Parshat Terumah – February 16, 2024 / 8 Adar, 5784

Let’s try an exercise together: I want you to either close or soften your eyes. Now think of a place, preferably from your past that evokes strong and positive memories and feelings. What does it look like? What does it smell like? Who is there with you? The more detail the better. Can you really put yourself back in that place? When I first did this exercise I thought of what my extended family used to call “the camp.” It was my grandparents’ house on a little lake in upstate New York, and my brothers, cousins, and all of our families would meet there almost every weekend in the summers growing up. This lakeside space is so specific in sense and memory to me. The colors of the furniture, the details of every room…they live within me. I can even feel the company of my now-adult and geographically dispersed cousins and family. I know that now I will likely never enter this physical space again, but that does not mean that this space ceases to exist. It is as prevalent as ever in my consciousness as if I were currently there. 

An entire third of the Book of Exodus is concerned with the building of an impermanent structure….the Mishkan or Tabernacle. This week, in Parsha Terumah (gifts or offerings), the people of Israel are given very specific instructions regarding the building of this portable structure which will be home to the Ark and the Tablets of the Covenant. This Tabernacle will only be used during the journey through the desert. One day it will be replaced by Solomon’s Temple in Jerusalem. This Holy Space was never meant to physically last forever. But, just like “the camp” on the lake growing up…a space does not have to be tangibly present to remain with us for all time. 

“V’asu li Mikdash v’shachanti b’tocham-And let them make me a Sanctuary that I may dwell among them.” The word “Shachan” truly means “to rest.” The Torah makes it clear that God does not “dwell in” the Mishkan as God’s actual place of residence, but that the space is designed to create a holy tangibility in the hearts and souls of the people of Israel. The Israelites buy into this project, likely because they are literally giving gifts and offerings of themselves in order to construct this Holy Tabernacle. God asks the people to get on board…to contribute…to work together toward common purpose. This is not the Tower of Babel wherein the people worked together to try to build something to reach God…this is a project that the people take on humbly while allowing God to reach them. 

This undertaking was necessary. If we recall, the Israelites were prone to complaining, to restlessness, perhaps even to passivity. It seemed as if the witnessing of the miracle of the Sea of Reeds parting might stop them from complaining, but alas, only three days after this miracle they were going on about the bitterness of the water, and the lack of food. God appears before the people at Mount Sinai! Surely, this will squash any issues the Israelites have! How do the Israelites respond? After only 40 days, they make a Golden Calf to worship…seemingly out of anxiety. During the building of this Tabernacle, there is no dissention. The people truly have bought in,..they have offered gifts of themselves. They feel needed and useful. When we give of ourselves, we can create the environment of holiness which allows for the presence of Godliness. Last week, in parsha Mishpatim, we spoke of the deeds required to welcome God, and also the time required, which can be seen in the observance of Shabbat. This week, we talk about Holiness in space.  

There is a Midrash that tells the story of a King whose only daughter becomes married to a prince from another country. The King says to his daughter, “I cannot stop you from leaving with your husband, but it grieves me to have you leave. Do this for me, please. Wherever you live, build an apartment for me so that I can come and visit you.” This is analogous to God’s request to Israel: “Build a shrine for Me that I may dwell among you.” We can always have a space for God.

Although it did not last outside of my teenage years, I can still visit “the camp” whenever I need to. My family and I gave of our time, and created a space that matters. Perhaps it was a holy space, even if we did not know it. Connections and memories were made…sometimes even very appropriately in the form of complaining about being tired and hungry. This tabernacle in the desert was what the people of Israel needed to connect in a healthy way not just with God, but also with one another…and perhaps there is no difference between those two things. 

May we all be blessed to find or even recall the holy spaces in our own lives. Although they might be impermanent in a purely physical sense, our spiritual relationship with these places and the people who have inhabited them can live on indefinitely. Let us allow God into our current space, our remembered spaces, and the spaces we will all inhabit together. We might find that God’s presence dwells equally in all. 

Shabbat Shalom 

– Rabbi Josh Gray