Exodus Sacred Dwellings
Parashat Tetzaveh ()
On a recent visit to Israel, my family and I experienced two recently created physical manifestations of the ancient Jewish sacred service described in Parshat Tetzaveh (Exodus 27:20-30:10), each beautiful and powerful in its own way. Like many visitors to Jerusalem, we passed the golden menorah, created by 鈥淭he Temple Institute,鈥� displayed behind glass in a prominent square of the Old City. This tall, ornate, glittering menorah, surrounded by Jerusalem stone, so close to the site of the Holy Temple, inspires a certain awe. Fewer visitors encounter the full-scale model of the Mishkan, the tabernacle, hidden away in the desert landscape of the Arava valley, constructed for educational purposes. Though it eschews most authentic materials, contains more dust than glitter, and makes choices in depicting ambiguous elements, walking through this model feels like experiencing a moment in ancient history. Seeing the scale of the tent and its enclosure, peering into the altar, encountering the clothing of the high priest and the furnishings described in our parasha, sparked in my imagination a sense of the meaning and the power this structure must have held for B鈥檔ai-Yisrael as they carried it with them for many years.
The rabbis understand the mishkan, a portable temple and a dwelling place for the divine within B鈥檔ai-Yisrael鈥檚 encampment, as a response to the sin of the golden calf. Seeing that the people need a tangible reassurance of the Divine presence among them, God commands them to construct a holy space. Midrash Bamidbar Rabbah 12:7 imagines God鈥檚 instruction to build the mishkan as a task designed to keep the people constructively occupied, noting, 鈥渁ll the days that they were engaged in the labor of the Tabernacle, they were not complaining.鈥� Extrapolating, we see how constructing the mishkan drew the people together in a meaningful, purposeful pursuit, connecting them to one another and to the divine. Once complete, the ongoing presence of the mishkan continued to bind people together, a reminder of their meaningful collaboration and the centerpiece of their communal worship.
This week, as we read about the mishkan drawing us together, the special maftir Torah portion (Deuteronomy 25:17-19) reminds us of Amalek, the nation that tried to destroy B鈥檔ai-Yisrael by picking off the most vulnerable on their journey through the desert. In contrast to the mishkan, Amalek personifies the forces of disconnection and attack on the individuals at the edges of the community. We read these verses the Shabbat before Purim because Haman, the villain of the Megillah of Esther, is understood to be Amalek鈥檚 descendant, perpetuating their spiritual legacy of targeting the vulnerable.
The mishkan of our parasha, Amalek of the maftir, and Haman of the Megillah were tangible embodiments of connection and meaning, on one hand, and targeted destruction on the other. Over time, however, as the Jews became a diverse and dispersed people over the course of millennia, our meaning-making has become less tangible and more symbolic. After the destruction of the second temple, our rabbis reimagined Judaism so that rather than carrying a physical dwelling place for God, we bring along our texts and traditions. In place of sacrifices and priests, we turn to stories, memory and study, along with sacred times for gathering, home-based rituals and reenactments. In the holiday cycle that leads from the masking and unmasking of Purim, to the humble liberation of Passover, to the spiritual high of revelation at Shavuot, these tools of memory and gathering are our means to pursue the missions set for us in our Torah readings this week.
On Purim, the four primary mitzvot of the holiday help us to avoid the pitfalls of Amalek. Through the story of the Megillah, we remember the dangers and the courage it takes to stand up against what threatens to tear us apart. Through feasting together, we affirm the unity of the community despite our diversity. And the twin mitzvot of sharing treats with friends and giving to those in need ensure that we lose track of neither those who are close to our hearts nor those who may be on the periphery of our communities. Without an identified, embodied Amalek, these mitzvot are designed to inspire us to question further. What threatens to pick off our connections to our friends, family, and community in the vulnerable places?
Without a tent or temple to bring us together around the Passover sacrificial rite, our Seder tables have become the tangible sacred space that facilitates what has become for many the most powerful Jewish moment of the year. So when we plan this year鈥檚 gathering, we must remember to think past menu and table settings to consider the guest list, the stories we will tell, and the ways we will make meaning, draw ourselves together, and connect to something greater. Who do we want to draw in, and how will we manage to keep everyone both comfortable and challenged, tied to the past and growing toward the future?
For me, the educational model of the mishkan was more awe-inspiring than the shining Menorah in Jerusalem, and not only because I was allowed into the holy-of-holies and even given a peek inside the ark of the covenant. I think it was because rather than promising a return to the days of sacrifice, this tangible experience of the past helped me understand how we reached the Judaism of today, which I love, with its sparse tangible items invested with millennia of symbolic meaning and intention for the future. As we barrel toward and through this powerful season, may the tangible and the intangible, the clothing and the stories, the tastes and the smells, the people we are with and the people we remember, bind us together, help us find meaning, protect our vulnerabilities, and strengthen our families and communities.
Rabbi Shira Shazeer received rabbinic ordination from the Rabbinical School of 樱花动漫 in 2010 and a Masters Degree in Jewish Education with a focus on special education in 2022. Previously, she studied Torah in the Scholars Circle at Drisha Institute for Jewish Learning and music at Goucher College. Rabbi Shazeer teaches in the learning center at Gann Academy. She is a Yiddish enthusiast, a singer, accordion player and occasional composer, and parent to three fabulous kids.