Pekudei — The Inner Tabernacle

Good evening, my friends. Tonight I close the book of Shemot with you, with the building of the sanctuary. We are, in a sense, signing off on the completion of the mission entrusted to the Jewish people. And this is how the text ends: “Then the cloud covered the Tent of Meeting, and the glory of the L-rd filled the Tabernacle. And Moshe could not enter the Tent of Meeting, because the cloud rested upon it and the glory of the L-rd filled the Tabernacle. Whenever the cloud lifted from over the Tabernacle, the children of Israel would set out, in all their stations. And if the cloud did not lift, they did not set out until the day it lifted. For the cloud of the L-rd was over the Tabernacle by day, and fire was in it by night, before the eyes of all the house of Israel, in all their stations.”

“In all their stations” — that is not a correct translation; it should be “in all their journeys.” The world has become the receptacle of divine Providence. Now, we know very well that this world is the work of Elokim. And if the world is the work of Elokim, then Elokim reveals Himself through this world — and who can reveal Him? The one who carries the demut Elokim, the likeness of G-d. We always translate: this man who is in the likeness of G-d. What does it mean to be in the likeness of G-d? A likeness in the physical sense, in the bodily sense? How can we render this likeness? The only way to render it is to say that man is capable of carrying the divine within him and capable of revealing it. And to reveal it, he must integrate the three holinesses we have spoken about — first of all the sublime holiness of Shabbat, which is holiness in time. It is the essence of everything, since in the end Bereshit is a snapshot taken of time in the absolute, and it is this that sets the creation of the world in motion. And we have already said that within the word Bereshit lies the word Shabbat — yerei Shabbat. That is to say, the Holy One, blessed be He, had as the final stage of His plan to bring the people of Israel to Shabbat and to give it a hold over time, so that it could itself govern time.

But it can do so only if it integrates the holiness of Shabbat, if it lives within that absolute holiness of Shabbat. This holiness of Shabbat, as we have seen, is what consecrated the people of Israel. There is a holiness in Israel, and that holiness is conferred upon it by Shabbat. Now, once man has integrated the holiness of Shabbat, he will be able to extend it, to consecrate space as well. And the consecration of space is the sanctuary. And about this sanctuary, we are warned from the outset that it is destined to be destroyed. So why was it built? How did our Sages deduce that it would be destroyed? Because it is not called mikdash. The Torah does not call it mikdash; it calls it mishkan — which evokes mashkon, a pledge.

A pledge, a mortgage. Why? Because everything depends on what man will make of it. If man integrates both the holiness of time and the holiness of space, it becomes an Ohel Mo’ed, that is, a space for encountering the divine; and if it is truly in a state of permanent movement, then it will endure. But the moment man settles into a routine and begins, little by little, to regard holiness as static, as incapable of renewal, of refreshment, of innovation — then there is saturation, there is death. Death is not something G-d inflicts; it is something man imposes on himself. He imposes it on himself when he imposes limits on himself, when he stops looking further, stops innovating, stops creating.

Yet the Holy One, blessed be He, even in creating the world, is forever making it anew. But to be able to do this, one would indeed have to develop within oneself this spiritual love, this love of the absolute. The example is given to us by Betzalel and by Oholiav son of Achisamach. The two of them are put in charge of making the sanctuary, and we are told that they excelled in their artistic sense. And one wonders where this artistic sense came from. How could they, overnight, turn into jewelers and carry out that work of art which the sanctuary was, down to its smallest details — when for two hundred and ten years they had been reduced to slavery and excelled only in the construction of monuments, not in the art of jewelry, not in the tanning of hides, not in the making of those garments woven with gold and silver?

But they had acquired this wisdom because they had developed within themselves that sense of perfection. And so this intuition, this gift, was given to them from on high. They were invested by G-d in their roles — and for another reason as well. I have already spoken to you about the misunderstanding between Moshe and Betzalel. Betzalel was in charge of making the sanctuary, and when Moshe entrusted it to him — always at G-d’s command — he asked him to make first the furnishings of the sanctuary and afterwards its framework. And Betzalel as much as said: but this is not logical, because if I begin with the furnishings, where am I to put them while I build the sanctuary? And Moshe says to him: you are right — betzel El hayita, you were truly in the shadow of G-d, you were privy to the secret on high.

The question that arises is this: was Moshe not capable of understanding that by himself, when it was in precisely that order that the Holy One, blessed be He, had commanded the making of the sanctuary? Why change the order? There are two different modes of thought here, on two levels. Moshe is a man who succeeded in climbing Mount Sinai. He perceives the word of G-d panim el panim, face to face — and we have translated panim el panim as “from inwardness to inwardness.” He perceives it in its depth. Consequently, for him, what matters first and foremost is the Holy of Holies; and this Holy of Holies, with its Ark, which holds the Law — the Tablets of the Law, the Sefer Torah — must radiate outward, beyond the kapporet, beyond that curtain of the Tent of Meeting. So it made sense to begin there. But Betzalel says to him: careful. You must not forget those who were seduced by the idea of the golden calf — and we have already explained the golden calf on several occasions — those who had focused all their belief on the man Moshe. You cannot hand them that from the outset — this is the people as it is. It has to be initiated little by little into the life of the spirit. It will not reach holiness all at once.

So first the furnishings of the sanctuary must be made, and — excuse me — the framework first, the framework of the sanctuary first, then little by little the furnishings, and finally, at the end, the Ark, the Kodesh HaKodashim. That is to say, Betzalel carried within him this love for the ordinary people, for those he could indeed bring close, for those to whom this sanctuary was chiefly addressed. And in fact, associated with the making of this sanctuary was Oholiav son of Achisamach, lematteh Dan, of the tribe of Dan, whereas Betzalel was of the royal tribe of Yehudah. And who was Dan? Dan was the son of a concubine, of a handmaid who had been brought into Yaakov’s family circle.

And we remember that the children of Rachel and Leah were somewhat disdainful toward these children of the handmaids, Bilhah and Zilpah. As I see it, then, it was not wanted that the sanctuary be the work of an elite, of people who had reached a cosmic vision of the world and had integrated this Shabbat from the outset, by themselves. Room had to be made for the children who had been annexed — or rather, I would say, adopted. Let us recall that Sarah had done the same with Hagar. But it did not succeed: Hagar was excluded from the house of Avraham. Likewise Eliezer, the perfect disciple, faithful to Avraham’s thought — he too left no toledot, no line of descendants, within the people of Israel.

They came, so to speak, to an expiry date. But one must make a distinction regarding what are called avdei avot, the servants of the fathers. The servants of the fathers are those so devoted to their master that everything they do, they do with such love, as though they were doing it for themselves, knowing full well that it is their master who will benefit from it — as the law has it: whatever the servant acquires belongs to his master. This idea of the servant unconditionally devoted to his master was singled out by our Sages: the discourse, the conversation, the words of the servants of the fathers are worth even more than the Torah of the children. Why? Because it is they who will push the children to remain unconditionally on the path of the parents. Otherwise, of course, each person will innovate his own path in the spiritual life, and that is accepted. But how is one not to step outside the borders, the limits? For the ideal is that we come to say, as we do, Elokei Avraham, Elokei Yitzchak, Elokei Yaakov — the G-d of Avraham, the G-d of Yitzchak, the G-d of Yaakov. Why not say, since it is the same G-d, “the G-d of Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov”? Why repeat it? No! The paths of access to the divine are different, but they remain faithful to Avraham’s teaching; they remain faithful to the source. But who keeps them in this fidelity to the source? It is the example given by the avdei avot, the servants of the fathers. Now Oholiav, Betzalel’s partner in building the Sanctuary, who belonged to the tribe of Dan — that is, who was the descendant of a concubine who had wholly embraced the life of Yaakov’s house — well, he is the one who will also take part in building a sanctuary conceived not only to serve the Jewish people, for it is conceived to serve all the nations.

Our Sages said — Jerusalem… no: the sanctuary is destined to extend to the whole city of Jerusalem. The city of Jerusalem — by which we mean its holiness — will extend as far as Damascus, and the holiness of the Land of Israel will extend to the entire universe. Then we will truly reach the goal, when the earth is filled with the knowledge of G-d. You know, one could, in sum, have ended the Bible at the end of this parasha of Pekudei. After all, why go on? One might perhaps place the book of Vayikra, the book of Bamidbar and the book of Devarim in another volume. And indeed, when one analyzes the last verse of Parashat Pekudei, it says there: “And fire was in it by night, before the eyes of all the house of Israel.” “Before the eyes of all Israel” — where does that appear? Those are the last three words of the book of Devarim — of the Torah itself.

There is therefore a similarity between the end of the book of Shemot and the end of the book of Devarim — but with one difference: bekhol mas’ehem, in all their journeys. That is to say, a revelation of G-d took place through this Temple, and this sanctuary absorbed the fire of the revelation at Sinai. That much is beyond dispute. But it is now that the journeys begin, because this must not remain a possession exclusive to Israel. It must be a good that benefits all of humanity, all the peoples. Moreover, King Shlomo will transform the mishkan into a mikdash. We were told that the mishkan was a mashkon, a pledge — why? Because this spiritual life always appears as a foreign graft upon a life. It disturbs. It disturbs because it does not blend easily into everyday life; it runs against nature, and for that reason it always remains unstable. How can it be given this stability, this permanence?

It must then be transformed into a mikdash — and even then, even then, I will tell you why: because in the prophecy of Yechezkel, in chapter 43, G-d reveals Himself to Yechezkel and asks him to show the plan of the sanctuary. It concerns the third sanctuary, because the second sanctuary, the Second Temple, was not truly in the image of the first. Five important elements were missing. It did not enjoy the revelation of the divine within it. The first one did — and the first was going to be destroyed simply because the hand of man had meddled with it. It is good, it has its worth, but it remains — it opens the door, I would say, to any form of divine service that would suffer from subjectivity.

Moreover, when the Temple is set up — as with the creation of the world, where it is said that the work of heaven and earth was brought to its end — here too all the work was brought to its end. And Moshe felt the need to bless this work, saying: may it be G-d’s will to accept favorably the work you have accomplished. The Midrash goes so far as to say what the content of this prayer was: it was a prayer of David HaMelekh, which King David would later pronounce: “Vihi no’am Hashem Elokeinu aleinu, u-ma’aseh yadeinu konenah aleinu, u-ma’aseh yadeinu konenehu.” Excuse me — it is a verse from Psalms; let me try to find it for you. “May the favor of the L-rd our G-d be with us; make the work of our hands prosper — yes, the work of our hands, make it prosper.”

And our Sages asked why this verse was chosen to call down G-d’s blessing on the sanctuary made by Betzalel and Oholiav. To answer, one must first distinguish between melakhah and avodah. We have already said that melakhah is forbidden on Shabbat, whereas avodah is permitted on Shabbat. Melakhah, which consists in shaping an object for a use that may be for good or for evil, for the profane or for the sacred — that is forbidden. On the other hand, avodah — the avodah that binds the work exclusively to divine service — that is permitted. But it is permitted with a verb that keeps recurring and carries a depth of thought, because it sets man in motion in what he does: this is what is called asiyah. Throughout the making of the mishkan there is this verb asah, “to make,” which recalls na’aseh ve-nishma: we will fulfill our own selves through what we are going to do. That is how it must be understood.

Now, into this act of serving G-d, a satisfaction with oneself can indeed slip in — a sense of well-being, of duty done. And that is the poison of all service of G-d. From the moment a man considers that he has already fulfilled all of G-d’s directives and has nothing to reproach himself for, he has turned his mikdash into a mashkon, turned it into a pledge — it may be lost. Every action must be accompanied by “u-ma’aseh yadeinu konenah aleinu, u-ma’aseh yadeinu konenehu.” Twice: the work of our hands — make it succeed; assist us in bringing it about. One can be a master in all things and lose everything through this feeling of satisfaction alone: not having yirah, not having that fear, not having that concern to do well, not fearing the misstep. One must always live with “Ana Hashem hoshi’ah na” — Hashem, I await Your help — without, for all that, slipping in on the quiet a mere “Ana Hashem hatzlichah na” — please, Hashem, make things succeed.

But for that, the Holy One, blessed be He, must also be an actor in what we undertake, and we must involve Him in everything we undertake, so that our prayer becomes a blessing. And when prayer becomes a blessing, it is a source of success — of that doubling. It is the “Ana Hashem hoshi’ah na” that constitutes, or gives, the assurance of “Ana Hashem hatzlichah na.” And who is capable of this? Avdei Hashem — avdei avot, the servants of the fathers. Why the servants of the fathers? Why do we not say servants of the Torah, servants of the Sages, servants of Hashem? No — because the fathers did not have the Torah. The fathers developed this within themselves, and they never showed the slightest arrogance, the slightest pride in what they had achieved. On the contrary, they remained on their guard. Let us remember that Yaakov, even after prevailing over his brother Esav, arrives in the land where his father had dwelt — but we are told megurei, the land of his father’s sojournings.

He arrives in the land where his father had lived — but we are told megurei, and this word also comes from the verb yagor, which means “to fear.” He came with a feeling of fear — fear that he might not be able to make his settlement in that land endure. And that is why the book of Shemot, which could have been the conclusion of the whole Torah — since, taken as a whole, this is the goal — does not end things. When G-d created the world, what He aspired to was dirah ba-tachtonim, a dwelling in the lower world — the recognition of Him. He obtained it — and yet no: now, bekhol mas’ehem, the journey must begin. So what are the codes that must accompany us on this road?

There is the book of Vayikra and the book of Bamidbar. Rav Kook used to say that the book of Vayikra is Torat ha-bayit, the Torah of the home: how to conduct oneself in the house, what sacrifices one must make, and in what way one must live in society and in the family. The book of Bamidbar, by contrast, is the code of conduct for when we are in exile, when we are objects of persecution, when we are condemned to wandering. And we might in a way draw a distinction between the Torah within our home and the Torah outside our dwellings, at the moment when we are confronting the outside world. It is the same law. And what shows that it is the same law is that elements of the people’s life in the desert are recorded in the book of Shemot, and elements of the sanctuary — such as the chanukat ha-menorah, the inauguration of the candelabrum — are recorded, are found, in the book of Bamidbar.

The book of Vayikra was given at the foot of Mount Sinai. But if one were to limit oneself to that, it would reach as far as the twenty-third […] perhaps, no further. Whereas the book of Bamidbar begins on the first of Iyar, the second month, of the second year — we are always speaking of the second year — when they left Mount Sinai and began their journey through the desert. And this desert is the path of exile that must lead to the settling of the people in its land. Indeed, throughout history, taking up this march through the desert again is the aim — and to make these mas’ot, these stages we follow through space, a way for us also to show the world our faith, our knowledge.

Mishkan ha-edut, the Tabernacle of testimony: so that we may bear witness to the sanctuary that dwells within us, which we carry with us even if the walls are destroyed, come what may. And that is the goal: to have the world recognize the values we carry — perhaps not all of them at once, but little by little, once again from the outside inward, as with the penitent. And that is why, in my view, King Shlomo, in inaugurating the sanctuary, said “ki beiti beit tefillah yikkare le-khol ha-amim” — for My house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples. And it is on this basis that he associated in the building of the sanctuary foreign workmen sent by Hiram, king of Tyre.

And the one who stood out among them was a certain Hiram, who was born of a mixed marriage: his father was from Tyre, and he himself was of the tribe of Naftali. A path open to the nations is thereby shown: even someone who comes entirely from outside, and who has succeeded in joining the Jewish people through conversion, has his place in building the sanctuary. Perhaps he will not contribute his full share to the building, because Hiram dealt only with the bronze — only with the elements of bronze, of copper. Yes, all that glitters is not gold […]. Well then — these are the elements of a foreign culture which can also be integrated into divine service, provided they are integrated within what I called a moment ago this approach of the avdei avot: serving the design of the fathers and not straying from it, not departing from it. That is the teaching of the sanctuary with which we close the book of Shemot, as we pass on to the book of Vayikra.