Parashat Vayakhel/Pekudei

Parashat Vayakhel/Pekudei

Adar 23, 5772 ~ March 17, 2012
by Joel Ackerman

Over the last several weeks, we have heard a lot of incisive commentary on the matter of community – first from Rabbi Dardik in his drash on parasha Terumah, then from Marshall Schwartz and Ginna Green in their mini-drashot. Then we read Ki Tissa, which describes how the Israelite community was almost torn apart through the incident of the golden calf, which resulted in G-d’s almost destroying the people and in which they were engaged in internecine warfare, brother against brother.

But G-d forgave the people and gave them the opportunity to restore their relationship with Him by building the mishkan. And He also gave them the opportunity, and the means, to build or rebuild their community and cement it.

The Israelites were ready to act on these opportunities, and had the desire to carry out G-d’s command to build the mishkan, but that would not be enough. The initial desire, excitement and enthusiasm would have to be converted or translated into acts that would have a lasting effect. Both the work to be done and the way that it would be done would be equally important.

The task of building the mishkan and its contents was not given to Moses, but to Bezalel. So, too the task of rebuilding the community was given to Bezalel, not to Moses. It had to be that way, for Moses had been involved in the fighting and killing within the community.

That the task of rebuilding the community – and the ability to do it - was given to Bezalel is shown in the language of the Torah (ch. 26, verse 31). In speaking of Bezalel, Moses repeats G-d’s words to him “V’maleh oto ruach Elohim b’chochmah bitvunah uvda’at uvchol m’lacha” – “And He has filled him with the spirit of G-d, in wisdom, in understanding, and in knowledge, and with every craft.” The difference between these attributes is made clear by the use of the word “and” in connection with the last two. G-d imbued Bezalel with knowledge and craftsmanship in particular, that is, knowledge how to build and how to make the items. That should have been enough to enable Bezalel to make those items. So why did G-d also give him wisdom and understanding? In order to know how to lead the broken community in this task so that it could be rebuilt – or rebuild itself – and to do it with the spirit of G-d.

Bezalel had to become a project manager, and Oholiav had to become his assistant. It was not enough that they knew how to make the items, or even that they knew how to teach others to do that. They also, as every project manager knows, had to know how to knit the community together to carry out the work and, in this special case, how to guide the people in rebuilding the community that had been torn.

To properly rebuild the community, it would be crucial that

· everyone take part - those who could see the big picture and those who are detail-oriented, those who have greater skills or talents and those who have lesser or different ones, those who have established abilities and those who have natural talents that can be brought out by participating and by being taught

· the results are attributed to all;

· and that none should be left out and nothing left over.

Meanwhile, Moses has to absorb the meaning of a task he is to perform – anointing both Aaron and his sons as the kohanim. Our sages point out that Moses could anoint Aaron with a whole heart and with joy. Aaron was his brother, and Moses could be happy that Aaron was named kohen gadol. But Moses’ sons were not destined to follow him in his leadership role. So Moses might have felt envy towards Aaron’s sons, but he nevertheless was commanded to anoint them in the same way, and with the same joy, as he would anoint their father. Not an easy command to carry out, but one that was necessary in the process of building the community.

And Moses had to learn for a second time that he was not supposed to do everything himself. Earlier, at Sinai, Jethro had advised him to give others part of the task of judging disputes in the community. Now, G-d tells Moses that he will not have to build the mishkan himself. In fact, Moses should not try to build it himself. G-d has appointed two men – Bezalel and Oholiav – to carry that out.

Everyone worked on building the mishkan. Some did the complex tasks – weaving, carpentry, metalwork, building the altars, etc. Others brought materials, assisted, schlepped stuff, held the materials while they were being worked on, cleaned up, etc. The metalsmith crafting vessels for the mishkan cannot work alone. He needs other people – to bring the metal material, to tend the fire, to hold an object while it is being worked on, to cool the object. They might have the same level of skill as the smith, or they might not, but they are essential to carrying out the work. The weaver needs someone with very fine motor skills to cut thin threads out of gold sheets (see ch. 39, verse 3) and people to spin the yarn (ch. 35, verse 25). The woodworker preparing panels for the walls needs help in measuring, cutting and shaping the wood, planing the edges, and other tasks.

Our sages like to paint a picture that the original enthusiasm and excitement of the people was maintained throughout the construction of the mishkan. Perhaps so; if so, that would not only be highly unusual, but would seem to be almost miraculous. In addition, such harmony might even be deleterious to the need for cementing a community. It could seem artificial; we humans don’t normally function that way. Working in perfect harmony on such a complicated project would quickly be seen by those participating to be unnatural. Everyone enthusiastic all the time? Smiling all the time? No change of expression?

No; in my mind the needed repairs to the community, the cementing, came about through working together on the mishkan in human ways – building together, arguing together, getting frustrated together, working through problems together, finding solutions together.

And it probably was not a smooth process. Even the commentators probably knew better; some of them were skilled craftsmen. Hitches commonly occur whenever people work together on a project. Sometimes things don’t go well. Sometimes measurements are off. Sometimes tempers flare. Sometimes work has to be redone. But Bezalel (and Oholiav with him) had been given the necessary wisdom and insight to keep the work on target and to keep the attitude of the people steady. In the end the results were attained, and all were credited with the final result – the mishkan and the objects it held.

A final thought. This parasha is often questioned for the length of its details. Why doesn’t the Torah simply state that all the work was done as G-d had commanded, for instance just contain the text of ch. 39, verses 42-43? Why list every task, every item, every little detail?

Perhaps to remind us of the immense amount of work that went into the building of the mishkan and its contents. To review lovingly each and every item that was made. To realize the scope of the work. To allow every person who worked on that project to feel a strong sense of accomplishment in having completed the work. To allow every person to point to one or more items and be able to say “I helped make that”.

All of this helps to build, and to maintain, a community.

Parashat Ki Tisa

Parashat Ki Tisa

Adar 16, 5772 ~ March 10, 2012
by Ginna Green

With thanks to this community: the wonderful parents of Gan Mah Tov,

and the generous members of Beth Jacob

My son developed recently a (perhaps fleeting) passion for geologic time. Somehow, this kid has internet search down, and he finds the most amazing content on the web. A few weeks ago, I was stunned by an image that he'd found on the web site of the U.S. Geological Survey. I'm still not sure if it was the graphic display of the age of the earth, the quality of the rendering or the realization that, by myself, I really am next to nothing that blew my mind the most. I may be made b'tzelem elokim, and for my sake the world was created—but there's nothing like a geological timeline to underscore that we are just dust and ashes.

This is precisely why being part of a community is critical to just about every species on the planet. The notion of how important it is surfaces in different ways this week, when we celebrate Purim by reading Megillat Esther and read Ki Tisa as the parasha.

Ki Tisa is bursting with topics. It’s got fragrant mixtures; architecture; kashrut and more. I’m drawn, however, to the notions of community suggested by both the annual census and, of course, That Whole Incident with the Golden Calf.

“Meanwhile, the people began to realize that Moses was taking a long time to come down from the mountain. They gathered around Aaron and said to him, “Make us an oracle to lead us. We have no idea what happened to Moses, the man who brought us out of Egypt.”

We’re stiff-necked, petulant, and juvenile at times, Jews, and we can add anxious to the list just based on these lines from this week’s parasha. I don't wish to be an apologist for the actions of those desperate to replace Moses with something, anything (an “oracle,” even) as a leader, a bridge between themselves and G-d. But the people coalesced around a perceived need and responded—not optimally, but with a response nonetheless. Commentators posit that all the future tragedies that befall the Jewish people are rooted, at least in part, to this incident, and that is so noted. (As much is suggested when G-d says “... When I grant special providence to the people, I will take this sin of theirs into account.”). But my focus at this precise moment is not on the act, but the initial thought and response that preceded it.

Community, in and of itself, is a neutral concept, though it is often assigned a positive connotation. Communities, and the individuals and organizations of which they are composed, are not neutral, however. Communities and their components have within them to power to be forces for good, or forces for not-so-good. We generally do not speak of possibilities like the negative impact of community, or the ways in which communities exhibit bad behavior or allow it to persist, but just as community actions have positive impacts, they have negative ones as well. Without a doubt, the Golden Calf would count as a negative.

That Whole Incident with the Golden Calf demonstrates to me that while we, as Jews and human beings, can make fantastically poor decisions, we often don’t make them in a vacuum. It is our community that helps us confront, contemplate and configure responses to issues and problems we encounter as individuals. And no doubt the community tackles community problems too. While we waited impatiently at Mt. Sinai for Moses to return, some of us were anxious, concerned, and maybe faithless. But is there something to be said for uniting and acting together, even in an agitated state and with such a problematic action? I contend that there is. Of course, not everyone participated in That Whole Incident with the Golden Calf (but everyone did witness): women, Levites and most male adults abstained. But for the 3,000 who felt vulnerable and incomplete in the absence of Moshe, they found a problematic way to fill the chasm between themselves and Hashem that appeared when Moshe did not.

Perhaps this is why Moshe went to bat for us. He knew that we didn't truly mean ill or sin, or that we no longer believed in the G-d who had brought us out of Egypt, but that, rather, we were not yet comfortable enough with ourselves to be alone with Hashem. We were young Jews. We needed Moses, or a proxy. We made a grave mistake. But our community was worth saving.

But not the community within the community that started it all. As the story goes, the Levites killed the 3,000 who were at the root of That Whole Incident with the Golden Calf. That too, however, unpleasant as it may be (it reminds me of the deaths of Avihu and Nadav in Shemini), reflects to some degree the nature of community—this time in deference and service to G-d, rather than fear of being alone with G-d. The Levites responded quickly and deftly to Moshe's request:

“Whoever is for G-d, join me! … Let each man put on his sword, and go from one gate to the other in the camp. Let each one kill [all those involved in the idolatry], even his own brother, close friend or relative.”

Certainly, the Levites were inflicting great punishment for a great sin, but perhaps they were also strengthening the greater community by removing potentially problem parts and weak links.

Thankfully, it’s not usually bad news when we band together. The Purim story reflects this:

“Go, gather all the Jews found in Shushan, and fast for my sake. / Take neither food nor drink / for three days—night and day. / I and my maidservants will also fast this way. / Having done this, I will come to the king / even though it is unlawful ….”

All the Jews in Shushan! Not 3,000 of us. We all fasted. And we were all at stake. It's difficult to find a more dramatic instance where we all united in fighting threats to our existence (especially when read aloud by Gav Shapiro). Our actions in Shushan are almost the opposite of That Whole Incident with the Golden Calf. Then, some of us banded together, but not with an ideal result. Our joining Queen Esther in three days of fasting reflects the positive impact of community, the act of coalescing around a universal, positive goal. And we succeeded.

Whew.

I'll close by returning to the very beginning of Ki Tisa, when we are given instructions on taking a census of our people.

“This is what everyone who is entered in the records shall pay: a half-shekel by the the sanctuary weight—twenty gerahs to the shekel—a half-shekel as an offering to the Lord.”

We all matter to our nation, and we should all matter to each other individually. Of course, this is a census, so it would be wildly inaccurate and irresponsible to allow the rich to give more and the poor to give less. But it does not make it any less true that no one person matters more than another; it's mentioned throughout Torah and Talmud. Some may do more, and some may make more but no one matters more. So we collect 1:1. These collected funds then become community money, used to purchase materials for building the Mishkan. Could there be a more holy way to cement our status as a community than by all contributing equally to our holy structure in the desert?

I connect Purim to this week's parasha with the notion of community, and how sometimes communities make good choices, and sometimes poor choices. Importantly, whether we are on the side of right, or the side of wrong, we remain a Jewish community: supportive of one another, dependent on one another, and interconnected.