VaYikra (Shabbat Zachor)
Lev. 1:1 – 5:26 

Rabbi Gary Pokras 

After God brought us out of Egypt with a mighty outstretched hand, what was our destination? According to Rabbi Menachem Nachum of Chernobyl (d. 1797) it was not the Promised Land! In his commentary, Meor Einayim (“Light to the Eyes”), he found the ultimate destination in this week’s Torah portion: VaYikra. 

Rabbi Menachem Mendel notes that immediately after leaving Egypt, God gives us the commandments about observing Passover and circumcision, but nothing else. Then, weeks later, at Sinai we are given the Torah but are then immediately commanded to turn our attention to building the tabernacle, delaying our understanding of Torah until the construction is completed.  

To help us better understand this sequence, he offers a parable, asking us to imagine what it would be like to suddenly bring someone who had always lived in darkness into bright sunlight. They could never endure it and could only be exposed to light little by little before they could try again. Similarly, the Israelites in Egypt lived their entire lives cut off from the light of God, and that light could only be revealed bit by bit – not all at once, lest they too become overwhelmed.  

In his commentary to VaYikra, Menachem Mendel makes two observations about the word VaYikra itself, which is also the first word in the portion and in the book of Leviticus. VaYikra means “and He/he called.” First, Menachem Mendel notes that we don’t discover it is God who is calling until later in the verse. He sees this as a kindness towards those who might be intimidated or unready (or uninterested) if they knew God was calling. Second, he notes that the last letter in the word VaYikra, an alef, is always scribed in a small superscript. He connects this to the mystical concept that this letter is the aluf, the Chief of the Cosmos who calls out to and indeed lives within each and every one of us.  

Menachem Mendel teaches that God is never stops calling us to return. We don’t always pay attention to this call. Other times we only perceive it vaguely, and without understanding that it is the Holy One calling us. In other words, we still live in darkness. He writes: “This is why the verse states VaYikra [using a pronoun and not God’s proper name]. But when we do understand that it is the Holy One calling to us, and we return from our incorrect ways and turn back to the Blessed Creator, then [the verse continues]: ‘And the Holy One spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting.’”  

The alef within is that tiny, hard to hear divine voice, speaking to us even when we are unaware of its presence. All of us, no matter how lost or wicked, can return, can make teshuvah. The alef is the divine voice within us that unceasingly invites us back to God and reminds us how much better we feel and act when we return. Each time we respond to the call, our awareness of the divine light around us increases. 

Return to the light of God is the destination, the place of Promise we all seek. 

Pekudei
Ex. 38:21 – 40:38 

Rabbi Baht Weiss 

This week’s Torah portion, P’kedui means “records.”   P’kedui gives us the blueprint for each material used in the construction of the miskan, the Tabernacle.  Here we learn that each detail is important.  There is a thoughtful and meticulous way that is essential to get things done properly.  Rabbi Ruth Adar notes that this Torah portion is “as about as exciting as a corporation’s annual report.  Our eyelids droop, and we space out.” There are just so many details.   She recognizes how much more exciting it is to read about the heroic stories of the Torah.  But as she points out, “we can intend to feed the hungry, but for it to happen, someone must gather the funds, buy the ingredients, cook the food, distribute the meals, and provide an accounting to the donors where their contributions went.  Similarly, we can have the best intensions to comfort mourners, but unless someone disseminates the information concerning when and where shivah will take place, the mourners will feel abandoned.  Torah calls us to honor life’s details.” 

As someone who is engaged in the daily dealings of synagogue life, I am well aware of how much planning and detail goes into each of our events, programs, life-cycle events and services.  It can be hard to be patient with planning all these details, but they are vital to the successful implementation of our activities.   You need a strategic vision and step by step plan. 

A midrash (Pirke de Rav Eliezer) teaches that at the beginning of creation, God was unable to create the world.  No matter how many times and how many different ways God tried to arrange them, the parts wouldn’t fit together.  The universe kept collapsing because God had no diagram nor design.  God said, “I need an overall plan for My world. I want to it to be One, as I am One.”  “I know what I will do,” thought God, “I will use Torah as a blueprint for creation and that way the parts of the world will fit together, and my Torah will be everything inside.” 

In addition to careful planning, pekudi, record keeping is essential to any organization.  When Moses puts out the call for donations to the mishkan, the Israelites respond in droves.  They bring all their gold, silver, precious jewels, and fine linens to help. In fact, there are so many donations, that Moses had to ask people to stop bringing gifts.  Can you imagine such generosity? 

According to the midrash Tachuma (Pekudei 7) some of the people begin to wonder whether they can really trust Moses with their valuables.  After all, it would be easy for him to pocket a few diamonds or assume that no one would miss a bar of gold. Moses hears this talk in the camp and calls for a public accounting of the materials.   The midrash suggests that the first words of the Torah portion, “Pikeudi- Records-introduce a public accounting.  According to the midrash, Moses lists every single gemstone, piece of gold and scrap of cloth and shows that each has its place in the mishkan. 

Rabbi Jill Jacobs suggests that this is why this accountability comes at the end of the book of Exodus.  The midrash does not criticize or punish people who question Moses’ honestly.  Quite, the contract, it is welcomed.  

Transparency and accountability are necessary components of any healthy organization and any religious or political leader.   In last week’s Torah portion, we learned about the first building fund, and in this week’s Torah portion we learn about the first annual report.  God was a wise CEO.  God created a world careful and methodically and then entrusted us to be forthcoming and accountable for our deeds.   We too should be such careful and thoughtful planners and remain accountable for our actions.

VaYakhel (Shabbat Sh’kalim)
Ex. 35:1 – 38:20 

Rabbi Gary Pokras 

In VaYakhel, we encounter the third and final repetition of the details for building the mishkan (sanctuary) in the wilderness. The threefold repetition highlights the vital importance of this project, and indeed, accounts for a significant amount of real estate in the second half of the book of Exodus. The mishkan would become the place where God would dwell in the midst of the camp, unavoidably and powerfully perceptible to all of Israel. So, it makes sense that it would receive a great deal of attention. However, the mishkan could have been built anywhere. Rabbi Michael Boyden wondered why Torah would specifically want to concentrate holiness in the desert, “in a place that is, on the face of it, both spiritually barren and empty.”1  

Why doesn’t Torah concentrate holiness in populated cities or regular daily life? What is the allure of the Wilderness to holiness?  

As it turns out, this is part of a larger pattern. Jacob, while fleeing for his life with only the shirt on his back and a rock for a pillow encounters God in the wild during the darkest night [Gen. 28:10-17]. Joseph communes with God to interpret dreams while languishing deep in Pharoah’s dungeon [Gen. 40:1-23]. God appears to Moses through a Burning Bush atop the mountain [Ex. 3:1-10]. 

The Hebrew word for holiness is kadosh, which in turn means “set apart.” For example, Shabbat is holy. It is set apart from the other six days of the week. If holiness means ‘set apart,’ then it cannot be the same as daily life. We can infuse holy acts into daily life, but in doing so, we are elevating moments that are mundane or ‘regular’ to moments that are sacred – thereby setting them apart from the rest of the day. 

The Presence of God is holy. It must be set apart, and this is the purpose of the mishkan. Locating a concentrated Presence in the midst of the camp, separates God from the rest of the camp while simultaneously bringing awareness of God’s Presence to everyone in the camp. Since there is nowhere else in the world where God’s presence manifests in this way, life in the camp would also be separate from life anywhere else in the world. 

Torah, therefore, reminds us that the experience of holiness can be elusive.  

In some theological circles, God is believed to be omnipresent and omnipotent. However, the grind of daily life too can be omnipresent and feel omnipotent. And not just for slaves in Egypt.  

In the world today, we live with the illusion of control. We have mastered so much of the world, built extraordinary cities and technologies. We can fly across oceans and have antibiotics to protect us from diseases that used to be life-threatening, and overall, we eat better and live more comfortably than any previous generation. While this is wonderful in many ways, it has also lulled us into replacing faith in God with faith in ourselves. Until, that is, we confront something we cannot control, such as an untreatable terminal illness, or the loss of our homes or livelihoods. In these moments, we find ourselves in the empty, barren spaces; the cares of the world recede, and we reach out for holiness. We ask, “where are You God?” — sometimes unaware that we are the ones who banished God from our camps. At times like these, when it is almost too late, we wish we had cultivated more of a relationship with God, more holiness in our lives.  

Which brings us back to our parasha. 

Torah sends us to the empty spaces, where the world does not operate “on the clock,” where we are not distracted by the oppressions and illusions of the “real world” that we may learn how to find holiness, how to concentrate it in our communities, and how to protect it from being subsumed by the mundane. Holiness is not meant to stay in the Wilderness but live in the world, separate but perceptible in our lives. The empty, barren spaces are where we go to heighten our awareness of the holy, and the develop the spiritual strength and discipline we need to bring holiness where it belongs: with us. 

1 Rabbi Michael Boyden, “Vayak’heil/P’kudei,” in Voices of Torah, vol. 2, p. 172.