By Michael R. Mantell, Ph.D.
In this week’s Torah reading, we learn of a gift that Hashem has given to us, yes, another gift, this, the gift of giving. Want to grow happier and more joyful than you are? Terumah teaches us a way — give. Want to live with a sense of abundance and not scarcity? Terumah has a way — give. Want to heal and not hurt? Terumah has a way — give. Gifts of ourselves will carry more positive impact in our lives than the actual gift we bestow.
No, we don’t require contemporary science to introduce us to the value in our lives of giving from the heart. This week’s parasha validates it for us. Rashi, in the 11th century, wrote, “T’rumah means ‘something set apart’” from the pasuk, “Daber el Bnei Yisrael veyikchu li terumah mei’eis kol ish asher yidvenu libo tikchu es terumasi,” “Speak to the Children of Israel and they shall take for Me a donation. From every man whose heart volunteers him you shall take My donation.” (Exodus, 25:2).
The Rambam tells us that even a person without means, one who may be dependent on tzedakah, is nevertheless duty-bound to give to another. When reframed through the lens of Torah, providing for another is in fact an act of accepting and growing, of being uplifted. That is, after all, considered to be one definition of Terumah. Giving to another is a form of chessed that fuels our own spiritual growth, according to Rav Kook. It says in the Talmud in Pe’ah, 1:1, “Tzedakah and acts of kindness are the equivalent of all of the mitzvot of the Torah.” In answer to Rabbi Tzvi Hersh Weinreb who asked, “What distinguishes the Jewish people, makes us different from other human groups?” we look at Proverbs 13:34 which says that “Charity elevates the nation.”
Giving from our heart’s desire is an expression of good will, is an expression of building our spiritual connection to Hashem, and in turn this builds our health and happiness. And keep in mind what Abraham ibn Ezra explains about giving a “donation,” that before we give something away, we must give something up from ourselves. This helps us ascend toward Hashem, the spiritual purpose of our building the Mishkan – an external display of our internal longing. Indeed, one purpose of our lives according to Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, zt”l, in the seventh of his “Nineteen Letters,” is to maintain the name of Hashem in the world.
Rabbi Judah Loew, known as the Maharal of Prague, teaches us the difference between acts of personal kindness, chessed, and acts of charity, tzedakah. The Talmud, we learn, records the basic differences: “The Rabbis taught: In three ways is kindness greater than charity. Charity is done with money; kindness can be either with one’s person or one’s money. Charity is for the poor; kindness can be done for either the poor or the rich. Charity is for the living; kindness can be done for the living or the dead” (Sukkah 49b).
Whether it’s our shuls, the schools in our community, a neighbor, or a favorite charity, it is essential to keep in mind the lesson of Terumah. When we give tzedakah we distribute Hashem’s gifts as His gabba’ei tzedakah and we receive, we never lose, we only fully benefit. The physical world is not ours to begin with, so when we give, we receive blessings from Hashem. We are simply responsible for distributing His bounty. When we give from our hearts, Terumah teaches us, we ultimately benefit from connecting with Hashem. A favorite Talmudic name for Hashem is Rachmana, “the Compassionate One.” Every act of human chessed is an imitation Hashem’s compassion and kindness.
The Torah portion includes another key theme, based on the verse, “Let them make Me a sanctuary, that I may dwell within them.” The Malbim, (Rabbi Meir Leibush ben Yechiel Michel) understood this pasuk as, “I will dwell within them,” that is, among the people, not within it, the sanctuary. Making a sanctuary is understood to be the requirement for Hashem to dwell within us. We cannot be passive and expect Hashem to dwell within us. We take the first step. He doesn’t live in a building, isn’t restricted to one place, but rather lives within us, our hearts, and minds. I am always uplifted by this parasha’s lofty goal asking us to create a holy space so that God can lodge among us, and my heart is enthused by this beautiful invitation to want to make it materialize. Do we need a sanctuary to know, to feel, Hashem’s presence and that He dwells in our midst?
I’m reminded of a story told of a little girl flying her kite on a windy day near the beach in La Jolla. The kite was so flying so high up in the clouds, it couldn’t be seen. A stranger walked up to her and asked her what she was doing. “I’m flying my kite high up in the sky, mister,” she said. He replied, “What? I don’t see any kite. How do you know it’s up there?” The little girl smiled and said, “Mister, I know it’s up there because…I feel the tug.”
Like the little girl flying her kite, do we feel the tug, His tug, wherever we are? Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Kotzk teaches us that “G-d dwells where we let Him in.” Where do you let Him in? What sanctuary in your life have you built for Him to dwell within you? Does Hashem really need a sanctuary, or does He recognize that we need to participate in building one so that we feel, know, that He is within us? The answer is clear, isn’t it?
Rabbi Isaac Abravanel raised this, “Why did [God] command the erection of the tabernacle, when [God] said “that I may dwell among them,” as if God were an object limited in space—which is the opposite of the truth. After all, God himself spoke these words through the prophet Isaiah (66:1): “The heavens are my throne, and the earth is my footstool; what kind of house can you build for me?” Answers Maimonides in Sefer HaChinuch, “Know, my child, that any commandment that God requires of humankind comes only out of God’s desire to benefit us . . . God’s command to build the Tabernacle, for us to offer therein our prayers and sacrifices, comes not out of God’s needs to dwell in an earthly dwelling among humankind, but rather [out of God’s awareness that we need to] train our own selves.”
Of course, everyone’s involvement is different in how one makes Him a sanctuary. Indeed, the parasha begins with, “Speak to the children of Israel and have them take for Me an offering; from every person whose heart inspires him to generosity, you shall take My offering. And this is the offering that you shall take from them: gold, silver, and copper” (Exodus 25:2-3). Rashi and other commentators teach us that the gold and silver were voluntary gifts, from open hearts, those that are open to Hashem. Regardless of one’s financial means, there is opportunity enough to make a proper donation.
Our community, our schools, our synagogues, the beautiful sanctuaries that we create in which we open ourselves to His holiness, are fully reliant on our gifts. Terumah is our voluntary, generous, personal donation, what we give to our institutions to help magnify and grow in our spiritual lives. Our institutions need our terumah, and the parasha comes to teach that we need to give it.
This Torah reading seems to emphasize the value of what each of us brings to build our community and the importance of honoring all, as different as we may be from each other. Reb Nachman says, “Everyone brings as an offering the goodness in his (or her) heart. The Mishkan was built from the essential good in the heart of every Jew…each person brought the special point within him (or her), in his (or her) own special way.” (Rebbe Nachman, cited in Itturei Torah, vol. 3, p. 205). And similarly, the Sefas Emes, the Rebbe of Ger in Warsaw of the late 19th century, suggests that each person brought an exclusive gift to the communal effort of building the Mishkan (a word that shares the same root as Shechina). The Talmud in Megillah 10b tells us the day the Mishkan was built was a simcha like the creation of heaven and earth. Rashi tells us that in Bamidbar 7:1, on that day Israel was like the bride coming to the chuppah.
Everyone contributed from their own assets, the result of which was a wondrously attractive and sanctified whole. The magnificence was felt and seen in the diversity of the donations, not just from the “big givers,” but from all, since all are “big givers” in their own way.
Ask yourself what you may bring to your Jewish life, to your synagogue, school, or your community organization to strengthen and boost it, to revitalize and empower it. This is, after all, a fundamental share in your…and our…legacy.
Shabbat Shalom
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Michael R. Mantell, Ph.D., prepares a weekly D’var Torah for Young Israel of San Diego, where he and his family are members. They are also active members of Congregation Adat Yeshurun. He may be contacted via michael.mantell@sdjewishworld.com