Creating a Sanctuary: תרומה

2 years ago I had an adult bat mitzvah and my Torah portion was תרומה. Over at Jews By Choice dot org Chaviva posted about it and asked us what the synagogue means to each of us. So, I decided to update and clean up the d'var Torah I gave the morning of my bat mitzvah as my response and post it here. Everyone should check out her post as well and comment there!

Each moment in our lives has the potential to be life altering, whether you are experiencing the death of a loved one, the birth of a child, losing your first job, or simply a beautiful sunset. The Israelites who were present at Mt. Sinai experienced possibly the most life-altering moment of all: the moment when God gave them the opportunity to build for Him a sanctuary. What a wonderful opportunity, to give freely of their possessions! Gold, silver, and brass! Certainly the Israelites felt blessed that they were asked to give up these wonderful riches; riches they had painstakingly brought with them when they left Egypt. The best idea since taxes, perhaps? Except this is different. There’s that one disclaimer at the beginning of the portion: of every person whose heart so moves them. I can’t decide to not pay my taxes because my heart does not move me to do so. But God only wanted people who were moved to do so to give this great variety of goods. It’s almost as if God is playing the role of our mother at that moment, laying on the original guilt trip, but I think it’s much larger, and significantly more meaningful, than that. Specifically because I had one of those significant moments a couple of years ago, almost as if I was standing there with the ancient Israelites and Moses was telling me personally that I was to build this sanctuary for God to dwell in.

I had been studying T’rumah for approximately six months in preparation for my adult bat mitzvah, but it wasn’t until this “standing at the foot of Sinai moment” that I felt I was actually beginning to understand what it means. It was a Saturday morning before Shabbat services. I had arrived early that morning to practice my reading and hadn’t expected my rabbi to suggest reading from the Torah scroll for the first time; I nervous because I didn’t know if all the work I had been doing would just fall apart when I was faced with the actual Torah in front of me. I began by chanting the blessing, something I’ve practiced numerous times and done in a group countless mornings, and yet I stumbled through it, feeling the enormity of what I was about to do. I read through in Hebrew and began my English translation. By the time I was nearing the end of the translation my emotions were getting the better of me. Here I was, standing before the open ark, before the Torah, and reading the words that have been handed down from generation to generation. I was overwhelmed and could barely choke out the blessing after the reading, even having to pause, and begin again.

As I read, and afterwards while standing in my rabbi’s office, I finally began to understand these words: V’asu li mikdash, v’shachanti b’tocham. “And let them make for me a sanctuary that I may dwell among them.” I’ve been told this portion is often used to ask for donations for a building fund or capital campaign, which perhaps makes sense in a fairly profane way. Here we have God instructing Moses that he is to collect an offering from the Israelites so that they can make a sanctuary and an ark for the testimony and, further on, various pieces of furniture and other vessels which will would aid in the sacrificial cult. Before, when studying this portion I had always come to the conclusion that what it really meant was that God didn’t need a house to live in and doesn’t need it to be pretty, but we do. The building is for us, for the Israelites, the people who made the golden calf so as to have something tangible to worship. We need a place to gather, where we can be a community, a place that helps us focus so that we can pray to and worship God. God is still with the Israelites even without a sanctuary, but the physical structure is a reassurance to us, a reminder that yes, God is here in this place. God is with us. We will not forget God, and God will not forget us. It’s an explanation that works on most levels, but, that morning I realized the words meant much more than building a physical structure.

The sanctuary that we are to make is not a building. It is not an ark, or even a tent. We are the sanctuary, each one of us, each community of Jews that comes together to pray, each individual who says the Sh’ma. While searching for meaning in our lives and for our place in our communities we struggle, and sometimes we have to pause, and begin again. And each time we pause we should remember that during our searches and our struggles we are making a sanctuary for God.

Not only is the sanctuary we are making within ourselves and our communities, but we HAVE to be willing participants. We MUST invite God in for the sanctuary to have any meaning. We can build the most beautiful structures, but if we don’t invite God in with willing hearts the sanctuary will be empty, it will not be holy. Conversely, we must also answer God’s initial invitation. Rabbi Mendel of Kotzk tells us that God dwells wherever we let God in. We make for God a sanctuary in our hearts and in our souls when we let him in, when we help the poor and feed the hungry, when we visit the sick and celebrate with bride and groom, when we comfort the bereaved and when we pray with sincerity, when we make peace where there is strife, and yes, when we study Torah. God dwells in each of us and when we come together as a loving and supportive community, God is that much more present.