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Rabbis' Blog

Making Progress

“Perfection is the enemy of progress.” This quote is attributed to Winston Churchill, but the philosophy it expresses can be traced back to an important theme in this week’s Torah portion called Terumah. Terumah means “to separate” or “elevate” and the biblical narrative opens by describing the materials the Jews should donate for the construction of the Tabernacle, the structure that would serve as a divine sanctuary until the construction of the Holy Temple in Jerusalem over 400 years later.

Only after listing over a dozen materials, the Torah states: “And they shall build for me a sanctuary and I will dwell among them.” Why did G-d not explain the purpose of the collection before requesting everyone’s financial participation? To appreciate this puzzling textual order we must first understand the broader context.

Fifty days after the exodus from Egypt the Jews stood at Mount Sinai to receive the Torah. The divine revelation was so intense that in preparation for it, no living mortal was allowed to touch the mountain destined to play host to G-d’s presence. The people heard G-d speak directly to them and were forever transformed.

Its awesomeness notwithstanding, the Sinai revelation was only temporary. Once the divine shofar blast concluded, the physical mountain lost its holiness and essentially became irrelevant to Jewish life. Our tradition never preserved the exact location of the Sinai revelation and the mountain that was once the holiest place on earth remains a simple mountain today.

The sanctuary was a different story. Once the Israelites built it in the desert, the divine presence remained there in full view for all to see that G-d dwells among us. This holiness transferred to both Holy Temples in Jerusalem and endures on the Temple Mount until today. Why was the revelation at Sinai so fleeting while the revelation in the sanctuary remains eternal?

Although Sinai was perfect, it was imposed on us from above. As G-d communicated the Ten Commandments, all of creation stopped and paid attention and there was no greater spiritual experience before or after. The world was overwhelmed with divine clarity and we stood by as spectators.

The sanctuary was the first time the people were called upon to invest their own time, energy, and money into a divine project, and by doing so started the long and arduous process of refining materialism to become transparently divine. To reveal in every person, place, and thing its intended purpose in the divine master plan for creation - not to stun creation into submission.

To illustrate this point the Torah opens the sanctuary narrative with the appeal for contributions before mentioning the sanctuary itself. Because here is where everyone can participate. No one can give it all, but everyone can give something. However imperfect the intentions of the donor may be, the donation itself represents progress in elevating the mundane to become divine, and only progress - not perfection - invites eternal holiness.

Maimonides declared that even one mitzvah - even if done with imperfect intentions -  can be the catalyst for Moshiach's arrival, who will usher in an era of global peace and tranquility.

Let’s make progress!

 

Reveal the Holiness Within

A fellow once approached a Jew he met in a synagogue and asked him to point out the “tzaddik” (saintly person) of the congregation. “Don’t ask me such questions. I’m not a regular here,” he responded.

It’s unclear to me why this response bothered him so much, but in any case, he wrote a letter to the Rebbe asking for guidance in understanding the significance or inner meaning of the exchange. Here is a free translation of Rebbe’s answer written in Hebrew short-hand.

“There is an important lesson here. No need to search for the Tzaddik in another Jew. Rather, find the Tzaddik within your own soul. As described in the Talmud, before your birth the heavenly court administered an oath to your soul to be a Tzaddik and you were provided the necessary strength to fulfill this oath. You just need to reveal it practically.”

This week, in addition to reading the weekly Torah portion of Mishpatim during synagogue services on Shabbat, we will read from a second Torah a portion titled Shekalim. In Holy Temple times there was an obligation for every Jew to contribute the value of a half shekel to a communal fund that paid for the daily communal sacrifices in the Holy Temple.

Our sages relate that when G-d commanded Moshe “Let each one give to the L-rd an atonement for his soul…half a shekel,” he had a hard time understanding the commandment until G-d showed him a fiery half-shekel coin taken from under G-d’s throne.

Moshe knew what a half-shekel coin was but he was perplexed by a curious law about this mitzvah. If a Jew refused to donate the half-shekel coin to the Holy Temple the authorities were mandated to seize it from him by force. How could a forced donation serve as an atonement for the defiant Jew’s soul?

The vision of the fiery half-shekel illustrated that the annual half-shekel was not about money or obedience. It represented the Jew’s soul - often called “the flame of G-d”; the essential connection to G-d which can never be diminished nor quantified. Everyone gave the exact same amount and it could be seized involuntarily because at our core we are all the same, whether we accept this fact or not. We only need to reveal the divine flame within.

Certainly, we must seek out role models and learn from teachers and mentors how to be better Jews, but never forget that the essential connection to G-d depends on you alone. And if you encounter someone who has no interest in Jewish living and you encourage them to begrudgingly do a mitzvah, know that that mitzvah is invaluable to G-d and will eventually reveal the passionate Jew within.

True Sensitivity

Storytelling is an integral part of Jewish living. In this week’s parsha we learn how Yisro, Moshe’s father-in-law traveled away from the comforts of his exalted position as noble in Midian to join the Israelites in the desert in pursuit of truth. Instead of launching into a deep philosophical discussion about monotheism, Moshe utilized their first conversation after their ceremonious reunion to share with him stories about the recent redemption from Egypt, the splitting of the sea and the epic battle with Amalek.

My children often ask me to tell them stories and when I’m unable to share lengthy dramatic tales I share short anecdotes that may be boring to their young ears, but contain essential life lessons.

This Monday, the 22nd of Shevat, will mark 35 years since the passing of the saintly Rebbetzin Chaya Mushkah Schneerson, wife of the Lubavitcher Rebbe. She was an incredibly brilliant woman who remained out of the limelight while supporting the spiritual revolution the Rebbe coordinated throughout the world. The few stories we know about her from those who merited to interact with her bear testimony to her tremendous care and sensitivity to every individual.

The Rebbetzin’s Yartzeit is an opportune time for us to learn from her behavior to be better people and here are two short stories I recently shared with my children.

When the Germans invaded France in 1941 the roads were clogged with refugees escaping Paris. Nazi pilots routinely dropped bombs on the defenseless civilians and strafed them with bullets; the journey was an absolute nightmare. Once, during an air attack, the Rebbetzin noticed a man standing on the road, oblivious to the oncoming danger. She pushed him into a nearby ditch and shrapnel and bullets hit the spot he had been standing moments earlier.

When the Rebbetzin related this story forty years later, the home attendant was surprised that she grimaced when she said that she had pushed the man into the ditch. “But you saved his life? Why are you pained by that?” he asked.

“Because pushing someone is inappropriate,” she explained. Even when it was necessary, pushing someone and causing them some discomfort upset her.

In the early 1960s a family who enjoyed a unique relationship with the Rebbetzin was celebrating their daughter’s engagement. They visited the Rebbetzin in her home together with the new bride and groom in honor of the occasion. When she served them glasses of red fruit punch the nervous groom inadvertently tipped his glass on the pristine, white tablecloth. The Rebbetzin joyously exclaimed the spill was certainly a good omen for the upcoming marriage and completely dispelled the groom’s justified mortification. In fact, the soon-to-be father-in-law later commented that she so craftily transformed the faux pas into a joyful moment that he was tempted to spill his own glass after seeing how happy she was.

These two episodes illustrate how Judaism expects us to care for one another. Ensuring another’s material or spiritual well-being is not enough. We ought to be sensitive to each other’s feelings and strive to enable everyone to achieve true inner peace and happiness.

Healing the world

Asaf was a young Israeli boy studying for his Bar Mitzvah in the winter of 1984. Curious about Judaism, he constantly peppered his Bar Mitzvah tutor with questions about Judaism and Jewish history, and was satisfied with the patient and straightforward answers.

One day Asaf asked why the Lubavitcher Rebbe does not live in Israel. “You told me the Rebbe loves the Land of Israel and is so involved with everything that happens here. Plus, the Rebbe surely recites the Amida prayer three times every day in which we beg G-d to return us to Israel. Why does the Rebbe not move to Israel?”

The rabbi advised Asaf to write a letter to the Rebbe requesting a blessing for his upcoming Bar Mitzvah and to include his question in the letter. Soon afterward, Asaf received a letter of blessing from the Rebbe which included, to everyone’s amazement, a lengthy postscript addressing his question. Following is a loose translation from the original Hebrew.

“[In response to your question] regarding where a person lives. The determining factor [in choosing a place to live] is not where it will be more personally pleasant or beneficial, but rather where one can do more good deeds and where one’s assistance is needed most.

For example, a doctor must choose to live in a place where his [healing] services are most needed, and not where he or she hopes to have an easier life.

In truth, every person must “heal” his surroundings, to introduce more light and holiness there. Regarding Jews, the primary mission of every single Jew is to bring more Judaism to their surroundings.”

In this week’s parsha we learn that several days after crossing the Red Sea, the Israelites arrived in Marah and thirsted for drinking water. G-d miraculously sweetened the bitter waters, communicated to them their first batch of Torah laws and concluded: “If you hearken to the voice of the L-rd, your G-d, and you do what is proper in His eyes, and you listen closely to His commandments and observe all His statutes, all the sicknesses that I have visited upon Egypt I will not visit upon you, for I, the L-rd, heal you.”

Torah and Mitzvot are the antidotes to all societal ills and the key to healing a broken world and we are the “physicians” empowered to joyfully “heal” our surroundings with these potent medicines. But to succeed we must be willing to sacrifice comfort and convenience to be in the right place and at the right time, ultimately preparing our world for the healthiest time of all, the era of Moshiach, when peace and tranquility will prevail for all.

 

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