Triumph of the Soul

Triumph of the Soul
D’var Torah for Parashat Vayak’hel
By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

The Rabbis teach that a true penitent should never be reminded of his transgression. In other words, once a person has corrected their ways and made up for any mistakes he or she may have made along the way, they are completely forgiven. Reminding them of their past becomes a sin in itself.

We see an example of this in this week’s parasha, Vayak’hel (Exodus 35:1—38:20). Having truly repented for the Golden Calf incident, the Israelites were forgiven and offered a second chance. Now they begin in earnest the task of building of the Tabernacle, the work progressing smoothly, with no further stumbling blocks. Their past mistake is as though forgotten, never to be mentioned again.

Throughout the Bible we encounter again and again rebellious nature of the ancient Israelites. Yet in this Torah portion they are as meek lambs, offering no resistance to Moses as he gathers them together (Va-yak-hel: he convened). Called up, they willingly gather and listen to Moses. As instructed by God, Moses first tells the people to remember to observe the Sabbath. Then he sets up a collection, listing all the materials necessary for the building of the Tabernacle: “Take from yourselves an offering for the Lord; every generous hearted person shall bring the Lord’s offering of gold, silver and copper” (Ex. 35:5). Moses instructs Bezalel and Oholiab, the master architect and chief contractor, to start constructing the Tent of Meeting.

Then a miracle happens. To a one, every man, every woman steps up. Some can do the weaving, others the sewing and embroidery. Many have the precious metals necessary for the construction of the Tabernacle, or the gems for the priest’s ceremonial clothing. Some have tanned animal hides that they bring forward; others have linen and soft cotton or wool, or rare, expensive dyes. Morning after morning, moved by an overwhelming, free-flowing generosity, the people continue to step up, one after another bringing forward their donations for the project. It soon becomes apparent that more has been brought in than is necessary, and the call goes out to stop the contributions.

Three thousand years later, many of us today are involved in charitable organizations. We long for the day when the call will go out to stop the flow of generous contributions. We call it the Messianic Age, when disease will have been eradicated, hunger will be no more, and the world will be at peace. It seems incredible and impossible. Yet the Torah tells us it is not beyond our reach. Is there not enough food in the world to feed all the hungry? Of course there is. Do we not have the brains to figure out how to heal the sick, raise the fallen and clothe the naked? It’s all a question of distribution of resources, of skillful organization, of belief in our own talents and abilities.

And so what stops us? What stands in the way of potential contributors? Why do we still get solicitations from a hundred different charitable organizations each week, each month, year after year?

Perhaps it’s selfishness; maybe it’s the fear of the unknown—who knows what tomorrow will bring, maybe we shouldn’t give it all away so easily. Some feel that they are alone in giving, that others are more lax in fulfilling their obligations, and so they become disheartened and cynical. And yet others simply don’t believe that the goal is reachable, so why bother in the first place?

That is why the first instruction Moses gives the Israelites is not concerning the donations for the Tabernacle, but rather a reminder about the holiness of Shabbat. Shabbat, after all, is the day that represents our sacred partnership with God, our share in the ongoing process of Creation. Meant to inspire and uplift our spirits, Shabbat challenges us to reach our true potential. Reaching for the sublime, for the Holy-of-holies within our souls, we find there our inner strength. With each successive Shabbat that we observe, we become stronger, more and more energized by the Spirit of Creation that flows throughout the universe and through each one of us.

We become discouraged with our work when it loses meaning for us; when we lose sight of direction, goal or purpose; when we become overwhelmed by the enormity of the task. Moses’s genius is that he is able to take a rabble of disgruntled ex-slaves and turn them instead into a free and proud people. He unifies us by giving us something to believe in, and he inspires us by presenting us with purpose and objective, by asking us to work towards a lofty, yet eminently reachable goal.

That is the greatness of Moses: That he gave us the power and the tools to overcome all obstacles. He taught us to take a moment from our work, look up and remember why it is that we do what we do. He gave us a goal and encouraged us to believe in our ability to reach it. By appealing to the “generosity of our hearts,” rather than imperiously commanding us, Moses awakens the dream within us and inspires us to believe, to hope, to want to fulfill our highest potential. Three thousand years ago, we responded: “So they continued bringing to him freewill offerings morning after morning” (Ex. 36:3).

To this day, we still respond to this appeal. We still send in our donations, we still rise up each morning to do the sacred work of Creation. Despite all, we still believe, we still hope. That is our greatness. It is the triumph of our soul, the quality that transforms us from imperfect mortals into something just less than the angels themselves, that turns us into a kehillat kodesh, a sacred community, a fitting match for the sacred unity of God.

©2011 by Boaz D. Heilman