Holy Olympics
D’var Torah for
Parashat Vayak’hel
By Rabbi Boaz D.
Heilman
The Winter Olympics coincided beautifully with February
vacation this year. At least for those
who had the extra free days after Presidents’ Day last Monday, we had more
spare time in which to watch the amazing athletic and acrobatic feats on ice
and snow, the fruit of years of labor that led these athletes to the most
magnificent world stage and largest possible viewing audience.
The personal stories that accompanied the actual
performances were often as heartbreaking and enthralling as the events
themselves. It brought tears to our eyes
as we heard the story of Sarah Burke, the Canadian freestyle skier who died in
a tragic accident while training in Utah in 2012. The tribute that Sochi volunteers paid Sarah,
skiing in heart formation right before the women’s halfpipe finals competition,
was fitting a testament to the strong will and determination that characterizes
all these amazing competitors.
Yet though the personal stories of perseverance and resolve
bring us closer to all the athletes, regardless of what country they represent,
we still cheer the loudest for our own country’s representatives. There are personal connections there; some
have been training where we ourselves like to ski; others come from the very
communities where we live. While we lead
our unexciting, everyday lives, they have been training for hours for this
spectacular moment of glory and fame. We
watch the results of all their hard work, and we begin to imagine how we might
feel if we were they; some of us get inspired to work out a little bit harder,
to see if we can’t come a little bit closer to the physical perfection we see
before us.
Of course, even as we cheer for personal bests, even as we
are amazed by the amazing abilities shown by 15 and 17 year olds, regardless of
the country they represent, our loudest cheers are reserved for our own, USA
team. Because we know that whatever else
they might embody, above all, it is the USA, our homeland, that they stand for. It is us,
our flag, our way of life, that they epitomize.
They are Team USA. For a couple
of weeks, we can forget the many differences that crisscross our population,
leave aside the political affiliations and cultural divides, and unite behind
the tears and smiles, behind the heartbreaks and glorious victories of the best
that we have to offer. The Olympic Games unify us, if only for a
couple of weeks every couple of years.
Yet, even as the flags unfurl, as the huge flame burns and
the fireworks explode in Sochi, in a city almost 900 miles away, this year a
different fire burned and different explosions were heard. In Kiev violent clashes have resulted in
tragic devastation and the death of a hundred or more Ukrainians civilians. There’s nothing to cheer for there, only much
to weep for; nothing gained, but so much lost.
Though Sochi is officially in Russia and Kiev is the capital
city of Ukraine, in our minds at least, the two cities represent one large
country. Until 1991, Ukraine was, in
fact, part of the Soviet Union.
How has this modern tale of two cities come to be? How is it possible for this huge population,
despite economic, political and cultural ties, to be so divisive, to show such
diametrically opposite faces? In one, we
see a glorious unity of all humanity; in the other, we see violence and
destruction. In one we see common
purpose and unity; in the other we see division and fragmentation.
I suppose there is no easy answer to these questions. Such is humanity, in all its passion and
fervor. In us human beings, creation
and destruction are part of our nature.
We are equally able to engage in one as in the other. The results of the path we choose can lead us
to magnificent edifices and achievements in every aspect of our lives; yet just
the same can our choices lead to mass destruction and devastation.
It is an amazing power that our hearts and minds hold. We can imagine and think; we can invent,
create, fashion and give form to ideas and notions as magnificent as the
universe itself. Yet we can also invent hellish
tortures and devise ways to extinguish whole cities, populations and even
countries.
This week’s Torah portion, Vayak’hel (Exodus 25:1—38:20) attempts to show us a way to bring
forth the best in us, a path that can lead us to be at our best, not at our
worst.
With all instructions for the building of the Tabernacle
given, Moses is instructed to call upon a master artist and builder, a man
named Betzalel, and assign to him the task of creating this magnificent edifice. Why is Betzalel the right man for the
job? What makes him so special? It isn’t only that he is so artistically
talented. He has a particular quality
that God and the Torah call chochmat lev,
“wisdom of heart.” In ancient thinking, lev, the heart, was the seat of all
thought; it was there that the mechanics of thinking took place. The Hebrew term chochmat lev emphasizes much more than that, however. Chochma
is wisdom; and wisdom, above all, is about discernment, about knowing the
difference between right and wrong, between good and bad, between holy and
evil. It was this ability that
distinguished Betzalel from all other people.
It wasn’t just his natural talent or even meticulous and arduous
training. It was his purposefulness and
mindfulness, and above all his heartfelt commitment that made him uniquely
suitable for the sacred work of constructing the Tabernacle. Of all other architects, craftsmen and
artists, he alone understood how to put together a huge tent in such a way that
it became more than the sum of its many parts.
In his heart of hearts, to the core of his soul, Betzalel grasped the
meaning of his assignment. He shared
Moses’s vision of the Mishkan, a
dwelling that would transcend form and function and become symbolic of something
much greater: God’s very presence in the
midst of all humanity.
Betzalel assembled around him the greatest of all craftsmen,
all those who knew the arts of weaving, embroidering and fashioning valuable
metals and jewels. Each was given a
specific task, one that only he or she could best fulfill. And there was plenty for all.
Then Moses and Betzalel called for all the people to become
involved. Each brought to this great
work what he or she could. With unity of
purpose, with resolve and direction, with one singular, magnificent vision
before them, each individual brought his and her best, donating whatever they
could and would. One person’s gift was
not judged against his fellow’s, but only against his own abilities. It was the very best that was called for, and
the very best was brought forth.
It was an overflow, an abundance of riches such as was never
seen before or after. In fact, a call to
stop the contributions had to be issued because the donations exceeded the
need. And still the people brought forth
their very best.
It was this communal effort that unified the people as
nothing else could. The vision they all
shared was embedded in all their hearts.
Each brought to it what they were uniquely and individually best at. They were all gold medal winners, all members
of one great team that transcended all their other differences.
Parashat Vayak’hel
begins with God’s commandment to the people that they must observe the
Sabbath. This isn’t the first time they
hear this mitzvah. Yet at this point it
becomes the flag they follow. For in
creating the Tabernacle, they were becoming partners with God in God’s creation
of the world. In this portion, constructing
the Tabernacle and observing the Sabbath become one and the same.
This is the path to unity and peace that the Torah proposes: Achieving our best—for a common goal;
cheering one another—for the heart we all share; uniting—not by smoothing over
the differences between us, but rather by recognizing the unique values and
gifts embodied by each one of us.
It is our choice—to build or to destroy; to accomplish the
very best we are capable of, or the very worst.
Only one of these paths, however, is holy. May this be the path we choose.
© 2014 by Boaz D. Heilman
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