As you know, it is almost Springtime and Springtime always means planting and gardening and getting down and dirty in the soil and pray that what grows out of the ground somewhat resembles the seeds you put into the ground! Now, as I was getting ready for planting this season and planning out my garden, I came across some interesting trivia that I would like to share with you. It actually has nothing to do with my vegetable garden but when you surf the Internet, there is so much information that it is easy to forget what you were looking for in the first place! And the interesting thing about what I found is how relevant it is to this week’s Torah portion.
This bit of trivia is about honeysuckle. Did you know that it always grows clockwise, that is, to its right? And did you know that jasmine always winds itself counterclockwise, that is, to its left? And not matter what you do, it is impossible to make either vine grow the other way. Now, adding to all that vine trivia, there is a vine that grows in Chile in South America and it is called the Scyphanbus Elegans and it grows in one direction, makes a few loops and then turns in the other direction always reversing its direction every few inches from clockwise to counterclockwise.
Now besides being and interesting point of trivia, what does this have to do with being Jewish. Interestingly enough, for you see, like the different vines, each Jew brings to the world something completely unique and the conflation of all that uniqueness is what can make the world so beautiful.
There is no one-way to express Jewishness and there is no one right thing that one must do to be a Jew. It is this idea that is found in this week’s Torah portion.
The parasha that we are reading is about the building of the Tabernacle in the desert. The Ten Commandments have been given through Moses and now it is time to store them in the beautiful sanctuary in the desert. The problem is that there is not a sanctuary. And so Moses hears the commandment from God:
“Speak to the people of Israel, that they take for me an offering, from every person whose heart is willing, you shall receive the offering for me. And this is the offering which you shall receive from the gold, silver, and bronze, blue and purple and scarlet stuff and fine twined linen, goats’ hair, tanned rams’ skins, goatskins, acacia wood, oil for the lamps, spices for the anointing oil and for the fragrant incense, onyx stones, and stones for setting, for the ephod and for the breastpiece. And let them make me a sanctuary, that I may dwell in their midst.” (Exodus 25:2-8)
It is an interesting passage for a couple of reasons. First is that the text is very clear about who is to bring these gifts: everybody. The Tabernacle is not for one class of people. It is not like a country club that some people get to visit some of the time. It is, rather, a community effort in which everybody, from the youngest to the oldest, is invited to participate.
Secondly, the list of stuff that was asked for covers the gamut of stuff that the Israelites brought with them when they left out of Egypt. Everything was acceptable to help the building of the Tabernacle from the most expensive gold and silver to the least expensive goatskins and olive oil. The Tabernacle was built with most beautiful stuff and with the most common.
We may wonder why God invited even the cheap stuff to be part of the Tabernacle. The answer is also in the passage itself. It was not so much the stuff itself that God wanted for the Ark and its coverings. It was the spirit is which it was offered, for the spirit made all the difference. When the text says, “let every person whose heart is willing participate in this project” – the text is telling us that the real gift is that of the heart, not the wallet.
People like to have a part in a big project into which they can impart some of their spirit. It is a tremendous feeling of being part of something special when your spirit is involved. I remember when I was growing up in Toronto and in the 1970’s the most incredible building project was undertaken. For more than a year we watched the building of the CN Tower, which today still remains the world’s largest freestanding structure. It was an incredible piece of engineering and I vividly recall sitting on top of my roof watching the thing slowly getting built some 8 miles from where the Tower was being erected. I marveled not only at the structure itself but at the creativity of how it was being put together and especially at how people could come up with every detail and make what is one of the great architectural and engineering marvels of our age out of poured concrete, steel, bedrock and wire. I knew that whoever was part of that project had offered their spirit to it and had seen it come to fruition.
And, I was jealous. Yes, even though I was 15 years old and could have nothing to offer that magnificent project, there was still a little ache that I had nothing to do with it. And then life changed for the better.
The CN Corporation invited people to come down to the waterfront to do something spectacular. The last part of the Tower, after all the concrete was poured and all the structural things finished, was putting up the antennas that were the purpose of the tower in the first place. These antennae were huge things – big wide pieces of hollow metal that were going to be lifted up by helicopter and bolted one on top of the other at the very pinnacle of the Tower.
But before they were hoisted up, the people of Toronto were invited to come and put their signature inside the antenna. And so, there I was, with some 20,000 other Torontonians standing in line, permanent marker in hand and when it was my turn, I proudly signed my name inside the antenna that stands today 1865 feet above the Toronto skyline. It was a wonderful moment and looking back it was wonderful because it was a moment of spirit and sometimes spirit is all one has to offer and sometimes it is enough.
Indeed, when the people were asked to give of themselves, God was looking for the spirit that came with thing. Sure, the Tabernacle needed the things of gold and silver. After all, the tablets inscribed by the very finger of God would be in that box. Why not make is as beautiful as possible
And the tabernacle also needed the stuff that was not so expensive things like wooden poles and goat skins. But remember that the invitation to give was not for the stuff, it was for the spirit, the nadav b’libo – the willingness of the heart – that made the Tabernacle truly beautiful.
So what does this have to do with jasmine and honeysuckle and South American vines that grow in two directions and once? Simply this: that beauty does not come from a “right way” of being a Jew or a good human being but that there are many ways of praising, of worshiping, of honoring and of offering one’s spirit toward the perfection of the world. There is no such thing as a worthless mitzvah and to suggest that one way of prayer or one way of honoring God or one’s fellow is the truth is to miss the whole point. There is, in other words, no such thing as a worthless attempt at beauty. Everything in the world is ultimately made of mud. The difference is that the most beautiful are made with spirit, as well.
It is like the story of the young boy who could not speak but whose played his little flute everywhere he went. That was the way the boy communicated. One year on Erev Yom Kippur, just before the Kol Nidre was to be sung the boy came to the synagogue of this tiny town in the Shtetl and was stopped at the door by the sexton who had explicit instructions from the temple machers to make sure he was not let into the sanctuary. They were afraid that the noise from his flute would be distracting to the great rabbi who was visiting from a far off place as well as the congregation who was trying very hard to impress him with how holy they were. The little boy understood and stayed outside the synagogue walls trying not to disturb the sanctity of the service that the sexton and the congregation wanted so much to preserve. And so, the little boy played his flute and made the most beautiful music he could hoping that God will understand that it is his offering of love and forgiveness and of the music that was in his soul.
When the service was about to begin, the rabbi came to the bima and looked very disturbed. He said that he could not start the service for there was something that filled up the sanctuary that was not allowing God to enter. The sexton looked around and wondered what could it be? Was there too much sunlight? Was there noise from outside? What was distracting the great rabbi from leading the congregation? Nothing could be found and the president of the synagogue asked him what was in the sanctuary that made no room for God.
The rabbi responded, “This place is filled with pride and arrogance.” The congregation was stunned. What act of pride and arrogance had they committed? The sanctuary was perfect. The accommodations for the rabbi, exquisite and everybody had shiny new prayer books and prayer shawls and kippot.
And then the rabbi spoke, “There is no room for God here not because of the wonderful furnishings or the new tallitot or machzorim nor because of love and dedication that you have put into making this visit meaningful. The sin pride and arrogance is that you have excluded that boy and his flute. You have said that such music would disturb the congregation and would be unfit for God. How can you know that? Does God not want the penitent spirit of the heart more than the fancy clothes, the pretty furnishings and the new prayer books?
Of course, the congregation knew what they had done and of the lesson that the rabbi was trying to teach. Of course, the boy was asked not only to come into the synagogue but also to lead them all in prayer. And the legend goes that God’s was so moved by the spirit of that music that that little village enjoys abundant blessings from God to this very day.
The Torah portion is teaching us that there is sincerity in deed and inspirit, not so much in the monetary value of what is offered. And that gives rise to the questions that we must ask ourselves on this Shabbat:
* Are we among those who give of our stuff so that others will know how wealthy we are? Or are we of those who give of our spirit so that God will know how much love is in our heart?
* Are we among those who stand in judgment of the ones who bring goat-skins and sticks? Or are we among those who know that nadiv b’libo – the giving of the heart are the gifts of true worth?
The Torah is teaching us that there are so many kinds of gifts and so many ways of bringing them. What is valuable to you may be of little worth for someone else but God still loves it. Any mitzvah changes the world for the better. How can we then say that what you offer is of no value? The Torah is teaching us that we can’t.
Let us then show our love for God with whatever gifts He has blessed us. Let what we offer be the best we can offer. And let those offerings come from our heart not out of sense of guilt or pride but from the love we have for One who blessed us with these things in the first place.
The Torah says that to bring all these things together from the many people so that “(God) may dwell among you.” As in ancient days, let that be our aspiration. In that way each of can build a Tabernacle with our lives and into such a Tabernacle we would be honored to invite God and stay a while.
May God give us the wisdom to build such a place.
From <https://americanrabbi.com/beauty-from-sticks-and-stones-by-cy-stanway/>
