As always, rich with meaning, we have several important things to note just at our first cursory glance:
"Gifts from every person whose heart is so moved"–– not through taxation, not forced, but from those whose hearts are so moved.
"Make me a sanctuary"–– sanctuary comes from the Hebrew word mikdash, which shares the root of the word Shekinah, a name for G!d which is female, not male, and evokes a comforting, hovering, embracing Presence.
"That I may dwell among/within them"–– where does G!d dwell? Wherever we let G!d in, wherever we make a sanctuary.
I've been giving a lot of thought to this portion. One year ago, I was writing about T'rumah for the Holy Sparks! gathering last February. I had so many hopes and dreams and plans for that venture, and it was definitely a gift from my heart to the community.
Alas, due to rapidly deteriorating health issues, I became physically unable to continue. I still had hopes to continue the group at a later point in time when I was physically able, but then, after the Pittsburgh tragedy this past fall, with me living in an extremely conservative area, I felt completely unsafe to continue.
So I closed the Holy Sparks! Meetup group in November. While it had garnered over 50 "members", only 2 had ever showed up for a gathering. There were far more non-Meetup people coming to the Holy Sparks! gatherings. Still, I was afraid to put innocent people at risk of something very bad happening to them because of being a Jewish Rabbi leading a liberal, open group in this uber conservative area. Security precautions are not available to me, and there had already been previous incidents of bb's in windows at the meeting place. I did not feel safe, and I felt strongly about not putting people at risk for Holy Sparks! gatherings. There are evil-intentioned people in the world.
But our Torah portion is not about fear; it is about being moved to bring heartfelt gifts to the construction of a community gathering place. This is something I was putting a lot of time and effort into before being hit with severe physical limitations, and then, Pittsburgh, derailed me.
So my thoughts this week have been about bringing our gifts into the world, and how we do that when life throws us some major curve balls.
Primarily, I think it's important for us to learn to distinguish the difference between function and purpose. A simple example is a pencil. Its function is nothing more than a tool for writing. Its purpose, however, is unknown to us. It might be the tool used to write nothing but grocery lists, or it might be used to write a moving letter, poem, song, or book that will change someone's life.
Here is our challenge this week. To see that even if used "only" to write a simple grocery list, the person who goes to the store with that list might smile or offer a simple act of kindness to someone at the grocery, which shifts their life. Or perhaps at the store they will purchase a card or a piece of fruit that lifts someone's spirits, acts which are very life-giving. ripple effects. We never know the true purpose of the most insignificant act.
So even the simple pencil has a very basic function, but its true purpose could be far beyond what we might think.
How much more true is that for us?
I think it is easy to look for some large, big, important, critical life purpose. In fact, our society today is driven, driven to do more, accomplish more, meet goals and check off things on our lengthy to do lists.
What if we are more like the simple pencil? What if we make too much of being purpose-focused and driven? What if we made ourselves available in however small ways might unfold before us throughout each day?
In other words, what if we put all our efforts and energies into being a pencil which writes a book that will change lives, and in focusing our attention on that, we miss a thousand little actions that could change the whole world?
In my case, I was looking at my purpose as gathering a small community where we would learn and study and share and grow together spiritually, but perhaps that isn't my purpose after all? And what if the physical limitations, and the lesson of Pittsburgh, are reminders that maybe my purpose is along the lines of writing simple grocery lists and seeing how many smiles I can give away at the store?
Why is one gift viewed as less than another gift? Why do we judge our gifts?
Let's unravel this by taking a look at the gifts which were brought for the building of the mishkan. Over the next four weeks, our Torah portions will move through T'tzaveh ("you are to order"), Ki Tisa ("when you take"), Vayakhel ("he assembled"), and finally to P'kudei ("the accounts"). All of these four portions ahead of us are about everything that was gathered for building the tabernacle in the wilderness, how it was constructed down to nitty-gritty very fine details, and leading up to the final accounting of all the gifts that had been brought and all the work that had been done on the mishkan, the portable tabernacle in the wilderness.
In fact, Pekudei opens with the words, “This is the sum of the things of the tabernacle, of the tabernacle of Testimony, as it was counted…”
Three weeks from now we will visit the parasha Vayakhel, which directly precedes Pekudei, where we will read that the people donated an abundance of precious metals and materials to be used for the construction of the Mishkan, including gold, silver, and copper, as well as dyed wool, linen, goat hair, animal skins, wood, olive oil, spices, and precious stones. They brought so many gifts, in fact, more than enough gifts, that Moses had to ask them to stop giving.
Think about that.
How often do you ever hear of a nonprofit organization turning away gifts because they have received more than they need?
Even the gifts which we might be tempted to consider insignificant, such as goat hair or spices, were very important in this project.
In like manner, the simple pencil may have a purpose far beyond what we could conceive, not by being the tool by which a world-changing book is written, but by its use in writing a short grocery list which takes you to the store to run into a person who needs your smile to give them a ray of hope.
In the final analysis, what does the difference between function and purpose have to do with me and my journey of the past year?
I had thought my Rabbinical avodah––my ministry, my service, my purpose––was to gather a small group. As my physical issues mounted, I thought perhaps my purpose was more in the realm of writing and occasionally speaking. But I think, now, that I was confusing function and purpose. Perhaps my function is writing, just like the pencil. Perhaps the ability to go back to speaking may return, and that might be another function.
But my purpose? How can I possibly know how my writing might touch someone? Or my speaking might inspire someone?
Or maybe they won't at all. And I don't need to be overly concerned with that part of it, because the purpose is more of a result, which is out of my control. I need only tend to how I can function given my limitations, abilities, and the real opportunities and threats in the world around me.
As I was struggling to write this week, and because I was still thinking of writing as being my big "purpose" in life rather than a simple function of it, three days ago one of my dearest friends reminded me that, "I think your thoughts and learning are your avodah; the writing of it is part of sharing that, but not primary. There are entire groups of Jews who simply learn in someone’s merit, and that is vital to this world and the next. Certainly your thoughts, prayers/blessings, and learning are a splendid contribution!"
All of which is to say, my function is to study and learn and write, but I do not need to get caught up in the hoopla of purpose. I do not know how G!d might use my study and learning and writing. I can never foresee all that might come of it, nor all that might come of a simple trip to the grocery store to give away smiles.
Indeed, we can get too caught up in finding some big purpose, and feel like a failure when we come up short, when all we really need to tend to are the small "insignificant" functions, the tiny acts of kindness and love and forgiveness which we put out into the world around us.
In T'rumah, the people brought their gifts as their hearts were so moved. They did so in faith, believing that there was a much greater purpose for even their most "insignificant" gifts.
In very poor places, a pencil is a significant gift. In the larger scheme of things, nothing is insignificant. Not even a smile, not even a pencil. And as the saying goes, the pencil could be mightier than the sword.
Shabbat Shalom uv'racha!
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