So this week’s Torah reading takes us to the end of the Book of
Exodus. As I pointed out in last night’s
reflection, most of the Book is not about ‘the Exodus’ at all. It’s about the setting up of a civil society
and, in particular, it’s most important institution: the priesthood and the Ohel Mo’ed, the
Tent of Meeting.
You would not be
entirely off base in thinking that these chapters, about the establishment of
the cultus, are not my favourite part of the Torah. I guess it’s really no secret. After all, during these weeks I sometimes struggle
to offer a thoughtful drash based directly on the reading. And I often resort to speaking about
something having little or nothing to do with the weekly Torah portion when I
compose my sermons. But you won’t tell
anybody, will you? It’s no secret, but…maybe
it can be our secret. Because of
course, the ‘party line’ is that every page off Torah is full of important
lessons for life. It’s just that the
lessons practically jump off some pages, whereas on other pages it takes a magnifying
glass to find them!
So, sometimes as now
it is good to stand back a bit from the page and look at the larger
context. For the insight I’m offering
here, I’m indebted to my Sydney colleague, Rabbi Dr Raymond Apple. There are the details of the Mishkan, the
Tabernacle: its design, it materials,
how the materials were gathered. Then
there’s its rationale. I’ve
talked a little about this in past weeks.
The Mishkan – its name means ‘dwelling place,’ as in a dwelling
place for G-d’s glory – must be impressive.
If it isn’t, if it is simply utilitarian, then what sort of message does
that send? Probably, that the Israelites
don’t think it’s very important to provide a place where the glory of Hashem
can dwell amongst them. If given the
choice they just constructed a ‘normal’ tent – perhaps larger than the typical
family dwelling – for the purpose, then that would be a very important
statement of priorities. The Ark of the Covenant
is the repository for the Tablets of the Law which Moses brought down from
Sinai. But it’s far more than just a
cabinet to protect and carry the tablets.
No, it is a witness to the existence and centrality of the Law. All the other furnishings of the Mishkan have
their practical purpose and must be constructed ergonomically. But each and every furnishing is also a
witness to, and celebration of, the G-d who led the Israelites out of Egypt and
is preparing to fulfil His promise to lead them back to their Promised
Land. To do justice to this function,
requires more than just good, functional design and construction. The Glory of G-d can only be contained in
glory.
As you remember from
a few weeks back, I expressed some ambivalence about the importance of opulence
in worship space. This, in part because
our group must be satisfied simply to have a space even if
utilitarian. And in part from my own
experience that the most sublime moments I’ve experienced in communal worship,
have been in very plain surroundings. The
most opulent or glorified of sanctuaries, does not ensure the kind of ruach,
or spirit that create great worship experiences. This might engender the question: What’s the point? What’s the point of this painstaking
detail, and of the incredible expense of gathering the mixture of exotic
materials to build the Mishkan? Or
the Heichal in Jerusalem that ultimately replaced it? Or the Park Avenue Synagogue, or any number
of other religious palaces which we Jews have erected in recent decades?
Rabbi Apple points
to midrashic souces as opining that the opulence and exacting specifications of
the Mishkan were necessary as a counterpoint to the Golden Calf. The Israelites had invested so much effort and
material wealth into a deeply grievous sin, the Golden Calf. It was therefore necessary for them to apply
even more effort and material wealth to its antithesis, the Mishkan. I’d never quite thought about it that way,
but it makes perfect sense.
We go through life, investing
much effort and expense on various things that, in the final analysis, matter
very little. Stuff. We fill our lives with stuff that delights
for a short time, then breaks. Or
collects dust, the excitement of when we first bought it forgotten. How much effort and expense do we apply to the
building of that part of life that brings Hashem into our presence? Comparatively little. That’s less a sin, than an accurate
picture of our priorities as actualised.
If we’re happy with that picture, we shouldn’t obsess over it. If we don’t feel it is accurate, and yet it
fits as a descriptor, then it is our privilege to change it.
I’m not asserting
that our Stuff is tantamount to the Golden Calf. The latter was a terrible transgression in and
of itself. Our Stuff is not
necessarily. You know that I like
Stuff! It’s when we think that Stuff is
what really matters in life, when we go off-track. I know many people with nothing, who are
miserable. But I also know people
surrounded by Stuff, who are no less miserable.
The Israelites
needed to understand that creating a worship space worthy of Hashem, required
more deliberateness and expense than their previous creation of their
abomination, the Golden Calf. That’s the
point. We, more than three millennia later,
have our own golden calves…our Stuff. Not
an exact analogue, but close enough that the analogy is important. As a group, we would be advised to do a
little soul-searching. How does the
effort and expense, invested in meeting with Hashem, compare with that we
expend on our golden calves? Something
to think about. Shabbat shalom.
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