Parshat Terumah

EVERY YEAR, as we approach the Torah portions relating to the construction of the mishkan, a collective sigh of despair emerges from our synagogue pews as congregants hunker down for long Torah readings that lack narrative and seem very repetitive. It doesn’t have to be this way.

Our limited perception of Torah as either story or law has closed off a significant part of the religious vision the Torah enshrines. The symbolism of the mishkan requires us to envision each piece of devotional artwork as they together make up the house of God. We may thereby better understand how we might welcome God into the house that is our lives. In developing an understanding for the composite vessel that can hold God’s presence, we can also gain a better understanding of God. The sand prints left by God in entering these vessels can be the vital clues in seeking God from a book of revelation that devotes itself primarily to man’s responsibility to God and not to God’s specific nature.

The Torah develops these lessons in the context of a physical structure where man engages God actively. The lessons are not set out in words—but in structures that might evoke many meanings. I wish to offer an initial viewing that might spark further reflection. The mishkan is an enclosed structure surrounded by a courtyard. Within the mishkan, a partition divides two distinct rooms, an inner and outer area. The vessels contained within these rooms are a table, a lamp, an altar, and a case. If we imagine walking into a friend’s home we might expect similar elements, an outer courtyard—a house with areas for both public use and other areas for exclusively private use with some form of division between them. We would expect to find a table, a pantry, lights, and shelving units. All these elements find their parallel in the mishkan. The structure where man meets God is a home; God lives at the center of the Jewish encampment. Yet, certain significant vessels are missing—no chair and no bed are to be found in God’s house. God does not dwell among us at rest. While at home God is active.

When examining the positioning of these vessels, we must note that the private space contains one select vessel. That vessel is not a lamp nor a table—but the ark—the vessel that can contain other materials. The materials contained within it are the mementos of God’s relationship with the Jewish people i.e., the tablets of the law and the manna that fell in the desert providing food for the Jewish people. It is upon this vessel that God uniquely dwells—the vessel that does not function as a tool to conduct business but the vessel that preserves memory.

No object in the mishkan symbolizes God directly. Two angels are formed upon the top of the ark’s cover each looking to the other. Their focus is not upon themselves but towards the space that lies between them, empty space created by their position in relation to one another. God dwells in the context of relationships in the spaces formed by those who serve him together. We find in kedusha that angels do not praise God alone—they must unite to sing their song.

A family’s home is a reflection of its values and its personality. There is something voyeuristic in entering a stranger’s house and scanning their bookshelves—seeking clues for their predilections and passions. Let’s use the five weeks ahead to glance at God through the prism of his home—discovering more clues to His personality and essence.