Terumah 5773 - English

By Rabbi Daniela Szuster
Congregation B´nei Israel, Costa Rica

On the Inside of our Buildings

“Exactly as I show you — the pattern of the Tabernacle and the pattern of all its furnishings — so shall you make it.  They shall make an ark of acacia wood, two and a half cubits long, a cubit and a half wide, and a cubit and a half high. […]  You shall make a table of acacia wood, two cubits long, one cubit wide, and a cubit and a half high….” (Shemot 25:9, 10 and 23).

Every year, when we reach this passage, this parashah, once again, I wonder why the Torah describes with such details the building of the Mishkan (Tabernacle) and all its elements.  Wouldn’t it have been enough if it told us that they had to build a special place where God would reside and where religious rituals would be held?

Another great question:  did God need, and still need, a place to reside?  Did the almighty, creator of heaven and earth, require us to build Him a sanctuary?

As always, we can find different answers to these questions.  An answer that I consider very insightful, prepared by the Midrash a long time ago, says the following:

Said Israel before the Holy One Blessed be He: Lord of the Universe, the kings of the nations have a tent and a table and a menorah and incense, etc... You are our king, our redeemer, our savior – shouldn’t you have the trappings of kingship until all people know that you are the king? God said to them: My children, flesh and blood need all that, but I do not,… but do it as I instruct you: (Midrash Aggadah to Parashat Terumah, p. 170).

The rules on the building of the Mishkan appeared immediately after the people created the golden calf, something tangible to worship.   According to this Midrash, when the people of Israel saw that other nations had great palaces as dwellings for their gods, they started to wonder why they didn’t have something similar for their God.  And what did God say, according to the Midrash?  I do not need any edifice, however, since I know that it is important to you, you may build it, but only when and how I command you.

Following this train of thought, Rambam maintains that the building of the Mishkan, as well as the offerings in general, were ways to draw away from idolatry, which was rooted among the people; a divine concession to the purpose of reaching the monotheistic idea,  through the use of pagan cultural codes.  A sort of transition, which restricted the offerings to a single place, and their performance solely to the Cohanim (priests).

I ponder on the people’s irresistible need for a place, a building, an edifice.  At the same time, on the worship that we human beings have felt, throughout history and nowadays, towards the great edifices, the compelling constructions.  When visiting large cities, what are we interested in?  Their buildings, cathedrals, palaces, etc.  Those vast edifices fascinate us.  Is it because they make us feel like gods, all powerful?   To take pride in the fact that we, human beings, can make majestic things too, as that Tower of Babel we are told about on the book of Bereshit?

Without a doubt, we share with our ancestors that fascination for great architecture.  And I believe our tradition sends us a very important message regarding this matter.  We could have been forbidden to  build a sanctuary, but this was not what happened.  God could understand this human wish and allowed us to satisfy it, to the point of reading, each and every year, hundreds of details about this construction.

Nevertheless, throughout history, tradition led us to the preeminence of humble abodes instead of large cathedrals, for us to meet and pray.  Actually, according to the Halachah, we do not need a specific place to pray; any home can operate as a house of prayer and community meetings.

Why?  In the words of the Mishnah:  “Rabi Meir said, ‘Look not at the vessel but at its content’” (Pirke Avot 4:27).

Walls are important, but what is done inside those walls is much more important.  We often hear about philanthropists, who like to donate for the construction of great edifices but not for community projects, education, social welfare, etc.; the things that are not easily seen with the naked eye but that in truth preserve the flame of tradition, filling the building with warmth and meaning.

Following the message of Parashat Terumah, it is not bad for us to build edifices, as long as we are able to fill them with content, ethics, values, education, compassion, and good deeds.  The challenge lies on trying to find the balance between our strong ambitions of building great edifices and the wisdom of filling them with meaning, conveyance, and feelings of fellowship.

May God grant us the ability to fill the buildings of our Kehillot, as well as our homes, with quality contents, with the study and practice of our values, with life and Jewish experiences, so they are not built only for showing off or parading purposes, to remain as impressive deserted edifices empty of the values of our tradition.

Shabbat Shalom!

Rabbi Daniela Szuster

Congregation B´nei Israel, Costa Rica