By Michael R. Mantell, Ph.D.
SAN DIEGO — It’s taken four parshiot to arrive here, winding our way through Terumah, Teztzaveh, Ki Tisa and Vayakhel to Pekudei and the completion of the prototype of our synagogue. As it says, “In the first month of the second year, on the first of the month, the Tabernacle was set up” with all its parts brought before Moses including the walls, the pillars, the connective pieces, the tapestries, curtains, furniture, alters, ark, menorah and showbread table.
The term beit k’neset means “house of assembly” and is used interchangeably with our contemporary word, “synagogue.” (Which also means “assembly” in the Greek etymology of “synogoge.”) What about beit t’filah, a “house of workship” or beit medrash, a “house of study” that we refer to as our shuls today? Was the original Tabernacle not a place primarily for prayer or learning? More on this below.
This begs the question, what is the ultimate purpose of our modern-day synagogue? Clearly it was, and is, to make Hashem’s presence noticed. Is it the physical design, the splendor, the magnificence of a building and its furnishings that are inspirational? Is it the kindliness, the friendliness, the genuine warmth of the rabbi and congregants that fuel a connection? Each synagogue, as a “spiritual magnifying glass,” inspires its own feelings of awe and togetherness, of inspiration and joy. Regardless of the outer space, what our synagogues evoke is a sense of what songwriter Yerachmiel Begun and the Miami Boys Choir bring to us in their song, Klal Yisroel Together, “Though our paths are diverse, we all share one aim, our direction is one and the same.”
It’s certainly not just the physical beauty of a shul but what a famous Midrash teaches in P’sikta D’Rav Kahana, Piska, that it was only through the meritorious behavior of humanity, including study, prayer, observance, tzedakah, warmly welcoming the stranger, and the deeds of Moses, that Hashem — long alienated from the human realm by our transgressions — could return to earth and dwell among us. Just as the Mishkan is an invitation for Hashem to dwell among us, so too is our shul beckoning us to see that He is always with us, wherever we look for Him, wherever we pray to Him.
We learn that the construction of the Tabernacle, as with our synagogues and shuls, required a team of engaged diverse people to come together. But in the end, it was Moses alone whom Hashem instructed to put the complete finishing touches on the building. As we embark on Vayikra, we learn what we need to bring to add holiness to our synagogues as well.
Hillel teaches us “Do not separate yourself from the community.” He tells us further in Avos 2:5, “Do not trust in yourself until the day of your death.” He is suggesting that since we cannot trust ourselves, our synagogue, our community, is necessary for us to help sustain our spiritual stability. The beit k’neset, is a house of gathering for the community to bring us together as one. Is this what characterizes your synagogue? Or is there so much divisiveness, argument, conflict, that it is hardly a place of holiness? Like Moses, what do you bring to magnify holiness in shul?
Bringing respect and dignity, with a feeling of affection, in our synagogues, leaps from the pages of this parasha. The attention to detail that we read about goes beyond the textiles, metals, and designs. What about the details of how we treat each other? How all are welcome and greeted? Our physical and spiritual space within our House of Worship must reflect the awe and dignity which Hashem, Moses, and Betzalel in particular, built into our Mishkan.
Moses gathered us all to build the Mishkan. When we are united, gathered and assembled in the beauty of our Houses of Worship, where we learn and pray, where holiness is brought to our lives, it is clear then that we are surrounded by Hashem, a place where we can complete and perfect creation.
In Deuteronomy Rabbah 7:2, BT B’rachot 8a, we learn from Rabbi Aha ben Rabbi Hanina who says, “Happy is the man that hearkens to Me, determined to enter within My doors “(Proverbs 8:34). What is meant by “determined to enter within My doors”? The Holy One said, ‘When you go to pray within the synagogue, do not remain standing at the outer door, praying there.” Moreover, said Rabbi Aibu, “When you sit in a synagogue, the Holy One stands over you to wait on you, as is said, “God stands in the congregation of God” (Psalms 82:1).
Of course, we can, and do, pray anytime and anywhere. But if there is not something special about praying with your community, in a minyan, something is missing. Recall that the Tabernacle was our first place of worship. Perhaps the synagogue has become too secularized. Perhaps it is referred to more as a “family” than as a special, holy sanctuary for spiritual growth. Look around and see the ner tamid, the ark, the menorah, which were also housed in the Mishkan. Perhaps our behavior, dress, conversations, and nonspiritual interactions with others have turned our synagogues more into Jewish centers than a place in which we bring our heart and spirit to experience Hashem’s presence and be lifted heavenward to higher ideals. The Tabernacle was a Tent of Meeting, but above all it was a dwelling place of Hashem where like the cherubim, flying upward but also “with their faces turned toward one another,” we would be wise to promote uplifting friendship.
Rabbi Dov Greenberg tells over the well-known story of the financially distressed man who tried to get into an exclusive, wealthy synagogue. The shul members were quite polite, so to avoid letting him in, they put him off with one excuse after another until, finally, the poor man got the idea.
One day he went to the synagogue only to be rejected once again, and as he was walking away depressed and disheartened, he came upon Hashem.
Hashem asked the downtrodden man, “What’s leading you to look so sad?”
The man said, “Because I’ve been trying to get into that shul for months and I can’t get in.”
Hashem said, “You are in good company. I’ve been trying to get into that shul for decades, and I can’t get in, either.”
Recall that after the Mishkan was complete, the people brought the furnishings to Moses. Rashi tells us that the reason the people did not build the Mishkan was they feared they were unable to build it without help due to the heavy beams they could not lift. Moses asked, “How can the Mishkan be built by man?” Hashem answered, “Involve yourself in building the Mishkan with your hand and though it will appear as if you were setting it up, it will actually rise upright and stand by itself.” As the Midrash tells us, “Adam oseh beyadav v’Hakadosh Baruch Hu mevarech ma’aseh yadav” — “A person does with his hands and the Holy One Blessed Be He will bless the work of his hands.” We need to take steps to glorify our shuls and allow Hashem to add His holiness. Rashi says Moses blessed the people upon seeing what they had done, “Yehi ratzon shetishreh Shechinah b’ma’aseh yedeichem” — “May it be the will that the Divine presence abide in the work of your hands.”
It is time to focus on how our congregations can reignite this spiritual fire, to bring all back to this meaningful center of life. Without gentleness, thoughtfulness, and humanity, even with impressive, magnificent riches, glistening silver, and outstanding architecture, what have we?
Berating, judging will not do. Love and compassion for all, will.
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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