Terumah (Exodus 25:1-27:19) February 20, 2021/8 Adar 5781

This week, we begin the second half of the Book of Exodus, which will concern itself with the construction and consecration of the Tabernacle. Parashat Terumah is a portion that really embodies the expression "a picture is worth a thousand words." In this week's reading, God instructs Moses about how to design and build the Tabernacle where the Divine Presence will reside among the Israelites.

In verse 8, after having given Moses the list of materials he should collect from the Israelites, God tells Moses, "[the Israelites] shall build me a sanctuary, and I shall dwell within them." Linguistically, this is an interesting choice of wording, as the word God uses, "mikdash" (from the root for "holy"), is not generally used to refer to the Tabernacle which is being described. When applied to the site of worship in the Israelite camp, that word is only used for the inner sanctum containing the Ark of the Covenant, where God's literal presence rested. The entire complex is called the "mishkan" (from the root for "residing") or the "ohel moed" (the Tent of Meeting). Later on, after the Israelites conquered the Promised Land and established their kingdom, King Solomon built a permanent structure, the Temple, which is called "mikdash." Now, while God's presence certainly imparts a sense of holiness to wherever it rests, the holiness of that resting place does not mean that God exists only there. After all, if that were the case, what would that mean for the last 1,951 years, where there has been no Temple in which God could reside?

The preposition God uses in the instruction to Moses is important. God wants a sanctuary in order to live within the people, not merely among us. The great Hasidic master Levi-Yitzhak of Berditchev teaches that what God means by this is that God dwells within the hearts and minds of the Jewish people wherever we are. Yes, during the time when the Temple stood, the Divine Presence was most directly present in the Holy of Holies, but that space was only accessed once a year by one person - the Kohen Gadol on Yom Kippur. Now that the Temple is gone, Judaism has had to change its orientation. The Talmud, referring back to a verse in Ezekiel, proposes that God is with us in our synagogues and study halls, as they are "a miniature sanctuary." It is important to note that the word synagogue, like the Hebrew "bet knesset," from which it is translated, means "place of assembly," not anything specifically about prayer. Our worship is not centered on the sacrificing of animals but rather the recitation of prayers, and it takes place not in a centralized temple but wherever we are. Because the ideal format for prayer is in a communal setting, it is convenient to have a designated place where people will meet to pray. That does not, however, mean that such a place must necessarily be a sanctified building dedicated to worship. When I was living in Israel, the shop from which I purchased my bike and where I went to get it repaired hosted a daily mincha minyan. Every Sunday through Thursday afternoon at 1:45, people who worked in the area would congregate on the sidewalk outside the shop and pray. That was not an uncommon phenomenon in Israel; I saw signs in many places around the country informing passers-by that at such and such a time, a minyan met there to pray. In that moment, the place, whether it be a patch of sidewalk with bikes lined up, the entrance to a central bus station, or a gas station parking lot, can become the Temple in miniature. Likewise, when I started my current job at the airport, I found myself working from 4:00 in the morning until noon, leaving me no time to lay tefillin before work. So I would bring my tallit and tefillin to work with me, and on one of my breaks, I would go out onto the tarmac and pray then. That space, with an airplane to my right and a jetbridge over my head, could become holy because it was my place of prayer.

If we can pray anywhere, then why have a synagogue? Every community has some sort of central assembly place, where public business is conducted, and if you are going to gather for prayer, you might as well do so in the communal gathering place. Therefore, we pray at the assembly place and not the prayer place, because any place can be a prayer place. Judaism also places emphasis on study, with the study hall being an institution of central importance to the community. Because the scholars were all congregated, the lecture hall made as much sense as anywhere else to be the worship space. This convergence of prayer and learning was impactful enough that Yiddish-speaking Jews adopted the word "shul," that is, school, for the synagogue, which usage has persisted even when the building in question is not primarily a place of study. In the age of Coronavirus, where many synagogues have, at least temporarily, closed their doors for public safety reasons, this question has become even more important. When we cannot gather in our assembly places, we are forced to improvise. Even if we are participating in the service via a computer screen, it is important to bring God and holiness into wherever we are physically, even if that is on the living room couch. Menachem Mendel Morgansztern, the Kotzker Rebbe, taught, "Where is God found? In whatever place you let Him in." God is not so small as to be restricted to one single place, nor is God so big as to be unable to fit into the smallest corner of one's life. All of God can inhabit any place, so long as we give God entry. And once we do that, a living room or an airport tarmac can be
as imbued with God's presence as the Kotel in Jerusalem.

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