Kodesh l’Adonai, Holy For God: Tetzaveh

Kodesh l’Adonai, Holy For God

D’var Torah for Parashat Tetzaveh

By Boaz D. Heilman

Tetzaveh, this week’s Torah portion (Exodus 27:20—30:10), continues where last week’s parasha left off.  God gives Moses instructions for the Tabernacle, the place where prayer and sacrifice would be offered to God for as long as the Israelites journeyed in the wilderness.  With the dimensions, blueprint and materials described in intricate detail, the Torah now turns its attention to the clothing of the priests, as well as the ritual that was performed when a priest was ordained. 

The elaborate priestly clothing is to be made of the same materials as the Tent of Meeting.  The fabric was to be of wool and fine linen, embroidered with gold—beaten and spun into thin thread—as well as crimson, purple and blue yarn.  Besides linen pants (an item of clothing evidently missing in some other religions), the outfit would include “A breastplate, an ephod (vest), a robe, a skillfully woven tunic, a turban and a sash” (Ex. 28:4, New King James translation). 

The weaving would be intricate, the patterns ornate, as befitting an important functionary, a priest of God.  But it didn’t end with that.  On top of it all came the jewelry.  The outer coat would be lined with gold bells that would announce the priest’s arrival.  Twelve different kinds of brilliant gems, ringed in gold, would be set into the breastplate, and two huge gem stones—each big enough to hold the engraved names and seals of six of the tribes of Israel—served as epaulettes, resting on the shoulders of the priest.  On his head, over the turban, a diadem would be placed—gold, of course—inscribed with words declaring God’s holiness.

Only so, clothed in these magnificent vestments, would Aaron and his sons approach God to perform the rituals and sacrifices.

It would be so easy for any one of them to forget for a moment why they were there.

I’m thinking of all those hero stories we like to read, where the hero, having survived harrowing pitfalls and dreadful dangers, finally comes near his goal, only to face one last trap:  dazzling treasures of gold and silver.  Distracted, he loses his footing and, blinded by all the glitter, he falls prey to the vicious monsters that guard the true treasure and keep it well away from prying eyes and hands.

It would be easy for the priest to lose focus of his true role and mission if he, too, got lost in all that gold.  The priest cannot afford to do that, and what he wears reminds him what he needs to do.  It isn’t for his own glory that he puts on the rich, ornate vestments.  Everything he wears represents the people.  It is their gold, their silver, their copper. The yarn is spun from the people’s sheep and goats; it is woven and patterned by the expert fingers of master weavers and embroiderers. All is a free- will offering, generously donated by the people to the Tent of Meeting, the sanctuary that served them all.  The priest literally and figuratively carries the people on his back.  Even the tribes’ names are there, on the breastplate over his heart and as epaulettes on his shoulders, weights that must remind him of the burden he was chosen to carry.

The priest bears the gifts of the people, yes, but he must also hear their pleas.  He must listen to their stories, their woes, their most fervent prayers.  The priest hears their cry.  He listens as a sin is silently confessed, and with compassion he absolves a shame held long in a person’s heart.  Maybe that’s why, when an initiate becomes a priest, a drop of crimson blood is dabbed on his right earlobe, to remind him that what he must hear is not words of personal praise and flattery, but rather expressions of the hurt and anguish that come along with life’s turmoil.   He listens and hears, and then it becomes his duty to bring those words, those prayers and hopes, directly up to God.  They must not stop with him.  They are holy to God.

A drop of blood is also dabbed on the priest’s right thumb.  This is to remind him that there is yet so much to do.  God’s message must be brought back to the people.  They must be taught.  They must be shown how to be partners in Creation; how to hold a newborn baby; how to wield the hammer that builds a home for the homeless; how to weave in such a way that the garment you make both adorns and keeps you warm.  Bringing light to the world demands an unwavering, steady hand, one that can be trusted, one that would offer help, not hurt.  The drop of blood on his thumb helps the priest focus on what needs to be done.

And yet a third drop of blood is placed on the priest’s right big toe.  Lest he rest for too long, lag behind in bringing comfort and solace to the weak and fallen.  “Go there” is the mitzvah, the command he must obey.  So many lack even the resources or strength to come to you.  You must go out and find them.  You must minister to them even if they brought nothing to the temple.  Their life is as unique and special as anyone else’s, no matter how humble their existence.

In the priest’s clothing we find both form and function, beauty and meaning.  We devote so much of our resources, both physical and emotional, to pursuits we consider important—yet Parashat Tetzaveh reminds us of what is truly important.  Yes, we must pay attention to the needs—and even, at times, the luxuries—of our bodies.  But just as important are the needs that surround us.  The needs of people, of animals, of the earth that houses us.  By listening to one another, we become responsible.  And by reaching out and going out to them, wherever they are, instead of waiting for life to come to us, we all become one k’hilla, one community, kodesh l’Adonai, holy unto God.

© 2014 by Boaz D. Heilman