Parashat Truma: Rebuilding Our Inside

This week, I want to begin by sharing a Midrash regarding Parshat Terumah.

The Midrash, as you know, is a rabbinic explanation, typically in the form of a story, like a parable, that fills in the gaps left by the Torah. It helps explain the context and content that our Sages of Blessed Memory (CHAZAL, in the Hebrew acronym), the Rabbis of the Talmud, understood and passed down in a beautiful tradition spanning over a thousand years.

Parshat Terumah tells us about the moment when the Lord instructs Moshe to build the Mishkan, the Tabernacle, for which every member of the Jewish people must participate by contributing.

The Midrash, in particular, beautifies the moment when Moshe receives the command to craft the lampstand, the menorah.

“Rabbi Levi bar Rabbi says: A pure lampstand descended from Heaven, as the Blessed Holy One told Moshe: ‘Make a lampstand of pure gold’ (Exodus 25:31). He said: ‘How shall we make it?’ He replied: ‘The lampstand shall be hammered out’ (Exodus 25:31). However, Moshe encountered difficulty. He descended and forgot how to make it. He ascended and said: ‘How shall we make it?’ He replied: ‘The lampstand shall be hammered out.’ But Moshe found it difficult again. He descended and forgot. He ascended and said: ‘My Lord, I have forgotten.’ The Lord showed it to Moshe, but Moshe still had difficulty. He said: ‘Look and make it’ (Exodus 25:40), until He took a flaming lampstand and showed him how to make it. Still, it was difficult for Moshe. The Holy One, blessed be He, said: ‘Go to Betzalel, and he will make it.’ He went to Betzalel, and he made it immediately.

Moshe was amazed and said: ‘The Holy One, blessed be He, showed me several times, but I had difficulty making it. Yet you, who never saw it, made it on your own. Betzalel, were you standing in the shadow of God (in Hebrew, "betzel El" literally means "in the shadow of God") when the Holy One, blessed be He, showed me its creation?’ This is why, when the Temple was destroyed, the lampstand was seized. This is one of the five elements that were taken: the Ark, the lampstand, the fire, the Divine Spirit, and the cherubim. When the Holy One, blessed be He, rebuilds His Temple and His Sanctuary in His mercy, He will restore them to their place to bring joy to Jerusalem, as it is written: ‘The desert and the wasteland will rejoice, and the dry land will be glad’ (Isaiah 35:1); ‘It will bloom and rejoice’ (Isaiah 35:2).” (Bemidbar Rabbah 15:10)

Even Moshe, the highest authority, in the very presence of God, receives the order to build a lampstand of light, hammering it “into shape.”

I’ve always found the use of violence in construction strange. That whole “fighting for peace” concept expressed through violence to bring about peace. The use of violence to build something. Even more so when that violence is carried out in the name of the Divine, as if to justify the Almighty’s will.

Bringing light by the force of hammer strikes, divine presence and violence are incompatible terms. They’re merely masks used to hide the true interests: power, economic gain, extremism... Neither light, nor heaven, nor salvation, nor divine presence…let’s not fool ourselves.

The Midrash is wise: Moshe, the great leader, cannot do it. Could it be telling us that there is no possible way to build anything based on violence? Not even when a so-called enlightened figure believes that it is the Lord Himself giving the command?

Not even the most precious piece of solid gold can become a lampstand of peace by sheer force.

Who can build it is the craftsman Betzalel. The Midrash plays with his name, which is made up of two words: Betzel (in the shadow) and El (of God).

“In the shadow of God” evokes the image of a believer who rests in the peace of his faith, knowing he is protected by a presence that will guide him in the creation of the sacred. It’s not the great names that built the Sanctuary, but the people who placed God in a space of humility and love. This artisan was chosen by the wisdom of his heart, as the Torah says, far more than for his artistic skills. Betzalel was chosen because, according to the text, the Lord told Moshe that Betzalel knows how to correctly interpret the divine word and transform it into a work of art.

Yet, Betzalel is not a prominent figure in the memory of our people. He is only the archetype of the artist who correctly interprets and understands the Lord's will as conveyed in words. Nothing more, and nothing less...

To build sanctuaries in this land, we don’t need specialists, or great enlightened figures speaking in the name of some deity. What we need are wise hearts, sensitive people who can recognize that the summit is here on this earth, that the divine happens when people have access to it, that God resides where there are no strikes or lights obtained through underhanded means.

Now let’s move on to the last part of the Midrash. But before that, I need to clarify something. I have never advocated, nor will I ever, for the construction of a third Beit HaMikdash, as a radical segment of my people hopes and expects. Never. I believe that insisting on reclaiming the Temple Mount—currently home to one of the most iconic mosques in the world—would be to attempt to build a sacred space at the cost of death, blood, and disaster. God cannot reside there, for any religious tradition. Not to mention that the transformation we would need to return to, including offerings and priesthood, would only divide our people even more... if that were even possible...

However, the Midrash opens a door and tells us: “When the Holy One, blessed be He, rebuilds His Temple and His Sanctuary in His mercy, He will restore them to their place to bring joy to Jerusalem, as it is written: ‘The desert and the wasteland will rejoice, and the dry land will be glad’ (Isaiah 35:1); ‘It will bloom and rejoice’ (Isaiah 35:2).”

I understand that our mission is to continue insisting and resisting, with our words and actions, bringing mercy where there is wickedness and joy where others seek to plunge us into the darkness of despair. And with our sorrow on our backs, desolation will become the engine of our struggle to return to life, to rebuild the sanctuary of peace, harmony, and possibility, when everything today seems to be closing in.

This week, the Torah speaks to us about Terumah, the invitation to donate to build the Mishkan, the sanctuary in the desert. We are asked to give “from the heart” to build a space where the Divine Presence can dwell IN us. Terumah calls us to give not only gold, silver, and copper—not just materials for a physical sanctuary. It demands that we give of ourselves, even when we feel we have nothing left to offer. It forces us to ask: How do we build when everything is broken?

Today marks the beginning of Adar, a month traditionally associated with joy. This year, it’s hard to join in the call to increase our joy during the month of Adar. The sadness, the pain, and the absence weigh too heavily. The reality around us, the losses, the open wounds, prevent us from surrendering to the lightness of celebration.

Perhaps the answer lies in remembering that the Mishkan was built in the desert, in the very nothingness, in a place where life seemed impossible. And yet, we raised it up. Not because the desert ceased to be hostile, but because we needed to cling to something bigger than despair.

Perhaps the real challenge is finding a way to rebuild, even in the midst of loss.

In these days of sorrow and reflection, as we continue to cry out for the return of all those taken from us, when peace seems so far away, and the memory of the orange color has become synonymous with tragedy and loss, we remember those who were torn from their homes, like Shiri Kfir and Ariel, and so many other families destroyed in that Fateful Shabbat of October 2023.

Here we are, ready with the strength we have left, to clear, remove the earth, the mud, and the ashes, drag beams to prop up walls, return the doors to their place, and prepare to imagine a future where we can lie in the fresh grass, watching the clouds in a sky that will never again turn that orange which reminds us of sorrow, but the splendor and joy of Creation.

Shabbat Shalom and Chodesh Adar Tov.

May we have a peaceful Shabbat and a good month, and may we fulfill the saying: "Mi she'nichnas Adar, marbin b'simcha" — "When Adar enters, we increase in joy."

Rabbi Gustavo Geier