In this week's Torah portion, Vayakel, the Israelites are commanded to help build the mishkan, Adonai's Tabernacle. Amidst the harsh, bleak desert backdrop, our ancestors are called upon to create beauty.
In past weeks, we have read the details of how the Tabernacle is to be constructed. It is to be ornate, intricate, and opulent. The Torah spins out the materials like an indulgent design show (Divine Design, anyone?):
...gold, silver, and copper; blue, purple, and crimson yarns, fine linen, and goats' hair; tanned ram skins, dolphin skins, and acacia wood; oil for lighting, spices for the anointing oil and for the aromatic incense; lapis lazuli and other stones for setting, for the ephod and the breastpiece. (Exodus 35:5b-9).
Our ancestors are called a stiff-necked people. They wrestle with faith (it was just last week they erected a golden calf, after all). They complain. They struggle. In this week's portion, though, they are called upon to do something very different. They are called upon to give freely from their hearts.
Take from among you gifts to Adonai; everyone whose heart so moves him shall bring them - gifts for Adonai (Exodus 35:5).
This week, the people are challenged: don't just create trouble, don't just come along for the ride, don't just stand back and let others take charge. Give from your heart, freely. There is potential for great holiness amongst you, but you must create it. (Or, "If you build it, God will come")
The text is clear here: Adonai will need both men and women to share their finest goods and to share their best skills. It will take the community, not through coercion, but through honest heart-felt giving, to build the mishkan.
Today, we are taught that God does not only dwell in a mishkan, a centralized holy place (although, it is still often in our holy places that we feel closest to God). Rather, our tradition teaches: God is in each of us and is in every thing. So, what, then, does it mean for us to give "freely from our hearts" today? How can we be a part of building a place for the divine to dwell?
I believe we can do so by extending our concept of holy space to a notion of holy time (an idea articulated by Abraham Joshua Heschel in his book The Sabbath). One of our most precious possessions is our time. Each of our minutes is sacred. Our tradition calls us this week to give of them freely. We are told: Give to the degree that your heart moves you and you will create a dwelling place in your life for the divine.
When we create time for reflection, for learning, for quiet meditation, for joyful praise, for social action, and for real interactions, we re-create the mishkan of old. It remains true today what was true then: We must give of our finest goods in order to create a space for holiness.
There are inopportune moments when I find myself reaching for my Blackberry and instinctively rolling the trackwheel, reflexively scrolling through messages: times like family dinners, hikes in Griffith park, early mornings, to name a few. When I stop and realize what I am doing, I am instantly filled with regret. Why did I just do that?
This is not a new story (I know the Blackberry jokes!). But, I tell it anew this week as we read the Torah Portion, Ki Tissa. In this parashah, the Israelites, tired of waiting for Moses to return from Mount Sinai, construct a Golden Calf to worship.
This is a week for reflecting on idolatry.
One of the central mitzvot from our tradition is "You shall not bow down to idols." What is an idol in our contemporary context? At its core, an idol is a misused object. Most idols are not inherently sinful; they are inanimate, afterall. It is only when an object is misused by its creator/owner that it stops being a potentially sacred tool and becomes a destructive force.
There was nothing wrong with the calf until the Israelites started worshipping it. There was nothing wrong with my Blackberry until I became enslaved by it.
For me, each year, Ki Tissa is a check-in point. It is a time for me to reflect on my life and on my actions. This tends to be a relatively quick check-in. Not too deep or difficult to discern. I ask myself: "What am I 'worshipping' this year?"
In today's world, idols tend not to take the form of golden calves. They are much more illusive. They can look like computers or cell phones or even our work, or any other host of "shiny objects" that we find ourselves misusing. They are those things in our life that end up controlling us. They are those objects that instead of being means to good ends become destructive ends in and of themselves. It is not about the object, it is what we do with it.
Some weeks I experience Torah as a profound lesson. Some weeks the message is all too simple. This Shabbat, our tradition tells me: "Put the blackberry down and go back to living." What does it tell you?
This week's Torah Portion, Tetzaveh, provides instructions on how the Israelite priests' clothing should be made. The text delights in its details, "On its hem make pomegranates of blue, purple, and crimson yarns, all around the hem, with bells of gold between them all around: golden bell and a pomegranate, a golden bell and a pomegranate, all around the hem of the robe" (Exodus 28:33-34). In this Torah portion, it seems, the clothes really do "make the man."
What are we to make of this?
I believe the priestly garments were meant to physically demonstrate the holiness and dignity of each individual priest. The priests, by vocation, were called to be the intermediaries between the people and the divine. The priests helped others worship and interact with God. Their clothes were intended to glorify their holy purpose and to beautify their sacred work.
I read these descriptions in a new light this week. This past Tuesday, during our TBS Tuesday night teen school, our 7th-12th graders learned about homelessness in Orange County firsthand. We listened to one woman's story of her (and her family's) experience of being homeless and her rise out of homelessness. We watched a DVD that featured homeless youth telling their own stories. We studied statistics about homelessness in Orange County. I cannot adequately express to you how moved I was by our teens' reflections and soulfulness during the program.
In today's world, with the Israelite priesthood long dismantled, each of us, in a way, has the potential to serve as priest. Each of us has the power to relate to God, to worship God, and to be equal members of a sacred community. And, in that vein, each of us should have the ability to wear clothes that illustrate our inherent holiness and that represent our own essential human dignity.
Sadly, too many people in our community cannot outfit themselves in ways that reflect their own inherent worth. During our teen program, I saw through new eyes just how prevalent poverty and homelessness are in our very own community. OC Partnership reports that there are between 27,732 and 35,065 homeless in Orange County. What can we do with these numbers?
This Shabbat, let us learn from Tetzaveh and act to bring dignity and holiness to those around us. A couple of hands-on ideas:
- Take some time this long weekend to clean out your closets. Model for your children what it means to donate gently used clothing to those who go without. Talk to them about our priestly tradition of sacred dress. And, if you are planning a clothes shopping trip, consider purchasing an extra outfit and donating it locally (it can be fun for families to choose the clothes together).
- Throughout March, TBS will be engaging in a pajama drive for homeless youth in Orange County. Many youth who live in shelters lack pajamas and are forced to sleep in their clothes. Think of the difference TBS can make in our community if each of us purchases new pajamas (and encourages others to do the same).
This week's parashah could easily be read as an outdated "Project Runway" episode. But, with an eye toward justice, we can elevate our text so that it might become a relevant call to action for each of us. My blessing for us is that we have the power to continue hearing Torah anew!
This week I am very excited to share an exceptional Torah resource with you. Each week, the wise folks at American Jewish World Service (AJWS) send out a commentary on the parashah, the weekly Torah portion, called dvar tzedek, which focuses on issues of social justice. If you are interested, you can sign up for it on their website www.ajws.org or by clicking here.
This week's Torah portion, Terumah, describes God's detailed instructions to the people as to how they should build a mishkan, a dwelling place, for God. The mishkan is to be a portable sanctuary, which will carry the Law that was given to Moses at Mount Sinai and provide a place of meeting for the Israelites and the Divine. The Torah portion explains:
Adonai spoke to Moses, saying: Tell the Israelite people to bring Me gifts; you shall accept gifts for Me from every person whose heart so moves him. ...And let them make Me a mishkan, a sanctuary, that I may dwell among them. ...And deposit in the Ark the tablets of the Pact which I will give you. (Ex 25:1-2, 8, 16)
In this week's AJWS dvar tzedek, Evan Wolkenstein, writes:
Taking a closer look at who or what resides in the mishkan, we find that God is not, in fact, the tent's primary resident. Rather, at the center of this sacred structure is the Law - the two stone tablets chiseled during Revelation at Sinai, when the human and heavenly worlds met.
Wolkenstein suggests that the mishkan was not only intended to be an abstract dwelling place for God, but also a physical home for the tablets. He suggests that this placement has profound meaning. He writes:
God dwells among us when we build relationships that are founded on morality and focused on the encounter.
Our Torah teaches us a fundamental lesson this week: We encounter God when we honor our tradition's central messages of justice and morality. We have a lot to learn from this ancient model. And I wonder:
What is our modern day mishkan? What do we place inside it?
What are ways that we can couple our commitments to spirituality with our commitments to justice?
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