Parshat Terumah – February 28, 2025 / 30 Shevat, 5785

I was at home a couple of weeks ago with Lena, my four, almost five-year-old daughter. It was what Lena likes to call a “Daddy-Daughter Day,” and we were having fun just hanging out playing with her newly acquired Barbie Dream House. Lena suddenly stopped playing with her ballerina Barbie, looked directly at me, and said: “Daddy, I want you to put a braid in my hair.” At that moment, I began to internally panic a bit. I hadn’t thought much about this type of thing, especially since her hair has really just gotten long and thick enough to do anything with. Also, I grew up with two brothers; put the three of us together, and I can almost guarantee that we have braided hair a grand total of zero times. This was a skill that I had just never acquired. This braiding however, was what Lena wanted during our Daddy-Daughter day. I wanted to give her this braid, but I needed instructions. I could not do this on my own. I grabbed my laptop, and went through a few tutorials on YouTube, while Lena sat patiently in front of me. While watching a video entitled, “The Perfect Simple Braid,” I put my all into braiding little Lena’s hair. There was just enough to create a single, small braid. I put the rest of the world aside for those few minutes and I focused solely on making this one braid for Lena. Divide the hair into three separate parts, put this strand over this strand, and then this strand over that strand. Repeat, repeat etc. The result was fairly decent, much to my surprise. Lena proceeded to say, “Thanks, Daddy,” not comprehending the degree of effort that this took. She then went on to play for only a few more minutes before nonchalantly untying her braid. The moment was over. I later realized that it really wasn’t. 

These moments when we offer something of ourselves, even when we don’t know exactly what we are doing…are these not some of the holiest moments…the cathedrals in time that make up the substance of our lives? This week’s Torah portion is entitled, Terumah, which translates to “offerings.” The people of Israel are charged with gathering the materials for, and then building the portable mishkan, or tabernacle, that will accompany them throughout their 40-year journey in the wilderness. God says, “V’asu li Mikdash v’shachanti b’tocham- They shall make for me a sanctuary, and I shall dwell among them.” Throughout this Torah portion, God goes into extreme detail regarding the materials needed to construct this tabernacle; including every measurement, ring, loop, and pin needed to hold it all together. No detail is spared. These holy instructions actually take up five parshiyot, or one-third of the entire Book of Exodus. To the modern reader, some of these sections can seem a bit long-winded, overly focused on minutiae, and difficult to glean meaning from. 

Let’s consider where the people of Israel have come from and where they are now. After being an enslaved people for over 400 years, they left Egypt as an “erev rav,” or a mixed multitude. There was not much, save for the collective bondage they had endured, that brought them together. Miracles played out in front of their eyes: a sea had split, manna rained down from the sky…but, perhaps rather surprisingly, none of this truly brought them together as one. Only when they were tasked with the creation of this Mishkan, and fulfilling its very specific instructions, did the children of Israel truly align as a people with future purpose. 

I look at this Mishkan-making, and my moment braiding Lena’s hair as examples of what life might really be all about. The Mishkan is portable, and was never meant to be permanent. Once the children of Israel come into the promised land, there will no longer exist a need for the impermanent structure of God’s dwelling. One day, King Solomon’s Temple would be built with intentions of immutability. Lena will grow up, and with the help of her mom, her friends, her own videos and tutorials; she will be able to do anything she wants with her own hair. There will come a time when she won’t need to say, “Daddy, I want you to put a braid in my hair” ever again. We, as Jews have always known in our souls that the seemingly transient moments of our lives are not without great purpose. God will know that the people of Israel are ready for a relationship with holiness that extends beyond the current moment and into the future. The structure of the mishkan and its intricacy is a sign of that commitment. Maybe Lena will remember that I took the time to braid her hair, even though I was unsure of the process. The instructions were a bit baroque to me also. Maybe she will know that I will do whatever I can to foster my relationship with her…to be there for her when she needs me. This can be extended to all of the relationships in our lives that we wish to nurture…this includes our relationship with God. 

Terumah…offerings. What are we bringing to our relationships with one another, with those we love and care about? What are we bringing to our relationship with the Divine? There is likely not much of a separation between these. In my own reading of Torah at this exact moment in my life, I was especially drawn to the keruvim, the two cherubs that sit atop the cover to the holy ark, the holiest and innermost part of the entire mishkan. According to some of our great sages, these keruvim had children’s faces. In my own two children, with Lena’s braid being a recent example, I find so much holiness in every moment. But that’s just me. The mishkan has many aspects, many materials, and so many layers. All of us can find something of ourselves in this elaborate structure. It seems especially fitting that we are instructed to make the seven-branched menorah from one single piece of gold. All of us branch off from the same beautiful substance of Oneness, create light on our own branches, but always know that we share a common root. This imagery is surely no accident. 

On this Holy Shabbat, let us all be blessed to make time to follow the holy instructions, and build something beautiful.. We can build our relationships with God as we foster love and nurturing in those around us. We must take the time to gather the materials, and then we can proceed to create something incredible, remembering that physical permanence is not the measure of holy meaning. If we all focus on the moment, and allow ourselves not to be distracted by the finite nature of our physical futures, we can create holiness not only in time, but also in the space we happen to be residing in. The mishkan is gone from physical space, but our Torah still builds it for us. The braid is now long gone from Lena’s hair, but the holy moment of connection will remain. Right now, I am pretty good at pigtails, and I will relish the moment. The perfectly impermanent nature of the holy now is always with us. We just have to keep construction going. 

Shabbat Shalom,

– Rabbi Josh Gray