Dvar Torah on Parshat Pekudei

This week it all finally comes together: The Tabernacle in the desert, whose planning and construction we have been hearing so much about in recent weeks, is finally complete - totally up and running. As the long, detailed process of its construction draws to a close, we are told that "Thus was completed the work of the Tabernacle, the Tent of Meeting. And the people of Israel did all that God commanded Moshe, so they did. And they brought the Tabernacle to Moshe, the tent and all its vessels, its clasps, its beams, its bars and its columns and sockets."

Later on, after more details about all of the many elements of the Tabernacle which were completed by the people and brought to Moshe, we are told that "Moshe did all that God commanded him, so he did. And it was, in the first month, in the second year, on the first of the month, the Tabernacle was erected." Rashi feels that there is something unwieldy about this process. If all the work was completed by the people of Israel, why did they then need to bring all of the components to Moshe and have him complete the actual construction of the Mishkan? Why this two-stage process of them completing all of the work, and then bringing it all to Moshe?

Furthermore, once all the components were brought to him, why, rather than simply saying "and Moshe erected the Tabernacle" does the Torah use the more indirect, convoluted phrase - "And...the Tabernacle was erected"? Rashi's explanation is fascinating. He says that the Israelites were unable, after having fashioned all of the various parts of the Tabernacle, to actually put it together. He says: "They were unable to erect it, and since Moshe had not done any work for the Mishkan, the Holy One Blessed be He left the job of erecting it to him, for no one was able to raise it; because of the weight of the beams, no human had the strength to raise them, and Moshe raised them. Moshe said to the Holy One Blessed be He - 'how is it possible for a human being to erect it?' And He said to him: 'move your hands around, and it will look as if you are raising it up', and it actually rose up and stood by itself, and that is why it says 'the Mishkan was erected' - it raised itself up."

Rashi here posits an interesting situation. It was physically impossible to actually lift the Mishkan, its beams were too heavy to be raised. The people of Israel, unable to complete the work of constructing the Tabernacle, turned to their leader, Moshe, for help. Moshe was also unable to raise the beams of the Mishkan, and turned to God for a solution. God's response is ambivalent. Rather than telling Moshe to try harder, or build a pulley, or get out of the way and let Him do it, He tells him that, yes, it is, in fact, impossible for humans to raise up the Tabernacle. However, God does not at this point simply say the obvious - stand back and allow me to raise it. Rather He suggests a kind of show. Moshe will go through the motions and pretend to raise the Mishkan, but, actually, it will be raised by God.

There are a number of inferences to be drawn from this story. The first is one of human humility in the face of the achievement of constructing the Temple. Rather than seeing its construction as proof of human ability, greatness, and engineering skill, Moshe and the people of Israel see themselves as ultimately inadequate, unable to construct a structure worthy of God. This stands in sharp contradistinction to the mind-set which sees the construction of great pyramids, temples, and other structures as monuments to man's power and skill, his ability to, God-like, construct something eternal. The lesson we learn here is about our ultimate inability to create a really transcendent, a truly divine, structure. It is an embarrassing reminder of our limitations as humans.

However, there is hope. God colludes with Moshe to somehow obscure this humbling message - move your hands around so it will seem as if you are constructing the Tabernacle and, with my help, it will actually  rise up by itself. This remarkable compromise, this willingness on God's part to meet human weakness half-way, has an important message for us. Although we know our limits - we know that the Tabernacle is too heavy to be lifted by a mere mortal, we know that our attempts to create something worthy of God are doomed to failure - we are also taught here not to give up. Although we really can't do it, if we try, if we make the effort to create a sacred place in the world, somehow, in some way, we will succeed. Somehow, at precisely the point where our powers and skills let us down, where we fail to lift up the beams of the Temple, and yet keep trying, keep moving our hands, the Temple rises up on its own, and sanctity and holiness are created. We can not say we created them, we can not say that we erected the Tabernacle, but, if we continue to make the effort, the Tabernacle is, miraculously, erected.

The inability of the people of Israel, and of their leader Moshe, to actually complete the construction of the Tabernacle is a lesson in humility; we need to have a healthy amount of skepticism about our ability to build a structure that in some way is divine. But, the next lesson that Moshe is taught is that, miraculously, once we have accepted our limitations, we need to have the faith and strength to continue, to, illogically, keep trying to create a holy space. As long as we keep trying, as long as we move our hands, we can believe that somehow sanctity will be created. We know we can not claim credit for or ownership of that place, but we also know that we need to make the effort to create it.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Shimon Felix