Words, Weaves, and Waves: The Modern Cosmology of the Ancient Mishkan

Everybody knows that God created the world with words. He said, “Let there be light,” and there was light, and so it was with everything else. According to Jewish tradition, God created the world with ten such statements (Rosh Hashanah 32a), but the Talmud challenges this contention. In Genesis we find nine statements of creation, not ten! The Talmud has an intriguing answer. The very first verse, “In the beginning God created heaven and earth,” also counts and that gives us a total of ten. Rashi explains the Talmud’s meaning. In addition to all the recorded statements of creation, God also said, “Let there be heaven.”

What is “heaven”? Heaven (shomayim) can refer to the multitude of spiritual realms created by God, the abode of the angels and the constructs of sefiros and mazalos. Heaven can also refer to the cosmos, the space which holds the physical universe. Either way, heaven is invisible, intangible, and difficult for the human mind to grasp. (Maybe this is why the act of its creation is not explicitly stated by the Torah.) This much is clear: Heaven is not nothingness. Like matter and light, it is an entity created by God.

II

Six days you shall work and perform all your melacha, but the seventh day is Shabbos for Hashem, you shall not perform any kind of melacha… for in six days Hashem made the heavens and the earth, the sea and everything that is in them, and He rested on the seventh day. (Shemos 20:9-11)

When it comes to mitzvos, the Torah does not usually give us reasons, but Shabbos is an exception. The reason we rest on Shabbos was engraved on the tablets: Hashem created the world in six days and rested on the seventh and so we are commanded to do the same, to work for the six days of the week and to rest on the seventh. But this is no ordinary imitatio dei. The thirty-nine categories of work, the melachos of Shabbos, are very same list of labors that went into constructing the Mishkan.

The forty minus one categories of work taught by the Mishnah, what do they correspond with? Rabbi Chaninah Bar Chama said, they correspond with the work of the Mishkan. (Shabbos 49b)

Rashi (ad loc.) explains that the Torah put Shabbos and the Mishkan together to teach us to learn one from the other. We could add that the Torah uses the word melacha for both. The Mishkan thus defines the term for Shabbos.

What is the meaning of this association? Why is Shabbos defined by the Mishkan? The answer is that the Mishkan symbolizes creation; it is an abstract, miniature replica of the entire universe.[1] The Mishkan’s project manager, Betzalel ben Chur, was a great mystic who knew the divine wisdom of weaving Hebrew letters into creative words.[2] The Mishkan’s construction thus not only parallels creation, it is a replay of creation; a second universe, modeled on the first, but built this time by man.[3] This is why Hashem rejoiced on the day of the Mishkan’s inauguration like the day He created heaven and earth (Megillah 10a).  

Now we can appreciate Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch’s explanation of the term melacha:

“You shall not perform any kind of melacha” means “You shall not do not perform any creative work.” Do not carry out your intention on any object; do not make any object the bearer of your idea and purpose. In short: Do not produce or create anything. (The Hirsch Chumash to Shemos ad loc.)

During the six days of the week, man engages in creative work, the thirty-nine basic labors that build up our world. This parallels Gods creation of the universe and it also parallels the construction of the Mishkan. Done right and for the right reasons, our workweek creates a space where the Shechina can enter and feel at home. And then, on Shabbos, we rest from creation itself, just like God. 

     

III

They told Moshe, “The nation is bringing more than enough…” Moshe gave the command and the word was spread in the camp: “Men and women should cease working for the sanctuary collection!” The people stopped bringing [materials]. (Shemos 36:5-6)

The pronouncement to stop bringing materials was made on Shabbos. From here we learn that one may not carry goods from one domain to another on Shabbos (Shabbos 96b). The implication is that it was previously permitted to carry on Shabbos (cf. Tosfos to Shabbos 87b, s.v. a’techumin). This comes as a surprise, especially in light of the fact that the mitzvah of Shabbos was introduced before Sinai, in Marah (cf. Rashi to Shemos 15:25). Why wasn’t carrying included together with all the other laws of Shabbos observance? Why was it delayed until now? Rabbi Yaakov Kamanetzky has a fascinating theory.

They came to Marah and they could not drink the water from Marah for it was bitter… They complained to Moshe, saying, “What shall we drink?” He cried out to Hashem and Hashem showed him a tree. He threw it in the water and the water became sweet. (Shemos 15:24-25).

The miraculous transformation of water from bitter to sweet demonstrated that the universe was created ex nihilo. God created matter and He manipulates it as He wishes. This, explains Reb Yaakov, is why the nation was given the mitzvah of Shabbos in Marah. For in Marah creation was revealed and on Shabbos we acknowledge creation by abstaining from creative acts.

All the prohibited activities of Shabbos are united under this basic principle, with the sole exception of carrying. There is nothing creative about carrying. The other categories of work introduce change, but moving an object from one domain to another does not affect the object, it merely changes its location.[4] This is why carrying was not prohibited in Marah.

However, when we received the command to build a Mishkan, carrying became prohibited. Why? Because the Mishkan broadened our understanding of creation.

When Hashem told Moshe, “Build Me a Mishkan,” he was astonished. [Moshe] said, “Hashem’s glory fills the upper and lower realms, and He says, build Me a sanctuary?! … Hashem responded, “The way you think is not the way I think. [Put] twenty boards on the north side, twenty on the south side and eight on the west side. Moreover, I will come down and constrict my presence to one square cubit. (Shemos Rabba 34:1)

How an infinite God fits in a finite sanctuary is unfathomable even to Moses, but at the very least we see that Creator is not bound by the constraints of space. The Mishkan thus demonstrated that God created not only the spiritual realms, but also "ordinary" physical space. If space is a “something,” it follows that moving an object into a different space affects the object. This, explains Reb Yaakov, is why we do not carry on Shabbos. It was thus a lesson we learned not at Marah, but from the Mishkan.[5]

IV

The historic announcement of the measurement of gravitational waves a few weeks ago raises the possibility of an alternative explanation for the prohibition of carrying on Shabbos.

We know that the Mishkan was a miniature universe, each component corresponding to a different part of creation. The tapestry that served as the Mishkan’s ceiling represented the heavens, as King David said, נוטה שמים כיריעה, “[God] spreads the heavens like a tapestry” (Tehillim 104:2; Shemos Rabba 33:4). This symbolism was further illustrated by the golden clasps that held the two tapestry panels together. “The clasps in the [tapestries’] loops looked like stars in the sky” (Shabbos 99a). Furthermore, the tapestry had two images woven into it; a lion and an eagle (Rashi to Shemos 26:1). The lion is one of the mazalos, a zodiacal constellation through which divine blessings flow and the eagle is king of the birds (Chagigah 13b). The two images thus depict the two meanings of shomayim; the spiritual heaven and the physical sky.

Ever since Einstein expounded the theory of relativity, scientists have compared the reality of space to a fabric, calling it the “fabric of space-time.” (Space and time are united under relativity, time being the fourth dimension.) Maybe not everyone always understood it as such, but the defining principle of modern cosmology was built into the Jewish Tabernacle in the Sinai Desert over three thousand years ago. Space is a tapestry.

The Torah tells us that the tapestries of the Tabernacle were handwoven by women (Shemos 35:25). This is not a piece of random trivia. Women are different from men; they are not obligated to perform time-bound mitzvos. This curious Halachic exemption is an expression of a deeper reality. Although God and His Torah transcend time, God’s sanctity can enter time by the performance of [certain] mitzvos here on earth (Sefas Emes, Bamidbar 631). However, this can only be achieved by beings who live within time and are bound by it (cf. Nefesh HaChaim 1:12). The transcendent nature of women[6] thus weakens their ability to sanctify time and, like the Creator Himself, it makes them uniquely qualified to weave the Mishkan’s tapestries, the [wo]man-made fabric of space-time.

Before the command to build a Mishkan, the Jews knew that that Hashem created the world, but they did not know that He also created physical space, for the Torah is ambiguous on that point. It was fair to assume that space does not need creating; it is just nothingness. However, when the people learned that the Mishkan, the microcosm of the created universe, includes a tapestry representing space, that taught them that space is not nothingness. Space is a fundamental component of creation, an entity comparable to a tapestry.  With that insight came the prohibition of carrying on Shabbos, for now the Jews understood that carrying is a profoundly creative act. Changing an object’s location creates a disturbance in the cosmos, vibrating space-time and violating the day of rest.[7]

Gravitational waves oscillate through space in a particular pattern. When space expands horizontally, it contracts vertically, and when it expands vertically, it contracts horizontally. (The wave is unimaginably miniscule, but is nonetheless real and measurable.) It is like a piece of fabric: when you stretch it in one direction, it gets narrower in the other. Fabrics behave this way because they are woven of weft and warp threads. We cannot say what space-time is made of, but comparing it to a fabric turns out to be the perfect analogy.

One of the thirty-nine prohibited activities on Shabbos is weaving. Which component of the Mishkan required weaving? The tapestries, the symbol of space! “He spreads out the heavens like a tapestry.” A tapestry, indeed! It is fascinating that according to some Talmudic sages, a basic law of hotza’ah, the prohibition of throwing objects in the public domain, is learned from the weaving of the Mishkan’s tapestries (cf. Shabbos 96b).

Until recently, carrying was thought to be the least creative of the prohibited activities of Shabbos.   Now we discover that moving an object makes waves that race across the cosmos at the speed of light. Who knew?

V

Space has great symbolic significance in rabbinic thought. Although we find multiple names for God in Scripture, the sages – amazingly – did not refrain from coining new ones. One of the rabbinic divine names is HaMakom, “The Place,” or “Space.” This is not to say, Heaven forfend, that the sages ascribed divinity to space. Not at all. Just like everything else, space was created by God. Rather, the sages use space to help educate us about the nature of Hashem’s relationship with the universe.

Why did they invent a new name for God and call him “Space”? Because He is the location of the universe. The universe is not His location. (Bereishis Rabba 68)

Rabbi Chaim Volozhiner explains the space analogy.

Despite the fact that physical objects do have their own independent reality, nonetheless, without a space to occupy they simply could not exist. The same can be said about the entire universe. Although [the universe] is perceptible and appears to have an independent reality, God is its “space.” If God’s will did not maintain its existence, the universe would most certainly cease to exist! (Nefesh HaChaim 3:2).

The idea sounds esoteric, however, according to the Rambam, it is the foundational principle of Judaism.

The foundation of the foundations and the pillar of the wisdoms is to know that there exists a first being. He brought all things into existence… If one were to imagine that He does not exist, then nothing else could exist either. (Yesodei HaTorah 1:1-2)

VI

This all takes us to a deeper idea, a basic principle of Kabbalistic thought. (I am out of my depth here and sensitive theological concepts do not belong on a blog. I beg the reader to infer nothing without a careful study of the entire third section of Nefesh HaChaim.)

The idea, irresponsibly abbreviated and inaccurately translated, is that the Infinite God is unaffected by creation. From His perspective, I reiterate, from the perspective of the Infinite, creation is meaningless and the universe simply does not exist. Ein Od Milvado. There isn’t anything else other than Him (Nefesh HaChaim 3:3).

To be frank, this is none of our business. We are strictly and explicitly prohibited from indulging in God’s perspective (see Nefesh HaChaim 3:3,6,8). Kabbalistic secrets may be out of bounds, but the study of subatomic particles is permitted and it too challenges our perception of reality. The deeper we go, the more we realize how tenuous matter is. Atoms are 99.9999999999% empty space. Electrons have more in common with waves than particles, and protons, when you break them down, are hardly more significant. The solidity of matter is a mirage; everything can be reduced to waves and forces governed by equations. In other words, it’s all words. Matter is nothing more than the divine statement which created it, the weavings of Hebrew letters and numbers into words and laws. Matter is no more solid than empty space, but even this feeble reality evaporates into non-existence when gazed upon by the Eyes of God.

There is a second perspective, also legitimate, and that is the perspective of Man. The Torah and the view from earth both confirm that God did create a universe. To our great relief, we do, in fact, exist. Moreover, Hashem relates to us (Nefesh HaChaim 3:5).[8]

When our father Yaakov awoke after spending the night on Mount Moriah, he declared, “this is nothing other than the House of God; this is Heaven’s Gate!” (Bereishis 28:17). Rabbi Chaim Volozhiner takes Yaakov literally. At the border between heaven and earth, site of the future Temple, there really is nothing other than God. Here Yaakov was privy to the higher reality, God’s hidden perspective (Nefesh HaChaim 3:7).

Don’t make the mistake of thinking that such spiritual vision is unique to Yaakov. There is a place where the laws of nature go soft and the human perspective turns transparent: The Holy of Holies.

In the Mishkan, the Holy of Holies measured ten cubits by ten cubits. The Holy Ark sat in the center of the room and the Divine Presence, the Shechina, spoke to Moshe from a point between the two Cherubim which stood on the Ark’s lid. The Ark was two and half cubits wide and a cubit and a half deep, but if you measured from any side of the Ark to the nearest wall, the distance was always the same: five cubits (Yoma 21a). The Ark did not take up any space, because the Ark was not in space. Built by Betzalel, it transcended the universe. The Ark stood in a different dimension, the dimension where “there is nothing other than Him.”

Space is both overrated and underrated. We overrate it when we think it is inflexible and inviolable, and we underrate it when we forget that it was created by God’s first act, depicted by the Mishkan’s curtains, legislated by the laws of Shabbos, and utilized as a divine name. Maybe because space is so basic to our existence we just don’t think about it much. Kind of like God.

---

[1] Cf. Shemos Rabba 33:4. As such, the Mishkan communicated the notion that God was motivated to create the universe because He “desired” to rest His Shechina in a lower realm (Midrash Tanchuma, Naso 16). However, the Shechina’s ultimate destination is not the Mishkan, but man: “Build Me a Mishkan and I will dwell within you” (Shemos 25:8; Nefesh HaChaim 1:4, author’s note).

[2] “Betzalel knew how to combine the letters which created heaven and earth” (Berachos 55a).

[3] The Mishkan thus parallels the Tablets which also came in two sets, the second of which was fashioned by man (Shemos 34:1; compare 32:16).

[4] Indeed, the rabbis consider carrying an “inferior” prohibition compared to the other thirty-eight categories (Tosfos to Shabbos 2a, s.v. pashat).

[5] Of course, it is permitted to carry items within a single domain. It is also permitted to move and to walk. Nonetheless, the idea of space as a created entity is expressed by observing the legislated Halachos of Hotza’ah.

[6] Adam was created from the earth, whereas Eve was created from Adam.

[7] See note 5.

[8] As much as these two perspectives appear mutually exclusive, they are ultimately united, see Nefesh HaChaim 3:7.

Sacred Space

Click below to listen to today's shiur on Parshas Terumah delivered at Gerber & Co. in Century City.

Special thanks to my father, Rabbi Noam Gordon, for his invaluable input. When I say invaluable, I mean invaluable. A big thank you also goes to our esteemed host Selwyn Gerber who came up with the title for the talk and challenged me to explore the contemporary relevance of the Mishkan. 

Creating Sacred Space: Then and Now

The New Normal: How the Mishkan Changed the World

As we complete Sefer Shemos and begin Sefer Vayikra, the enigmatic Mishkan and its host of animal sacrifices strike the modern mind as archaic, ancient and irrelevant. But regardless of how alien it all sounds, the Mishkan actually normalized the presence of God - not only for our ancestors of old, but also for the Jew of today.

GOLDEN GARMENTS & GENTILE GLOVES

Lineage alone does not a Kohen make. Before they could serve in the Mishkan, Aaron and his sons had to be installed into their positions. Moshe was master of ceremonies.

“And you shall dress them; Aaron your brother and his sons with him. You shall anoint them, fill their hands and sanctify them – and they will become Kohanim for Me” (Shemos 28:41).

“And you shall dress them!” The holy garments of the Kohanim had immense spiritual power. By dressing his brother and nephews in these special clothes, Moshe sanctified them and inaugurated them as full-fledged Kohanim. It would be fair to categorize this event as a mystical ritual that defies human comprehension - on par with Chalitza and the Para Aduma - but as we shall see, Rashi does not view it this way.

Rashi is troubled by the mysterious words in the middle of the verse: “You shall… fill their hands.” What does that mean? Moshe should fill their hands with what? Rashi explains that it is just an expression:

“Filling the hands” is always an expression of inauguration; when one enters into something so that it becomes his privilege from this point forward. In French, when a person is appointed to be in charge of something, the ruler puts a leather glove called a “gant” into his hand and in this way [the position] becomes his privilege. The person who hands him [the glove] is called a “revestir.” This is the “filling of the hands.”   

The Ramban is unhappy with Rashi. What possible relevance could the French gant have to the understanding our verse?

That which the rabbi (Rashi) says that in French when you appoint someone to be in charge of something the ruler gives him a leather glove called a “gant” and through this glove he grants him the privilege [of the position] and this is the “filling of the hands” – I don’t know if the rabbi means to say that acts of inauguration are called “filling the hands” because of this glove - in which case he is bringing evidence from the fools.

The Ramban is asking an excellent question. Who cares what the French do? Does Rashi really expect us to believe that the origin of this biblical expression is to be found in the practices of medieval aristocracy?

The answer, obviously, is no. Any similarity between a biblical reference to hands and a French glove is entirely coincidental. Rashi is making an altogether different point.

It is natural for us to view the dressing of Aaron and his sons as a mystical event. Put on these holy clothes and poof, you’re a Kohen. Rashi is telling us that this reading is incorrect; the Torah uses an expression here that classifies this event as perfectly ordinary. Dressing someone in a uniform is a common procedure and there is nothing mystical about it. Gentile societies, France included, use uniforms all the time to install chosen men into military or political positions of power. This, says Rashi, is how we should view Moshe’s dressing of Aaron and his sons.

Not that the priesthood is a political position, God forfend. As the verse makes clear, we are talking about the sanctification of Aaron and his sons. But the Torah wants us to know that it is utilizing existing, natural procedures for the purposes of bringing Kedusha into the world.

I believe this understanding has profound implications for how we view sanctity and God's plans for the world. But first another example, this time from the Mishkan itself.

FURNITURE FIRST?

If we had to assign titles for the different actors in the Mishkan's construction, the closest modern approximations would be Hashem as owner, designer and architect, Moshe as site manager, and Betzalel as master craftsman. A craftsman typically takes orders from the manager, but as we shall see, sometime the craftsman knows best.

“Betzalel, the son of Uri, the son of Chur, of the tribe of Yehuda, did everything that Hashem commanded Moshe” (Shemos 38:22).

Rashi cites a Midrash.

“Betzalel the son of Uri… did everything Hashem commanded Moshe.” The verse does not say here that he did everything that Moshe commanded him, rather [it says that he did] everything that Hashem commanded Moshe. Even things that Moshe did not tell him, [Betzalel’s] own opinion was in line with what Moshe was told on Sinai. For Moshe told Betzalel to build the [Mishkan’s] “furniture” first and then the Mishkan itself. Betzalel responded, “Normal practice (מנהג העולם), would be to build the house first and afterwards put the furniture inside.” Moshe replied, “You were in God’s shadow! (בצל אל) That is exactly what Hashem commanded me to do!” And that is what they did. First [they built] the Mishkan and then they made the furniture.

This is a troubling Midrash. If Hashem told Moshe to build the Mishkan before the furniture, why did he tell Betzalel to do it the other way around? The Maharal writes in Gur Aryeh that Moshe “forgot,” but this is simply untenable. As Rabbi Mordechai Jaffa writes in his Levush Orah, we would not dare say of a minor prophet that he forgot a divine directive, all the more so of the father of prophets, our master Moshe!

In defense of the Maharal, we could argue that there was actually no Halacha here at all. Hashem commanded the Jews to build the Mishkan and its vessels; there were no directives about order. Free to choose, Moshe assumed that due to their greater significance (as described by the Gur Aryeh), the vessels should be made first. Betzalel countered that typically a house would be built before its furniture. Moshe agreed, and noted that, in fact, Hashem did tell him about the Mishkan first. This is what the Marahal meant when he wrote that Moshe “forgot.” Moshe did not forget a Halacha; there was no Halacha here to forget. It was just that before Betzalel’s insight, Moshe didn’t think that Hashem’s presentation had any bearing on the ideal order of construction.

What exactly was Betzalel’s argument? He claimed that the Mishkan should be built in accordance with ",מנהג העולם" the normal way of doing things. The Mishkan’s construction should follow the same plan as a house and houses are built before their furniture. This is what Betzalel said, but it is far from an obvious assumption. The Mishkan is no ordinary house. Utterly unique, it is God’s palace on earth. Why should it be subject to the rules of a typical construction project?  

Betzalel was making a profound statement. The Mishkan is not Heaven's embassy. Hashem does not want His sanctuary to be a sealed spiritual fortress divorced from the life of man. Quite the opposite. Hashem wants the Mishkan to be a beacon of light, radiating Kedusha out into man’s world. The function of the Mishkan is to facilitate the interaction between man and God – more of a consulate than an embassy – and for that to happen the Mishkan must be a part of our world from its very inception. Its construction should follow מנהג העולם, the way that people typically operate.

In a word, the Mishkan must be normal.

This is very much in line with Rashi’s understanding of the Kohanim’s inauguration. That too was done in the normal fashion, by way of dressing them in their uniforms. All this normalcy is central to Hashem’s plan. Through the model of the Mishkan, Hashem touches and elevates every aspect of Jewish society and life: from divine service and sacrifice down to the use of gold and silver, bureaucracy, politics and even home renovations.

SANCTIFYING ROUTINE

The Talmud famously tells us that our three daily prayers were established to match to the daily order of sacrificial offerings (Berachos 26b). This is not to say that prayer is merely a stand-in for offerings; there is a clear and independent biblical obligation to pray. However, the original Mitzvah is unregimented – no legislated number of prayers, no liturgy, and no set time (Rambam, Laws of Prayer 1:1). The Mishkan introduced routine to divine service. The Mishkan taught the radical concept that approaching God should not be a special event; it should be ordinary, familiar, regular. When interaction with God becomes commonplace, then all of life is elevated; this was the goal of the Mishkan. The sages took the cue and reformed Jewish prayer, legislating regular encounters with God into the daily schedule of every Jew.

PURIFYING PERSPECTIVE

The Mishkan was equipped with a washbasin known as the כיור, or laver. Prior to performing any service, the Kohanim must do קידוש ידים ורגלים, “sanctifying” their hands and feet by washing at the laver (Shemos 30:18-19). In the Mishkan, purity is critical and there is nothing surprising about washing. What is surprising is the laver’s origin.

“He made the copper laver and its copper base with the mirrors of legions” (Shemos 38:8).

What are the mirrors of legions? Rashi quotes a Midrash:

The Jewish women had mirrors they used for the application of makeup – even these [mirrors] they did not withhold from bringing for the Mishkan collection. Moshe was disgusted by these [mirrors], made as they were for [inciting] the Yetzer HaRa. The Holy One, blessed be He, said to him, “These mirrors are more precious to me than everything else, for it was through these [mirrors] that the women raised many legions [of Jews] in Egypt. When their husbands were exhausted [after a day] of back-breaking slave labor, [their wives] went and brought them food and drink, and they fed them. They took their mirrors and each [woman] looked in the mirror with her husband and teased him, saying, ‘I am more beautiful than you!’ In this way, they aroused their husbands and were intimate with them. They became pregnant and gave birth there, as the verse states, ‘Under the apple tree you were awakened…’ (Shir HaShirim 8:5).” This is the meaning of the mirrors of legions.

The very mirrors that Moshe rejected on grounds of impurity, Hashem declares to be His favorite things and dedicates for the purpose of purifying the Kohanim! Clearly, there is a novelty here in Hashem’s thinking that eludes even the greatest of prophets.

Moshe felt that women’s vanity mirrors have no place in God’s sanctuary. That would certainly be the normative approach, however, Hashem has a different perspective, a positive take. Bucking conventional “religious” instinct, Hashem proudly introduces a new way of thinking about the Yezter HaRa and reveals the latent Kedusha of marital intimacy. This is another example of the Mishkan’s unrestricted impact on מנהג העולם: the elevation of human sexuality through God’s unique, counter-intuitive perspective.

CAN WE BUILD IT?

When all its myriad parts were complete and it came time to erect the Mishkan, Moshe had a problem. The beams were too heavy.

Moshe asked the Holy One, blessed be He, “How can a human being set this up?”

Hashem replied, “Do it with your hands and make it appear as if you are lifting it. It will then stand up by itself.” (Rashi to 39:33)

If the Mishkan miraculously assembles itself, what is the value of having Moshe go through the motions and act as if he is doing it? And if Hashem really wanted the Mishkan to be assembled by Moshe, why didn’t He design the beams to be thinner and lighter so Moshe could easily lift them himself?

As we have learned, Hashem wants His supernatural providence to coexist with the natural world. This is why the miraculous assembly of the Mishkan – a symbol of creation itself – hides under the façade of Moshe's hands. But at the same time, we must be aware that our human abilities are always inadequate without Hashem’s active assistance. This is why the Mishkan was designed to be impossible for man to assemble alone.

The Mishkan's greatest innovation was the normalization of Kedusha. Experiencing the Shechina should not be foreign or exotic, or even an "experience" at all. If Hashem wanted to isolate Himself, He could have remained in heaven. The Mishkan demonstrates that Kedusha can, nay, must be routine, familiar and, to all appearances, perfectly ordinary. When we understand and integrate its lessons, the portable Mishkan becomes the vehicle that achieves Hashem's vision for creation, bringing the Shechina out of the sanctuary and into the daily life of every single Jew.

God Wants... You? A Retelling of the Exodus Story

Click the link below for a recording of today's Pre-Pesach shiur at Gerber & Co.
In this shiur we pose a basic theological question: What motivated God to redeem the Jews? The answer may surprise you. In the process, we reevaluate the place of the individual vis-à-vis the community, finding interesting clues expressed both in the Mishkan and at the Seder. To summarize our conclusions on this front:
"Ask not what you can do for your community; ask rather, what is your community doing for you!"

The Mishkan, the Golden Calf & the Exodus:

Searching for a New Abraham

A Word Is Worth a Thousand Pictures

In this week's parsha, God commands us to build Him a home, a sanctuary called the Mishkan. What a strange mitzvah! Why on earth does God need a home? Are the desert nights getting cold? The whole idea of a house for God is ridiculous. As the Midrash says, “When God said, 'Build a sanctuary for Me,' Moshe countered, 'But the heavens and the highest heavens cannot contain You! (I Kings 8:27)'” (Bamidbar Rabba 12:3).

Rabbi Chaim Volozhner (1749-1821) explains what it’s all about:

God is saying the following: "Let no one make the mistake of thinking that My intent in the construction of the sanctuary is about the physical building itself. Not at all. Rather, you should know that the sole objective of the Mishkan and its furniture is to indicate to you to learn from it and model yourselves after it. Your own behavior should be as wonderful as the Mishkan and its furniture, completely holy and worthy of the Divine Presence." This is the meaning of the verse, "They shall make me a sanctuary and I will dwell among them..." (Shemot 25:8).

Nefesh HaChaim 1:4

The Mishkan is merely a model. When a Jew experienced the power of the Shechina’s presence in the Mishkan, he said to himself, “If God can enter this building, He must certainly be able to enter me.” God is prepared to rest His divine presence within us, but we must first develop ourselves into living sanctuaries. If we build it, He will come.

It would serve us well to take a closer look at how the Mishkan was constructed. If we are to model our own inner sanctuaries after the Mishkan, we obviously need to study the blueprints. Unfortunately, there are none. The Torah provides no diagrams, no illustrations, not even a sketch. The entire Mishkan is described only in words. Many words.

The parsha describes the Mishkan and its furniture in mind-numbing detail. From materials and dimensions to artistic flourishes and color, virtually every aspect of the design is mandated. Intricate tapestries woven with yarn blended from three kinds of wool and one kind of linen; decorative cups, spheres and flowers; cherubs with their wings just so; plated beams and crossbars; silver sockets; golden hooks, the list goes on and on. The parsha is ninety-six verses long (not bad, as parshiot go), but without question, one picture would have saved our people many tons of ink and parchment through the years. As the old adage says, a picture is worth a thousand words. Today, architects and designers use drawings to communicate their ideas. Why does the Torah insist on using words when a simple sketch would do?

You can’t be serious, you say. God speaks; He doesn’t use PowerPoint! However, the truth is, God did use images to communicate the Mishkan’s design. The Torah says as much quite explicitly:

You shall set up the Mishkan in the proper manner, as you were shown on the mountain [of Sinai]…

Shemot 26:30; cf. 25:9,40; 27:8

Now, if God showed Moshe a model of the Mishkan up on Sinai, why wasn’t that image incorporated into the Torah? If that question doesn’t trouble you, this one will: Why bother with all the words at all? After all, when it came down to it, it was the images in Moshe’s head that guided construction, not the Torah’s words.

“It was on the day that Moshe finished erecting the Mishkan…” – Betzalel and Oheliav and all the artisans made the Mishkan (cf. Shemot 36:1), and the Torah credits Moshe?! It is because he devoted himself to observe the forms of every item the way he was shown on Mt. [Sinai], in order to instruct those who constructed it. He didn’t make a mistake on any form.

Rashi to Bamidbar 7:1; Tanchuma 13

If the final arbiter of the Mishkan’s design was not the verses of the Torah, but the image that God showed Moshe on Sinai, why does the Torah even attempt to spell it all out? We have the perfect precedent in the mitzvah of Tefillin. When it comes to Tefillin, the Torah gives us just a few vague words. “Bind it as a sign on your hand and let them be totafot between your eyes” (Devarim 6:8; cf. Shemot 13:9). “Totafot”? What is it made of? What should it look like? The Torah does not say; it relies on the image God showed Moshe on Mt. Sinai, and to this very day, there is no debate about what Tefillin are. Why didn’t the Torah treat the Mishkan the same way? God could have simply said “Build Me a sanctuary” and relied on Moshe to relay the details. Why all the words? Before we can answer this question, we need to take a brief detour.

Everybody knows there are 613 mitzvot in the Torah. Sounds like a lot, but the Gaon of Vilna (R. Eliyahu Kramer, 1720-1797) argues that this popular Talmudic tradition is actually an understatement. Are we to believe that from Bereishit all the way to parshat Bo there are no more than three mitzvot? Some parshiot have none at all. Have they nothing to say?

The Vilna Gaon teaches that every single word of the Torah is actually its own mitzvah. 613 may be the number of primary mitzvot, but each one branches out into many, many more, covering every aspect of life. On some level, all of human behavior can potentially become “mitzvah.” The formula is simple: Whatever you do, if you do it right, you fulfill God’s will. A sensitive reading of the Torah teaches us how.

When the Mishkan’s parts were complete and it was time to put it all together, the Torah stresses how each component was put in place “as God commanded Moshe.” In fact, the Torah repeats that description every step of the way:

“It was in the first month of the second year on the first of the month that the Mishkan was erected. Moshe erected the Mishkan… as G-d had commanded Moshe.
“He brought the Ark into the Mishkan… as God had commanded Moshe.
“He put the Table in the Tent of Meeting… as God had commanded Moshe.
“He placed the Menorah in the Tent of Meeting… as God had commanded Moshe.
“He placed the Gold Altar in the Tent of Meeting… as God had commanded Moshe…”

Shemot 40:17-32

And so on. The Torah is not just being verbose; it is making a critical point. Every single act in the construction of the Mishkan was its own mitzvah. God didn’t just hand them a diagram and say, “Build this.” That would be only one mitzvah. Instead, God spelled out every stage of construction as an independent command, making each act an independent fulfillment of God’s will. Only with a constant stream of mitzvot can God’s sanctuary be built.

People are no different. If we want God’s presence to rest within us, we need to create a space where God can be comfortable. This is the mission of the Jew: to sanctify the mundane, to elevate all of life into mitzvah, and ultimately become a living, breathing Mishkan.

Yes, God does desire a house on earth - a house of flesh and blood.

A House of Love and Prayer

Everybody knows what a mitzvah is. A mitzvah is one of the 613 biblical commandments of the Torah, the prohibitions and obligations incumbent upon every Jew. Right? Not really.

It is inaccurate to describe mitzvot as being “incumbent upon every Jew.” Some mitzvot are only for Kohanim, some are for Levites, some are only for farmers, a few are just for women, etc., etc. It is impossible for any one Jew to do all 613 mitzvot. As Hillary wisely said, it takes a village.

But beyond that, there are mitzvot that are not incumbent upon anyone at all. The first mitzvah of our parsha is an example of this rare kind of mitzvah.

G-d spoke to Moshe, saying: “Speak to the Israelites and they shall take for me a portion (terumah). Take my portion from everyone whose heart compels him to give. This is the portion that they shall take from them: Gold, silver, copper, sky-blue [wool], purple [wool]…
They shall make Me a sanctuary and I will dwell among them.

Shemot 25:1-4,8

There is a mitzvah here to collect funds for the construction of the Mishkan-sanctuary, the Tabernacle. But who is obligated to give? “Anyone whose heart compels him…” Technically, no one has to give a dime.

In the words of the Brisker Rov (Rabbi Yitzchak Zev Soloveitchik, 1886-1959):

The communal collection on behalf of the Mishkan was a mitzvah and an obligation, as the verse states, “Speak to the Jews and they shall take for me a portion…” This is the language of a command and a positive mitzvah. However, the essential quality of this mitzvah is that it is communal obligation and not an individual obligation. It is just like the mitzvah of building the Mishkan – the obligation [to build] is on the community and not the individual, as is made clear by Maimonides in his Sefer HaMitzvot.

How strange! We know that Judaism is a religion of commandments, and that includes contributions to worthy causes. When it comes to covering the cost of the daily sacrifices offered in the Mishkan, the Torah institutes a mandatory half-Shekel tax. When it comes to supporting the Kohanim, the Levites and the poor, the Torah obligates the Jewish farmer to tithe his produce. But when it comes to this most important of mitzvot, the building of the sanctuary itself, we leave that to the goodness of people’s hearts? Why?

The question runs deeper. The Talmud teaches that following orders is greater than volunteering (Kiddushin 31a). This surprising perspective is based on the idea that the more difficult the task, the more meaningful and rewarding the outcome. Volunteering is special, but it is a natural tendency in good people. More extraordinary is following orders – because orders turn people off. Overcoming that mental obstacle and doing the deed without the help of the natural excitement and drive that comes with being a volunteer makes for an even greater act. This is the advantage of mandatory mitzvot (cf. Tosefot Tuch, ad loc.).

In light of this concept, our question is strengthened. Why is the mitzvah of our parsha different? Why were the Jews deprived of a mitzvah-command to participate in the construction of the Mishkan?

The answer is that G-d wants the Mishkan built by people who go beyond the call of duty. The compelling words of Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzatto (1707-1746) can help us understand why.

One who truly loves the Creator will not consciously limit their observance to the well-known obligations incumbent upon every Jew. Rather, what happens to him is what happens to a boy who loves his father. If his father just hints that he likes something, the son will strive to do the thing as much as he can. Even if his father said it only once and in a half-sentence, that’s sufficient for the son to understand his father’s preferences… he doesn’t need an explicit command or to be told again. We see this happening all the time between lovers and friends, husbands and wives, and fathers and sons…
Don’t say, “I wasn’t commanded [to do] more, it’s enough for me to do what I’ve been told.”

The Path of the Just, chap. 18

While commanded mitzvot can be performed lovingly, pure expressions of love they are not. Fulfilling obligations lays the foundation of human responsibility and reverence, and that ranks higher on the pecking order of mitzvot, but going beyond the letter of the law is the litmus test of love. This is why the collection of funds and materials for the Mishkan could not be mandatory. Donations had to be given freely, for obedience alone fails to compel G-d to descend from His heavenly abode and rest His Shechinah in a terrestrial sanctuary. He has to see love.