Parshas Teruma – Far More Than A Registry

Parshas Teruma can be a difficult parsha to understand. On the one hand, it is from this parsha that we understand giving to Hashem from our hearts, and, on the other hand, it is from this parsha that we receive a very exacting set of instructions for building the Mishkan. It’s almost like, l’havdil, Hashem sent out a housewarming party invitation and included an Amazon wish list (come celebrate and bring me a gift, but these are the gifts that you should buy). 

 It's a silly analogy, of course. Party registries seem… tacky. We see them and we roll our eyes until we start thinking about what to bring and are suddenly grateful that the host told us what they want or need.  Parsha Teruma is no housewarming party; the building of the Mishkan was to allow a Divine Presence to dwell among the nation and therefore required strict delineations. Herein is one of the most beautiful aspects of Jewish tradition – it requires strict adherence to rules and yet cultivates a creativity that is both spiritual and intellectual. 

 It is a wonderful process that cannot be imitated in any human legal system because one of the most subtle yet important aspects of halacha is intention. This is the critical factor in all that is required in Parshas Teruma – Hashem wants the people to have the intention of making the choice for themselves and giving from their heart. Exceptionally specific instructions are necessary for creating this dwelling place, but this is not simply a building. These directions are not about technical blueprints; they are also about creating a space of reverence and a place of beauty - a place for the Shechina to dwell.

 The Mishkan and the Beis Hamikdash are both out of our reach for now. There is no physical space in which the Shechina can dwell so we each try to build our own space within ourselves, a space where we can feel that connection. We do this through living Torah. We do this through not just following detailed rules but by observing them with the intention of giving to Hashem as our ancestors did in the building of the Mishkan. 

 It almost sounds easy to have the right intention. That is deceptive. It isn’t simply about telling ourselves that we are doing mitzvos to serve Hashem, that we are giving tzedakah because all we have comes from Hashem or that our Shabbas rest is focused on emulating Hashem’s rest on the seventh day. It is really, really feeling it. And this takes work. Shemos 25:2 doesn’t use the term want rotze; it uses the term nadav, which is inspired – a richer, deeper, innate desire.

 Today is Rosh Chodesh Adar, which means we turn our thoughts toward Purim. Esther HaMalka went to the palace and married the king because Mordechai told her this was what she needed to do. She took his guidance, and she did it because he was her guardian and he was a gadol. Certainly, she comforted herself that this was Hashem’s will. However, it was – one can infer – not until Mordechai said those fateful words to her -  that Hashem will use a different shaliach, but perhaps this is why she in the palace – that Esther was able to really connect her ratzon to Hashem’s ratzon and thus find courage and then inspiration from within herself. She followed what she was told she needed to do but she attained greatness when she put her whole self into that doing. 

 Truly being able to give “yidvenu leebo” (yes, I know, it doesn’t work grammatically) is an aspiration. It’s toil. It’s hard work, but it is good work. 

 As an extra note. We have heard numerous stories now of released hostages finding their connection to Hashem during their trials and tribulations. They are toldos Esther Hamalka – to coin my own phrase. They are the offshoots of Esther, of finding inspired connection through trauma and challenge.  Hearing about these young women who tried to celebrate the chagim in whatever way possible is inspiring and it is a sharp reminder to those of us living comfortably that the work is upon us to do ourselves, without a cauldron of pain. 

 May we all be blessed to keep working on finding the inspiration from within rather than it being pressed upon us by dire circumstances. May we each enjoy Shabbas inspired and connecting to it as a day of joy to Hashem.

Parshas Teruma: The Bars of Bitachon

One of the most difficult things to achieve in life is true bitachon. Bitachon means trusting that Hashem is totally in control and that everything that happens to you in life is just as Hashem wanted it. These concepts are easy when we see situations of supreme hashgacha pratis, like being late for a bus that then gets a flat tire so that if you had been on it, you would have actually been late for work. In living regular life, however, bitachon is, for most people, a challenge. And the challenge is, quite often, just a question of self-awareness and thinking about Hashem – something we mortals often forget about.

Recognizing Hashem’s hand in our lives is all about perspective, but getting that perspective takes work. There is heavy spiritual lifting, one might say, because by the very design of this world, Hashem does not want His control, His planning, to seem obvious. Hashem created humankind with an aspiration for success so that we would have a natural instinct to strive for something – and what it is that we strive for is our bechira, our free choice, to choose.

This week’s parsha, Parshas Teruma, is all about the instructions for building the Mishkan. The commentaries argue about the significance of the Mishkan having rings on the feet and rings on the corners (and if this is an accurate understanding of where the rings go) as well as which staves were never removed. But the Meshech Chachmah, as noted in the Sefer Talelei Oros, says: “Ostensibly, the purpose of the poles was to carry the Ark, as the Torah specifically states (25:14), ‘To carry the Ark with them.” Nonetheless, this was all an illusion, as the Talmud (Sotah 35a) tells us, ‘The Ark carried its bearers.’ In actuality, the poles were required because God decreed in His infinite wisdom that the Ark should be carried in a manner which gives the outward but erroneous impression that the bearers are carrying it.”

This is the essence of the challenge of bitachon. We look at life and assume that the successes we see other people achieving are based on something we can calculate and imitate. In fact, their successes…as well as their challenges and their failures… are all suited to their specific neshamos.

One might say that human nature requires us to believe in the power of our own effort. This is true. The part of us that is tied to this world desires a sense of success. Our goal as Jews, however, is to connect our lives to the part of ourselves that is spiritual, and that part of ourselves, the Neshama, is strengthened by seeing Hashem’s hand in everything.

If Hashem determines on Rosh Hashana how much money each person will have in the year to come, why do people feel that if they just stay at the office several hours longer they will become wealthier? This is not to say that it won’t help one become more successful, but one becomes more successful because that was what was meant to happen.

Hashem instructed that the Ark should be carried in such a manner that human effort seemed necessary. Hashem arranged the world so that is seems as if human effort is required. And it is, but not for the reasons we imagine. The hishtadlus we do puts us in the places we need to be and provides us with the opportunities for elevation and connection to Hakadosh Baruch Hu.

Working on bitachon is something we have to do day in and day out – and not without success. Most of us have had moments… but the work is making those moments into our reality. It isn’t easy. It’s a lifetime of effort. Every moment of that effort, however, is step closer to Hashem.

I wish you all a good Shabbas and hatzlacha in all your hishtadlus. May the path to where you need to go be filled with simcha.

Parshas Teruma - Woodworking and Weaving

 Parshas Teruma is well-known for Divrei Torah that speak of what it meant when God instructed Moshe to speak to Bnei Yisrael and “let them take for Me a portion from every man whose heart motivates him.” This leads to all sorts of discussions on topics as direct as what the Israelites had to donate (and from where) to more esoteric contemplations on intent and giving a gift to Hashem.

What Bnei Yisrael gave is important. The Torah lists 16 items: gold, silver, copper, turquoise, purple and scarlet wool, linen, goat hair, red-dyed ram skins, tacshish skins, acacia wood, oil for illumination, spices for anointment, the aromatic incense, shohen stones, and other stones. Then Hashem explained what it was for, which was the building of the Mishkan (Tabernacle).

To be honest, the descriptions transcribed in Parshas Terumah are not particularly exciting unless you are a civil engineer or an artisan. While last week’s parsha was all laws, those still had a slight feel of narrative – the general style of the Torah up until now. Between cubits in height and cubits in width and repetitive counts of the number of rings and staves…well, Teruma becomes a more difficult parsha in which to focus one’s attention. Yet even as Hashem gave these directions, or as other generations have reviewed them, there are those who grow excited at these details… Ask for staves of acacia wood and Reuven the woodcutter is envisioning exactly how to shape the wood. Request rings of gold and Shimon the goldsmith is ready to take to his forge. Tell about the turquoise, purple, and scarlet threads, and Yehuda the dyer knows just what ingredients are needed. Sarah the weaver can envision exactly how she needs to work her loom. Each of the men and women who stepped forward to help construct the Mishkan was continuing the standard of giving set by the beginning words of the parsha, that each person should give as his heart motivated him. They are giving from their hearts and their souls when they give from their creative energy.

In looking at the connection of Parshas Teruma’s opening request of donations given in free-will and the continuing three perakim (chapters) that highlight the need for artisan and artists, we are given an opportunity to assess our personal and communal priorities. Have we as a community looked askance at creative career paths, thinking of them as “bidieved” – well he has no other choice? Have we given our children opportunities to explore a desire for artistic expression? Do our communities facilitate these options, or do we guide our children into singular shoots?

Once upon a time, in the not nearly as distant a past as one might think, people specialized in creating. Each object that a household used needed someone to create it, whereas today we have our formulas and our factories. Each town or region needed their own special artisans and so we valued the craftsmen among us. Learning to do was given weight along side learning from books.

When the Torah describes the making of the ten curtains of the Mishkan as “twisted linen with turquoise, purple and scarlet wool – with a woven design of cherubim shall you make them,” this is a moment to stop and think with awe of the beauty of that curtain, the skill of that weaver, and the generosity of Hashem for giving that weaver the ability to see and transmit a piece of the Divine will.

It isn’t easy to see the benefit of encouraging what can seem to a structured world of mass manufacture that which seems to be frivolity. For those to whom Hashem has given the gift of creative soul – those who are able to look at a tree and see a stave, those who are able to match perfect colors – encouraging and channeling that need to create is critical to their avodas Hashem. Let us prepare now for a generation that can step forward and bring Hashem’s words to life.

The Importance of Being Beautiful Inside (Teruma #2)

This week's parsha is a dream come true for those readers who love intricate, descriptive detail - you know the people who actually read the chapters of the whale biology in Moby Dick. For the types of people who prefer dialogue or action or narrative, however, parshas Teruma can be a little harder to study… until one realizes that here too the language is full of meaning and subtext.

In the second aliyah of the parsha, Hashem provides detailed instructions on the creation of the cover of the aron, the ark. It must be 2 1/2 amos by 1 /2 amos with a cherub coming forth from each end that has all been hammered from one pure gold plate. No soldering allowed. The text goes into great detail about the cherubim, concluding with the instructions that the two golden angels should face each other. And then comes a seemingly simple, yet oddly placed, sentence: "Place the cover on top of the aron, after depositing inside the aron the pact [the luchos] that I will give you" (25:21). This would be a strange statement for its basic redundancy, since 25:16 states: "And deposit in the aron the pact which I gave you."

However, when you think about it further, it is a strange instruction in general. One is certainly not going to place the cover on the aron before one puts the luchos in. Hashem did not expect Moshe to perform magic tricks to put the luchos in the aron. So why is this pasuk here?

Rabbi Yitzhak Zev Soloveitchik, the Brisker Rav, noted that all of the other vessels of the Mishkan could be put to alternate pruposes. The aron, however, was static. It had one purpose and one alone, which was to house the luchos. Without the luchos, the aron was just a beautifully sculpted box. This fact, this unique lack, is actually an idea that is rife with meaning. From a theological perspective, one could apply a lesson to the era in which we have to fight a societal philosophy that discourages religious belief. In order to keep people coming to services and synagogues and such, it has become common to use promotions and gimmicky ads. More challenging, however, is hearing about Jewish law being made to be accommodating when it suits the needs of increasing attendance numbers or the current political atmosphere. No matter how beautiful the synagogue, how incredible the organization, or how enthusiastic the people, Jewish life without Torah, without our pact with Hashem, is just a lovely vessel.

One can find a similar lesson about our personal behavior. The need for Torah at the heart is a reflection of how Judaism understands the purpose of the Jewish people, of the individual members of our goy kadosh, our holy nation. Our tafkid, our purpose, is to bring kedusha, holiness, to the world. We can only do this if we are in touch with the spark of Torah within ourselves. A person presenting themselves as "religious," but not really embracing Torah in their hearts is like the aron without the luchos. Luckily, just like the aron without the luchos can be filled and properly closed, so too one can, at any time, acquire Torah with a full heart.

The lessons here are not one sided. The golden beauty of the aron provides us with a separate lesson. Torah is precious. We have to hold on to it, to keep it safe, in a way that demonstrates how glorious it is. This can be understood in physical terms. For example, the idea of hidur mitzvah, of doing mitzvos with the choicest materials available, such as we learn about the process of choosing an esrog. However, it can also be a lesson for how we live our Judaism. Love and joy are precious gold, as compared to the battered wooden box of those who live the mitzvos as a burden.

These ideas about how a beautiful outside only being made significant by a holy inside pairs meaningfully with the two cherubim made from a single piece of gold. While they are angels because the aron was connected with the celestrial realm (thus the place where Hashem’s voice would be heard), their main form was human. The fact that the encasement of the luchos, the treasure box holding our pact with Hashem, is topped by the cherubim might serve as a reminder of the greater importance we must place on bein adam l’chavero over bein adam l’makom (interpersonal mitzvot over mitzvot for Divine connection). When we are kind to each other, when we follow the Torah’s guidelines of bein adam l’chaevero, we are like the cherubim stretching toward one another. And it was only when the cherubim faced one another that Hashem would speak through them.

One could, therefore say, that the detailed instructions of the mishkan are the first iteration of the golden rule of treating others well. There is no better way to do this than by staying holy in our hearts with the Torah and presenting a beautiful face to those we meet.

Taking, Not Bringing or Giving (Teruma)

“Speak to the Children of Israel and they shall take for me Teruma, from every man whose heart so moves him, you shall take my Teruma” (25:2). Divrei Torah that come out around Parshat Teruma often talk about how Hashem desires each person to give from the heart. While there are other mandatory taxes, such as the half-shekal given by every male between the age of 20 and 60 as a means of census taking, the Teruma offering to be used to build the Mishkan (Tabernacle), the dwelling place of the Divine Presence, was meant to be donations from the heart. This fact makes one specific word in the opening pasuk particularly interesting: vayikach, and he will take.

One would think that the verse should read “and they shall bring or give for me Teruma, from every man whose heart so moves him, shall bring or give my Teruma.” When one thinks of an offering, one thinks of something that is brought or given, not something that is taken.

Let us contemplate the two other primary word choices. To Bring is an intriguing word in Hebrew. To Bring is lehavia, which is actually in causative form and is more accurately translated as “to cause to come,” because that is what you are doing when you bring something, you are causing it to come. This implies something more transferal than the other word choices (Give or Take). One is causing the piece of acacia wood to come to the elders as a donation, but there is no action within one’s self. The meaning, when described this way, lacks ownership.

On the other hand, latait, to give, is an active verb, and a very personal one. One might say that it is the verb that has the implication of generosity. But giving also has a feel of possession and attachment. One gives what one has and, in doing so, remains attached to it. Think of all the times you see someone using a gift you bought for them and you think, oh I gave that to them, or, vice verse, when you dress your child in a particular sweater because so-and-so gave it to them. Through the act of giving, something of the giver remains with the object.

The verse commands that Bnei Yisrael take Teruma. Of the three word choices, taking is the most active. In the act of taking, the object becomes separated from the owner. In the act of taking Teruma, one is selecting from the possessions given to them by God, a subtle acknowledgement that ultimately everything is from Hashem and one should let go of one’s feeling of possession. Perhaps taking, in the case of Terumah, is a more active form of bringing because one is causing the gift to come while also nullifying one’s sense of ownership of the gift being brought.

The verse is also interesting in its double usage of the verb lekach. First it is vaykachu – and they shall take, and then it is tikachu – and you (pl) shall take (from every man whose heart so moves him). To me this difference is best understood by something said by Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch: “Nothing is to be given directly to God, but the gifts of each individual are to be given to the community, for the Divine purposes. This implies that it is not the individual, but the community, who has to erect the institutions for God’s purposes, and it is not for single givers, but from the community that these arrangements have to be established.” (He also comments that the use of the second person plural, tikachu, includes Moshe in those who have to give.)

“Speak to the Children of Israel and they shall take for me Teruma, from every man whose heart so moves him, you shall take my Teruma” (25:2). Giving to Hashem is different than giving to another person, and therefore, when one wants to give to Hashem one should look into his or her heart and truly understand what they separate and bring forth from themselves.