtyard were the laver and the copper Altar. Further inside was the “Ohel Mo’ed” – the Tent of Meeting, which consisted of two sections separated by a curtain: the “kodesh” and the “kodesh hakodoshim” – the ‘holy’ and the ‘holy of holies”. Inside the “Kodesh” there were three objects: the Incense Altar, the Shulchan of the Showbread and the Menorah. In the “inside of the inside” in the Holy of Holies there was the Aron Hakodesh and the Tablets of the Covenant.
The Rebbe explained that when a person wants to enter into the Sanctuary and he wants to be sanctified within Hashem’s holiness, he first has to wash and cleanse his hands and feet of the ‘dirt’ that attached itself to him as he was involved in the worldly matters of the public domain. The waters of the ‘kior’-laver are known as the ‘waters of tshuvah’ [Targum Yonatan ben Uziel]. On the inside every Jewish neshamah is pure and good, the worldly dirt that attaches itself to us can be removed with the washing of the hands and feet with the waters of tshuvah.
After the washing at the laver, the next object encountered in the courtyard is the Altar upon which the daily sacrifices were offered. When one enters into the domain of the holy, he is obligated to “slaughter” the animal; that is his “animal soul”. To “slaughter”, the Rabbis z”l explain, means to “draw”. The animal soul is to be drawn to the Altar – meaning that the ‘animal soul’ should be drawn to desire only that which is holy.
Then the fats and the blood were burnt on the Altar. The fats represent the delight and pleasure of the animal soul. The blood represents the passion and heat of the animal soul. The intention in burning these on the Altar is that delight, pleasure and passion should all be directed to the holy. When this is done, one can then engage in worldly mundane matters without getting overly involved in them.
The Altar itself which was made of copper on the outside and filled with earth on the inside teaches us that in order to offer the fats and the blood up to Hashem, we need to make use of two contradictory character traits. Toward the outside we need to be strong and shielded like copper; we need to be impervious to the scoffing that is hurled at the observant, and not to feel ashamed in the practice of mitzvot. At the same time we need to be simple dirt on the inside – to be humble before every person. As we say in our daily prayers, “let my soul be like dust to all.”
After completing the above preparatory services, one can then enter into the “kodesh” – the first section of the Tent of Meeting, to get involved with “tikkun haolam” – the fixing of the world. In the language of the Kabbalah this is the service of selecting the good from the dross. This work is done on two tracks- represented by the Shulchan and by the Menorah. There are those whose primary service in Tikkun Olam pertains to the Shulchan – involvement with the proper use of wealth, particularly in matters of tzedakkah and gemilut chassadim- acts of loving kindness. And there are those whose primary Tikkun Olam service is the service of the Menorah – the service of true Torah scholarship.
However in order to truly and practically engage in either of these two tracks of Tikkun Olam one must first enter into the holy words of prayer – to first connect with Hashem. The Incense Altar represents the service of prayer and thus it was the first object encountered inside the “kodesh”. Neither involvement with the mundane, nor involvement in the study of Torah can be done properly and effectively without first engaging in devout prayer.
The ultimate destination of all the above is to enter into the Kodesh Hakodoshim – the Holy of Holies; to enter into complete unification and bonding with Hashem. This is achieved through the study of ‘pnimiut haTorah” – the inner dimensions of the Torah, represented by the ‘two tablets of the Covenant’ which could be read from all sides [thus they had no ‘out-side’]. Pnimiut HaTorah opens us up to bonding and relating with Hashem on the deepest of levels. Through this bonding we can find and achieve “dveikut” in all aspects of the service of Hashem. The ‘sefer Torah’ which was inside the Aron haKodesh along with the actual tablets – “shnei luchot habris” represents finding our deep bonds with Hashem in His revealed Torah. This capability is acquired through the study of ‘pnimiut haTorah’.
Shabbos Parshat Hachodesh
This Shabbos is known as Shabbos Hachodesh, since we will have an additional reading from Shemos [Exodus] chapter 12, serving as a reminder to get ready for the holiday of Pesach.
In this passage we are given the first mitzvah that we ever received as a nation. this is the mitzvah of “Kiddush Hachodesh” – the sanctification of the new moon, the establishment of the month of Nissan as the first month of the year, as well as the commandments concerning the ‘korban Pesach’ and Pesach, all in preparation for ‘yetziat Mitzrayim’, the exodus from Egypt.
In each generation, each year, each day and each moment we are to see ourselves as having been liberated from Mitzrayim/Egypt. The reading of parshas Hachodesh is a heavenly reminder to get ready to be free, for in just a few more days we are all invited to sit at Hashem’s Seder table. It is also a divine gift and infusion of hope and faith, a heavenly inspiration to reassure us that we can and that we truly want to be free, that we can and we truly want to sit at Hashem’s table.
From Mt. Sinai to the Golden Calf to the Mishkan
Parshat Vayakheyl follows right after the story of the ‘golden calf’. As a result of having committed such a transgression a mere forty days after receiving the Torah at Mt. Sinai, we were quite demoralized and we lost our self-confidence in our ability to return to and be close to Hashem once again.
The parsha begins as follows:
“And Moshe gathered the children of Israel and said to them, “these are the things that Hashem has commanded, to do them. Six days [a week] work shall be done, but the seventh day must be holy to you, it is a Shabbos of Shabbos to Hashem…” Moshe said to the entire congreagation of B’nai Yisrael, saying, “This is the word that Hashem has commanded: Take from your possessions a ‘t’rumah’ to Hashem.” Sh’mot 35: 1-5
We wonder why Moshe gathered us together; after all we do not find that Hashem told him to do this? And why did he choose to speak to us about Shabbos and about the building of the sanctuary, again without having been instructed to do so by Hashem!
I heard this teaching from Reb Shlomo zt”l, in the name of the Ishbitzer Rebbe zt”l. The Ishbitzer Rebbe teaches that Moshe Rabbeinu gathered us together to explain to us how it came about that we made a golden calf, to comfort us in spite of our doing so, and to tell us what we needed to know to prevent a recurrence. We are told by Moshe Rabbeinu that we made the golden calf because we did not maintain our unity! Before receiving the holy Torah at Har Sinai, we were united “as one person with one heart”. Tragically this lasted for only forty days. By making the golden calf we had caused the Shechinah to retreat from amongst us. But how did our fragmentation come about?
To convey the importance and necessity of our re-uniting Moshe Rabbeinu did not this time transmit his teachings in the usual manner, via the Kohanim and the Seventy Elders. Instead, he gathered all of us together and spoke to us in community, to realistically convey that first and foremost we must be united; to be “as one person, with one heart”.
Moshe Rabbeinu then speaks to us about the holiness of Shabbos and about the holy Mishkan sanctuary. We need to understand why Moshe Rabbeinu talks to us about these two matters in particular?
How do we restore our unity? How can we regain our self-confidence, our ‘azzut d’kedusha’ holy chutzpah, to not give up? What is the source of our unity?
Moshe Rabbeinu speaks to us, teaching us that the holy Shabbos is the source of our unity. Hakadosh Baruch Hu wants to have a dwelling place here in the lowest of worlds and He gave us the task to prepare the vessel to receive the Shechinah. Moshe Rabbeinu further teaches that if we want to build a holy sanctuary for Hashem we can do so only if we are truly united, only then will the Shechinah dwell in it.
The Ishbitzer Rebbe continues to explain; one of the miracles that occurred in the building of the Mishkan was that although hundreds of people were involved in its construction, when it was completed it looked as if it had been made by one person. The Mishkan possessed an inherent unity. This was possible because miraculously all the craftspeople were inspired with a spirit of unity to work in unison and that is what made it so special and holy. By keeping Shabbos holy we are inspired by its unity, for Shabbos is the unity that permeates each one of us and allows us to be in harmony with each other.
When we are united, when we really care about one another the Shechinah dwells amongst us, and no one even desires to make any kind of golden calf. But if we are divided we [can] become idolatrous and make idols, i.e. we deify and worship division. The idols we make and idolatrous worship then divide us even further. But when we unite, when we live ‘in Shabbos’, Hashem joins us and dwells among us.
There is a ‘natural’ truth: the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. The vessel is greater than all its bits of clay. Then there is the additional aspect of what fills the vessel. When the Jewish people unite, the vessel of “Knesset Yisrael” – the community of Israel – is formed and then the holy Shechinah dwells in it. We are obligated not only to believe that Hashem is one, we are obligated to live Hashem’s oneness and to draw His oneness into all aspects of our lives.
When we say the Shma Yisrael, we put our hand over our eyes and close them in order to better focus on the words “Hear O Israel, Hashem is our G-d, Hashem is One”. Then when we open our eyes we have to see that Hashem is One, that everyone and everything we see and don’t see, is all part of Hashem’s oneness. The truth of this concept will be fully appreciated only when Moshiach comes.
“V’atem tee-h-you lee mamlechet kohanim v’goy kadosh”. Sh’mot 19. We are commanded to be a ‘kingdom of kohanim and a holy nation’. In Vayikra Chap. 19, Hashem tells Moshe Rabbeinu to gather everyone together in order to tell the people of Israel “kedoshim tee-h-you” you shall be holy. The commentators explain that here too we all gathered together because everyone had to be there to personally hear this mitzvah that calls upon us to live a life of holiness. Many people believe that being holy and living in a holy way is possible only for a few select individuals in each generation. However the truth is that every one of us can live a life of ‘kedushah’ holiness. That is why everyone had to hear this mitzvah personally.
The Hemek Davar offers an additional explanation; the reason that everyone of us had to be present to hear this mitzvah together is that we were thereby being informed that kedushah-holiness can be found only in togetherness and unity. No matter how scrupulously you observe the mitzvot, no matter with how much ‘kavanah’ holy intention and focus you perform your mitzvot, you can be connected to holiness only if there is a real place for every Jew in your heart and soul.
As we have learned in the past that if a Sefer Torah is missing even one letter, or if one letter is damaged, the whole Sefer Torah is not kosher and may not be read from in public, becaused as explained in Chassidut, each letter represents a neshamah, and if one letter is missing, it is as if that neshamah is missing, chas v’shalom from this sefer Torah
The same is true about the Mishkan. Reb Shlomo ztz”l used to emphasize the teaching that if even only one tiny peg was missing in the Mishkan, then the Shechinah would not dwell in it. The Mishkan was constructed with the t’rumot contributions of every ‘nediv leyv’, everyone contributed generously, and when everyone’s ‘generosity of the heart’ was brought together, the Dwelling Place of the Shechinah was created.
“Olam chessed yiboneh”, the world was built with the attribute of chessed, kindness. Creation is an act of ‘chessed’. The building of the Mishkan was a re-creation of Bereishis, the creation of the world. Just as Hashem created the world with chessed, we too can create the home for Hashem, the Mishkan, only through our acts of chessed, generosity of the heart. Hashem, the One, created the many; we the many have to bring it all together to create the home for the One.
I once saw a teaching that ‘Chessed’ has the ‘gimatria’- numeric value- of 72, which equals 4×18. 18 is “chai”, representing life. 4×18=72, represents the life vitality which comes through each of the four letters of Hashem’s Name… ‘Yud’- ‘Hey’ – ‘Vav’ – ‘Hey’. All together 72 = ‘chessed’ [‘Chet’=8 + ‘Samech’=60 + Daled= 4 = total 72. By doing acts of loving kindness we merit to bring divine life energy into the world.
From Rabbi James Stone Goodman
With Rashi on Parashat Vayakhel/Pekudei
I was visiting with Rashi the poet on a hillside in eastern France, it was still winter. Snow on the ground. We were sitting on bales in a circle as the sun began to set.
Rashi opened with the first verse of the portion, And Moses assembled the entire assembly of the children of Israel. When? Rashi asked. Rashi’s daughter (I think her name was Miriam) was speaking in quiet tones from behind a screen to her father. My daughter reminds me, Rashi used a word in medieval French for reminds, that Moses assembled the community the day after Yom Kippur, when he came down from the mountain. What’s the significance of the day? Rashi asked us.
It was getting dark so Rashi lit some candles. He also gave us grapes about then, they were translucent dark, blue black, almost lapis. I had never seen such grapes. Rashi continued, the Mishkan (Sanctuary) is the symbol of forgiveness, God’s gift to Israel signifying that the sin of the golden calf had been forgiven. This Torah, this Mishkan — these gifts from God all signify forgiveness.
There was whispering all around. It’s about forgiveness, isn’t it? said the one sitting to my left. We ate more grapes.
It’s all about forgiveness, said Rashi’s daughter.
We all asked for God’s purifying forgiveness as we prepared ourselves for our liberation saga, this being the last of four special Shabbes portions before the month of Pesach, our freedom story.
Soon we will mark the beginning of our freedom saga, of this we were all aware. There is a long way to go, we have come so far already.
By this time it was dark. The candles had burned down. There were no candles left. Rashi asked me to get some icicles from across the field. I brought back four or five icicles, Rashi put them in the candle holders, it them, and we continued learning.
Rashi said, the first light, created day one, was specially created, the light that sustains but it was hidden away for the future. The future, said Rashi, we will have to be cautious, he was looking at his daughter.
As he spoke I saw him gather the light with his hands, like he was moving the air around above the flames, as if he was gathering light into his arms.
From Rabbi Rachel Barenblat
A home for God among us (Radical Torah repost)
Here’s the d’var Torah I wrote in 2007 for this week’s portion, originally published at Radical Torah.
Parashat Vayekhel-Pekudei: the end of the book of Exodus, and — after much prelude — the actual construction of the mishkan, the home for God’s presence among the community.
And everyone who excelled in ability and everyone whose spirit moved him came, bringing to the Lord his offering for the work of the Tent of Meeting and for all its service and for the sacral vestments. Men and women, all whose hearts moved them, all who would make an elevation offering of gold to the Lord, came bringing brooches, earrings, rings, and pendants — gold objects of all kinds. And everyone who had in his possession blue, purple, and crimson yarns, fine linen, goats’ hair, tanned ram skins, and dolphin skins, brought them; everyone who would make gifts of silver or copper brought them as gifts for the Lord; and everyone who had in his possession acacia wood for any work of the service brought that. And all the skilled women spun with their own hands, and brought what they had spun, in blue, purple, and crimson yarns, and in fine linen…
What I love about this passage, this rich and detailed description of a construction project I can hardly imagine, is how grassroots it sounds. This isn’t some decreed-from-above, top-down, serfs-laboring kind of process; this is everyone with a talent bringing that talent to bear on the work at hand. This is everyone in the community donating what they’ve got, whether it’s gold or fine linen or soft leather. This is a veritable barn-raising, folks. Except that in a traditional barn-raising, the community comes together to build a structure for one of its members; here in our story, the community comes together to build a structure which will be inhabited not by any individual or family, but by the presence of God.
As a contemporary feminist reader of this text, I find much to savor in this passage. Here, women’s contributions are valued and honored alongside the contributions of men. And, notably, women contribute in at least two different ways. Both women and men make elevation offerings of gold to God, and women are specifically commended for their skilled weaving-work. In other words, women contribute to the building of the mishkan both on a fiscal level, and on a creative level. They give physical items of value, as well as the spiritually-valuable work of their hands and hearts.
People bring every kind of beautiful thing they had. Cloth and leather, polished wood and precious stones. On a metaphorical level, I imagine, people bring every kind of temperament and creative skill to the process. Those who are even-keeled bring their serenity; those who are hot-headed bring their fire. Woodworkers and weavers, careful introverts and spontaneous extroverts, bring what they have, and who they are, to this work — work which, the text notes, is fueled by the entire community, each person giving as she or he feels called.
In this week’s part of our story, the Israelites take every opportunity to be generous, and that generosity transforms them. The craftsmen Bezalel and Oholiab, and “every skilled person whom God had endowed with skill,” together undertake the project of building a suitable home for God’s presence. They take, from Moses, all of the gifts the Israelites brought, in order to fashion them into the mishkan. But then, we read:
But when these continued to bring freewill offerings to him morning after morning, all the artisans who were engaged in the tasks of the sanctuary came, each from the task upon which he was engaged, and said to Moses, “The people are bringing more than is needed for the tasks entailed in the work that the Lord has commanded to be done.” Moses thereupon had this proclamation made throughout the camp: “Let no man or woman make further effort toward gifts for the sanctuary!” So the people stopped bringing: their efforts had been more than enough for all the tasks to be done.
The community has become so swept up in the experience of being generous, of donating both items of value and the gift of heart and spirit that accompanies those items, that their generosity overwhelms the artisans. They give too much; Moses has to remind them to stop. A boundary (some gevurah) is needed to balance the community’s overflowing lovingkindness (chesed) and willingness to give.
How can this speak to us today, so many centuries removed from the construction of the mishkan? Maybe in this way: it can exhort us to give freely of ourselves, our gifts and our talents, in the communal work of creating a sacred space where the Presence of God can dwell…and can also remind us that once we’ve built that space for God, it’s also our job to pull back and to turn our generosity in other directions. To make God’s presence manifest through building homes for the needy, weaving garments for those who are cold, and adorning our world with all the beauty we’re capable of creating.
This is how we can build a mishkan, a home for the Shekhinah (indwelling and immanent Presence of God), in our midst. We close the book of Exodus as we approach the retelling of our liberation story on the seasonal calendar — but wherever we are in our journeys toward liberation, may God travel with us and among us, and may we be able to give freely of ourselves, both to God and to one another, in our wanderings.
From Rabbi Shefa Gold
~ Rabbi Shefa Gold’s Torah Journeys ~
Vayakhel
(And He Assembled)
Exodus 35:1 – 38:20
Vayakhel describes the building of the Mishkan.
THE BLESSING
VAYAKHEL DESCRIBES THE ACTUAL CONSTRUCTION of the Mishkan. Our spiritual work is laid out before us; our enthusiasm is kindled.
When Moses calls the people together for their final instructions for building the Mishkan, we are first warned that there must be a holy rhythm to our lives. We are blessed with the knowledge that rest and reflection are absolutely necessary to the success of this project. Without the practice of Shabbat, we are warned, this work, even though it is holy work, will kill us. The blessing of Shabbat makes our work possible. Work becomes life-giving and wholesome only when it is balanced with Shabbat.
In the practice of Yoga, each series of poses is followed by a resting pose to integrate and fully receive the benefits of the preceding postures. The practice of Shabbat fulfills this same purpose, creating a space to receive, integrate, and deepen the benefits of our spiritual work. For six days we work at building the Mishkan and on the seventh day we can enter into that Holy dwelling and simply receive the Divine influx.
VAYAKHEL BLESSES US WITH THE AWARENESS of the true nature of the heart that is unconstrained by fear. Even though the disaster of the Golden Calf is still a fresh memory, Moses can look out at us and see that our true nature is ruled by a generous heart. When he calls on the gifts and talents and generosity of the people, he does not do so only for what they come to offer to the communal project. He is calling the people to know their own gifts and to experience the blessing of a generous heart.
When we can experience the flowing and giving heart, freed from the constraints of fear, we begin to know and trust ourselves as if for the first time. We can relax and let go of worries about not having or being enough, because the experience of flowing generosity feels effortless and infinite. Vayakhel tells us that Moses had to ask the people to stop giving because they had become so intoxicated with their experience of generous flow. We are reminded that together we have more than enough to complete the task of making a place for God to dwell among us, between us and within us.
THE SPIRITUAL CHALLENGE
AT THE ENTRANCE TO OUR SANCTUARY the laver is built. Here we wash and prepare ourselves for the holy encounter. The laver is made from the mirrors that the women bring.
When I was 22, I went on a three-week trip kayaking down the Green River in southern Utah. It was quite an adventure and those 3 weeks proved to be transformative. Besides getting my first real experience of wilderness and solitude, it changed the way I perceived myself. For those three weeks I didn’t look at a mirror and so began to know myself from the inside-out. Without the daily reminder of outer appearance and the worry about how others might see me, I discovered my inner beauty and strength. I was surprised by a new image of myself that arose in the context of my relationship to water and rock and sun. I had become used to believing what others saw and reflected back to me. A new woman emerged that hardly resembled the image that others perceived or that I perceived through their eyes. The mirror had lied to me. It merely showed me the surface.
IN OUR CULTURE where it seems we (women especially) are judged by our appearance, we are given the spiritual challenge of knowing ourselves from the inside. We bring our mirrors as offerings to build a vessel of purification. Washing ourselves of others’ projections and expectations, clearing away judgment and the need for approval, wiping away shame, we clean every pore of its need for artifice, till the skin can let our radiance shine through. Only then will we be ready to encounter God in the Tent of Meeting. We must offer up the judgments, criticism, and vanity that obscure our depths. The spiritual challenge of Vaykhel asks: How do we transform the mirror – our self-image – into an instrument that prepares us for the Divine encounter?
A DISTORTED SELF-IMAGE can be an obstacle on the spiritual path yet this obstacle can be transformed. I once had a dream that I was dying. All of my friends and family were gathered around me. Some of them were grieving; others trying to heal me. Everyone was caught up in the escalating drama.
I excused myself to go to the bathroom and there I looked into the mirror. I was for the first time profoundly grateful for the face that had served me through my incarnation. I felt some remorse at how I had wasted so much time worrying over that face (Did it look alright?) or avoiding it (I didn’t want to be vain).
Finally I could see myself – the self that was shining through from my eternal soul – and I felt great peace with who I had been and who I was becoming through the passage of my death.
When we are freed from the obsession with self-image, we can become playful with the gifts of incarnation. We can play with style and color and texture, bringing joy to the image we project and letting it express the truth and uniqueness of the inner dimensions of beauty that we encounter on our journeys. Without the worry about ‘how I look,’ or about ‘how others might see me,’ I am free to explore and expand my understanding of beauty. I can be grateful for the face I have been given and I can allow it to shine with God’s radiance.
For Guidelines for Practice please click link to website.
http://www.rabbishefagold.com/vayakhel/