וְיֵעָשׂוּ כֻלָּם אֲגֻדָּה אֶחָת לַעֲשׂוֹת רְצוֹנְךָ בְּלֵבָב שָׁלֵם
וְיֵעָשׂוּ כֻלָּם אֲגֻדָּה אֶחָת לַעֲשׂוֹת רְצוֹנְךָ בְּלֵבָב שָׁלֵם
This week's Torah portion describes a “backdoor” entry into understanding the priesthood and the Tribe of Levi. Acts of Temple worship like the offering of sacrifices and the burning of aromatic herbs take place “up front,” where the Israelites in the courtyard (‘azarah) gaze in awe at the priests and Levites.
One of my rabbis used to tell a story about a time when his father was on death’s doorstep. He had been 30 days in a coma suffering from a rare blood infection. The doctor comes into the room and says, “I don’t think he’s going to make it. There is one more drug we can try, but it’s so strong— if it doesn’t help him, it could kill him.” He told my rabbi the name of the drug. “Oh!,” said my rabbi, “that is the same drug that I was given 40 years ago when I was sick with Typhoid fever. It saved my life.”
People sometimes ask questions to rabbis in the form, “Is there any Jewish significance to the number [x],” or “Is it true that [x] is an important number in Judaism?” Of course, the answer is always “yes.”
Well everybody’s got a secret, son Something they just can’t face Some spend their whole lives trying to keep it They carry it with them every step that they take ‘till one day, they just cut it loose Cut it loose or let it drag ‘em down. Bruce Springsteen, Darkness on the Edge of Town
When I began studying Hebrew grammar with my friend Rabbi Amanda Brodie, one of the first things I learned about was the vav ha-hippukh (flipped), also called “the consecutive vav” or “narrative vav.” Normally, this letter serves as a prefix meaning “and,” “but” and sometimes “or,” and the word following is in the imperfect tense (an uncompleted action). But when this letter has a patah vowel (straight line) and the next letter has a dagesh (dot) inside, it “flips” and translates to something like, “and then….” basically suggesting a continuation of the narrative, and a perfect (completed) action.
The portion Pikudei includes the action of building the mishkan, the portable sanctuary in the desert and the making of the vestments for the high priest.
In challenging times, how do we stay strong and sustain our spirits? When I am in need of sustenance for my soul, I find myself turning to stories of people who retained faith, hope and their humanity in the most horrific times and circumstances. A midrash on this week’s parashah, VaYakhel, imagines such a story. It is a story of women, from the ancient narrative of our people’s enslavement in Egypt.
We are living in a time when good leadership is hard to find.
A first or even a second reading of the text of Parashat Tetzaveh doesn’t begin to reveal the nuances, the implications, the messages of what might otherwise sound like elaborate but formulaic instructions for how to light the lights and for how to dress the priests. Instead, we can learn so much from the choice of words and from the message behind the words which inform our lives to the present day. Reflecting on God’s instructions to us as we struggled to become a nation was a learning curve - then and now.
We have been freed from the bondage and oppressive servitude under Pharaoh. We have crossed the narrow passageway of the Reed Sea to freedom in the wilderness. We have stood at Sinai and entered into a covenant with God, saying “Na’aseh v’Nishmah” – We will follow God’s ways and seek to understand them. And, now, in this week’s Torah portion, God tells Moses to collect terumah – gifts of materials and supplies from the Israelites “[a]nd let them make Me a sanctuary that I may dwell among them.” [Exodus 25:8] A list [Exodus 25:3-7] has been delineated: from precious metals to precious stones, an array of yarns to animal skins and goat hair, wood, oil and spices… All of this to be brought as terumah from each person whose heart so moves them;
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