PARASHAT TERUMA

By Rav David Silverberg

            Parashat Teruma presents the instructions concerning the Mishkan and its various components, beginning with the aron (ark).  God commands Benei Yisrael to construct the ark and its transport poles, adding that the poles should be inserted through rings affixed to the aron, and not be removed from their position alongside the aron (25:15).  The Gemara in Masekhet Yoma (72a) interprets this verse as establishing a Torah prohibition against removing the poles from the sides of the ark.

            Later, in Parashat Vayakhel (37:5), we read that Betzalel, the chief artisan assigned over the Mishkan’s construction, inserted the transport poles alongside the aron after it was completed.  It would seem that at this point, the moment the poles were inserted in place, the prohibition against removing the poles took effect, and they were no longer allowed to be removed from alongside the aron.  Yet, we find that the poles were, in fact, removed from alongside the ark at some point after Betzalel had put them in place.  In Parashat Pekudei, the Torah describes Moshe’s assembly of the Mishkan after the building and all its furnishings were completed, and as part of this process he affixed the transport poles alongside the ark: “He took and placed the Testimony inside the ark and placed the poles upon the ark; and he placed the covering over the ark, on top” (40:20).  If Moshe put the poles in place, then quite obviously they must have been removed at some earlier point, after Betzalel had put them into place – which would seem to have violated the prohibition against removing the poles.

            Rav Moshe Soloveitchik (cited in the journal Mesora, vol. 15, p. 48) answered by establishing that the aron did not obtain its formal halakhic status as an “aron” until Moshe placed the tablets (the “Testimony”) inside it.  On numerous occasions, the Torah refers to the ark as “aron ha-eidut” (the “Ark of Testimony”), implying that its role as containing the luchot (tablets) is integral to its essence.  Until it contained the luchot, the ark was not endowed with its formal status.  As such, the prohibition against removing the poles from alongside the aron took effect only after Moshe placed the luchot inside the ark.  As clearly indicated in the aforementioned verse in Parashat Pekudei, Moshe placed the luchot only after the Mishkan and its appurtenances were completed, at the time when he assembled the Mishkan.  Therefore, the poles of the ark were allowed to be removed before that point, as the aron had yet to obtain its formal status.

            We should note that in our S.A.L.T. series last year, we cited the Meshekh Chokhma (25:21) and the Rashash (Yoma 53b) as proposing this theory to explain why the Jews of the Second Temple era did not construct a new aron.  The Talmud (Yoma 52b) relates that King Yoshiyahu, who reigned toward the end of the First Temple period, buried the aron underneath the Temple Mount.  The Second Temple was constructed without an ark, and a number of writers raised the question of why the Jews did not see fit to build a new ark.  According to the aforementioned Acharonim, the answer is that the ark serves no purpose without the luchot; the mitzva to construct an aron applies only when it can serve its function of containing the luchot.  Therefore, since the luchot were no longer available, there would be no purpose served by constructing a new aron.  (The Pardes Yosef in Parashat Teruma cites a similar answer from Rav Chayim Ozer Grodzynsky.)

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            Yesterday, we noted the question raised by a number of writers as to why the Jews of the Second Temple era did not construct a new aron (ark) when they built the new Mikdash.  The original aron built by Benei Yisrael in the wilderness (as God commanded in Parashat Teruma) was buried underneath the Temple Mount toward the end of the First Commonwealth, and no new ark was constructed to take its place in the Second Temple.  There seems, at first glance, to be no reason why the mitzva to build an ark should be any different from the commandment to build a Beit Ha-mikdash or the other furnishings.  A number of writers thus endeavored to explain why the Jews of the Second Commonwealth chose not to build a new aron when they build a new Temple and new furnishings.

            Rav Yosef Dov Soloveitchik (cited in the journal Mesora, vol. 15, p. 49) answered by positing the novel theory that the initial aron served even the second Beit Ha-mikdash.  In his view, the underground site where King Yoshiyahu buried the ark was considered an acceptable place for the aron where it was deemed part of the Temple, and thus the Second Temple was considered as having an ark.  Rav Soloveitchik drew proof for this theory from the Rambam’s comments in Hilkhot Beit Ha-bechira (4:1), where he writes that King Shelomo constructed the underground site directly underneath the site of the aron already during the construction of the Temple.  From the outset, it appears, this small cavern was prepared as an alternative site for the ark.  Hence, the Second Temple was considered to have had an ark on its premises, even though the ark was buried deep beneath the ground, rather than occupying its preferred place inside the building.

            Rav Menachem Genack elaborates on this theory in his work Gan Shoshanim (38), in reference to a comment in the Tosefot Yeshanim in Masekhet Yoma (52b).  The Gemara there relates that when King Yoshiyahu buried the aron, he also buried the jar of manna that was situated near the ark in the Temple (and Aharon’s staff that had blossomed).  As the Gemara explains, the king made a textual inference indicating that the jar of manna should be treated like the ark, and thus once circumstances dictated burying the ark (for the reasons discussed in the Gemara), the jar of manna had to go underground with it.  Tosefot Yeshanim notes a different possible basis for why King Yoshiyahu found it necessary to move the jar of manna.  God had commanded that the jar of manna be placed “lifnei he-eidut” (“in front of the testimony” – Shemot 16:34), indicating that the jar must always be situated immediately in front of the ark.  Naturally, then, when Yoshiyahu moved the ark, he was required to move the jar of manna, as well.  Tosefot Yeshanim thus raises the question of why the Gemara did not cite this factor as the basis for Yoshiyahu’s decision.

            As Rav Genack notes, Tosefot Yeshanim works on the surprising assumption that the jar of manna had to be positioned near the ark wherever the ark was taken.  Intuitively, one would think that once the ark is removed from its position in the Beit Ha-mikdash, it loses its formal status of an aron, and there is thus no purpose served in placing the jar of manna in front of it.  Presumably, God commanded that the jar be placed near the aron when it served its formal function as the “ark of the testimony,” which seemingly hinges upon its being situated in its place in the Temple (or Mishkan).  Yet, Tosefot Yeshanim assumed that even once the ark was buried, the mitzva to place the jar of manna next to it remained applicable.

            Rav Genack explains that this assumption becomes much easier to understand if we view the underground site as the formally designated alternative site of the ark.  Even after Yoshiyahu buried the ark, it was not displaced; it was simply transferred to its alternative location underneath.   It therefore retained its formal halakhic status as an aron, and the mitzva to keep the jar of manna near it remained in place.

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            In a previous edition of S.A.L.T., we discussed the verse in Parashat Teruma (25:15) which states regarding the transport poles of the aron, “they shall not move from it” (“lo yasuru mimenu”).  As Rashi cites from the Gemara, this verse establishes a prohibition against removing the transport poles from alongside the ark.  Although the poles ostensibly served simply for transport, they were to forever remain in place along the side of the aron.  This applied even once the Beit Ha-mikdash was built, when the aron was to rest eternally in its chamber in the Temple and never be transported again.

            Numerous explanations have been offered for this halakha, which at first glance seems somewhat difficult to understand.  What purpose did the transport poles’ presence serve when the ark was at rest?  What might have the Torah sought to convey by commanding Benei Yisrael to keep the poles affixed to the sides of the ark at all times?

            Rav Moshe Feinstein (Kol Ram, vol. 2) suggested a possible symbolic approach to this halakha.  We are to perceive the ark, which contained the tablets and the original Sefer Torah, as something that we must permanently bear on our shoulders.  An ark without transport poles is an ark at rest – one which could be stored away from mind and thought.  An ark to which its poles are constantly affixed, by contrast, is an ark that must always be carried, a responsibility that weighs upon us at every moment and under all circumstances.  The presence of the poles even while the ark was at rest served to bring to mind the Leviyim carrying the aron on their shoulders while traversing the wilderness – and establishes that image as the constant model of our relationship with Torah.  We may never “put the Torah down” in the fullest sense, remove it from our shoulders and leave it be.  The study and practice of Torah is a responsibility that remains upon at every stage of life, at any point during the year or day, and in all situations in which we find ourselves.  God therefore commanded that the poles should always remain in place – symbolizing the need to always view the Torah as an obligation and challenge that we are both bound and privileged to bear.

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            The first of the Mishkan’s furnishings described in Parashat Teruma is the aron, a wooden ark that was plated with gold on both its interior and exterior surfaces (25:11).  Already in the Talmud, the ark’s gold plating was approached with symbolic meaning.  Citing this verse, Rava comments, “Any Torah scholar whose interior does not correspond to his exterior is not a Torah scholar” (Yoma 72b).  Just like the aron, a Torah personality must be “gold-plated” both internally and externally.  His outward appearance of piety and scholarship must be an accurate reflection of his internal devotion to God and His Torah, rather than merely a superficial exhibition.

            The Beit Halevi extended this analogy a bit further, suggesting that the gold plating is instructive not only for the scholar’s conduct, but also regarding the people’s attitude toward the scholar.  Just as Benei Yisrael were to plate the aron both internally and externally, similarly, the nation is to support the Torah scholar on two levels: privately and publicly.  The internal plating of the aron symbolizes the obligation to support the scholars and their families, to ensure that their private lives are stable and secure.  But in addition, the people are to provide the scholars with an outer “gold coating,” with a becoming and respectable appearance by seeing to it that they can purchase proper attire and the like.  Besides caring for the Torah scholars’ basic needs, the nation must ensure that outwardly the scholars give a respectable appearance as befitting their lofty stature.

            We might apply the Beit Halevi’s analogy to the Torah itself.  The mitzva to plate the aron on both sides may allude to our obligation to fortify the Torah on both levels – essentially, and externally.  The interior gold coating symbolizes the need to preserve the intrinsic essence of Torah, to maintain its purity and authenticity by interpreting it and applying it with precise accuracy.  But we bear as well the additional obligation of coating the Torah’s exterior – doing what we can to make the Torah seem “golden” and attractive even to outsiders.

It often seems that the two objectives are very much at odds with one another, that strictly preserving the Torah’s integrity necessarily comes at the expense of its image and appearance, and, conversely, that to make it appealing we must compromise its “inner coating.”  The structure of the aron perhaps teaches that both objectives are attainable.  We are indeed obliged to plate both aspects of the Torah with pure gold.  It is possible – and hence obligatory – to maintain the purity of both the Torah’s essence and exterior.  We must uncompromisingly preserve the accuracy and integrity of the Torah’s values and laws while at the same time ensuring, to the best of our ability, that it shines and glimmers, that its beauty and majesty are clearly manifest for all too see.  Our desire to lend the Torah a “golden” appearance must never lead us to remove its inner gold coating, to distort or misrepresent it; at the same time, our zealous efforts to preserve its integrity must be accompanied by a concentrated to effort to “plate” its exterior and give it an inviting and welcoming appearance.

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            Earlier this week, we noted the theory posited by a number of Acharonim (including the Rashash in Masekhet Yoma and the Meshekh Chokhma in Parashat Teruma) regarding the integral relationship between the aron (ark) in the Mikdash and what it contained.  According to these writers, the ark has no halakhic significance in the absence of the luchot – the stone tablets that Moshe brought from Sinai and that were contained in the aron.  The purpose of the ark was to contain the luchot, and thus without the tablets, the ark serves no purpose.  These writers invoked this theory to explain (among other things) why the Jews of the Second Commonwealth did not construct a new ark.  The original aron was buried underneath the Temple prior to its destruction, and the Jews who built the second Mikdash apparently saw no need to construct a new ark.  The reason, according to these Acharonim, is that as the luchot were inaccessible, the construction of a new ark would not have served any halakhic purpose.

            One might develop this theory a step further in an attempt to identify its broader significance in the context of the symbolism commonly associated with the Beit Ha-mikdash.  The Temple was the site where people would encounter and experience the divine presence, which rested specifically upon the ark.  The Temple was arranged as a kind of “home,” with an outer courtyard, “living quarters” consisting of a lamp, a table with food, and incense altar for fragrance, and the “private chamber” behind the curtain, where the ark stood.  Undoubtedly, the kodesh ha-kodashim, the inner sanctum where the ark was kept, symbolizes the King’s private quarters that remains closed and off-limits to even His personal attendants, the kohanim (except on Yom Kippur, when the “chief attendant” enters to ask for forgiveness).  Moreover, God explicitly tells Moshe that once the Mishkan was constructed, He would speak to Moshe from atop the aron (25:22).  The aron, then, is God’s seat, so-to-speak, the site where He “resides.”

            Significantly, this “seat” can function as such only if it contains the luchot, upon which are inscribed the ten general categories of the divine law.  God’s residence among the people, and the entire notion of the human being’s encounter with the Almighty, hinges upon the observance of His law.  Any attempt to draw close to God while neglecting His creed is, by definition, a failed attempt.  Indeed, a number of sources indicate that the Shekhina (divine presence) did not reside in the Second Temple because the luchot were not present.  Without the divine law, there cannot be a divine encounter.

            The indispensability of the luchot also bears significance with respect to the specific symbolic meaning of the ark itself. The aron’s covering was adorned with two golden keruvim (cherubs).  The Gemara in Masekhet Yoma (54a) tells that when Benei Yisrael would make their pilgrimage to the Mikdash on Pesach, Shavuot and Sukkot, the kohanim would open the parokhet (curtain) to show them the aron.  Miraculously, the keruvim would be embracing one another, symbolic of the Almighty’s affection toward Benei Yisrael (an appropriate theme for the pilgrimage festivals, when the people would visit God’s “home” to celebrate their relationship with Him).  The keruvim, then, represent the relationship of love and affection that exists between God and His people.

            Importantly, the aron is capable of conveying this message only when it contains the luchot, representative of our duties and obligations to the Almighty.  We cannot speak of love of God without obedience to His authority; there is no meaning to the embrace of the keruvim in the absence of strict observance of God’s laws.  Though many have challenged the need for or value of Halakha in Jewish life, traditional Judaism views it as the cornerstone and fundamental basis of the nation’s relationship to God.  And, in truth, this applies to any relationship.  An emotional bond between two people is meaningless if it does not rest upon a foundation of loyalty and duty, a commitment to mutual obligations and responsibilities.  The structure of the ark thus teaches that the loving embrace of the keruvim is dependent upon the “dry” technicalities of the luchot, the divine creed.  We cannot possibly claim with any degree of honesty to love God if we disregard His laws; only through our commitment to the luchot can we hope to reach the kind of relationship symbolized by the keruvim.

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            The Ramban’s introductory comments to Parashat Teruma, which rank among the most famous passages in his Torah commentary, discuss the fundamental nature and purpose of the Mishkan.  He writes, “The underlying concept [“sod”] of the Mishkan is that the glory which resided upon Mount Sinai resides upon it [the Mishkan] in a concealed fashion.”

            Rav Yosef Shaul Nathanson (1810-1875), in his Divrei Shaul (Mahadura Revi’a), elaborates upon this terse remark in the Ramban’s commentary.  What made the experience at Mount Sinai unique was the directness of Benei Yisrael’s encounter with God; for good reason, we refer to Ma’amad Har Sinai as the “Revelation,” the event where the nation beheld the Almighty in the most direct fashion possible.  Moshe emphasizes this point in Sefer Devarim (4:33,36): “Has a nation ever [before] heard the voice of God speaking from the fire as you did, and live… He had you hear His voice from the heavens…”  Ma’amad Har Sinai marked the first, and last, time that God revealed Himself directly – or as directly as possible – to an entire nation.

            The purpose of the Mishkan, according to the Ramban, is to transfer Benei Yisrael’s encounter with God from a direct to an indirect manner.  After the Revelation at Sinai, God would no longer allow Himself to be “seen” and experienced in such an overt fashion.  From that point on, Benei Yisrael would behold the Almighty in only representative form, through the medium of material objects.  In other words, the Mishkan serves to perpetuate the experience of Ma’amad Har Sinai specifically through the contrast between the two settings.  By way of the Mishkan, God proclaims to the people that they do not require a Ma’amad Har Sinai to experience Him, to have a relationship with Him.  Once we received the Torah – the first copy of which was stored inside the Mishkan (see Rashi, 25:16) – we can encounter the Almighty through any worldly object, such as the precious metals and wood used for building the Mishkan, by using them in the service of God.  As the Ramban writes, “the glory which resided upon Mount Sinai resides upon it in concealed fashion.”  The Mishkan marked the transition from direct revelation to indirect revelation, instructing that the people-God relationship forged at Ma’amad Har Sinai would now continue in a “concealed” fashion.

            The Divrei Shaul adds that the Gemara’s famous comment (Shabbat 88a) about the Jews’ reacceptance of the Torah during the Purim story should be understood along these lines.  The Purim miracle exemplifies God’s veiled relationship with Am Yisrael, and our observance of Purim exemplifies our recognition and celebration of this relationship despite its indirect nature.  The institution of Purim as a festive holiday testifies to the Jews’ affirmation of the concept underlying the Mishkan – God’s indirect revelation.  In response to the Purim miracle, the Jewish people reaffirmed their declaration of loyalty at Mount Sinai – under the precise opposite circumstances.  They proclaimed that just as they unwaveringly accepted the Torah upon witnessing the spectacle of Ma’amad Har Sinai, they similarly accept it even in exile, under foreign rule, when God’s authority and control are masked by the natural order.

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            The Midrash (Shemot Rabba 33:1), commenting on the opening verses of Parashat Teruma, explains the purpose of the Mishkan by way of a parable, comparing God to a king whose only daughter married and prepared to travel abroad to live with her husband.  The king said to the groom, “My daughter whom I gave you – she is my only [daughter].  I cannot separate from her, but I cannot tell you not to take her, because she is your wife.  So, do me this favor: Wherever you go, make a small chamber for me where I can reside with you, because I cannot leave my daughter.”

            After Matan Torah, the Midrash relates, God instructed Benei Yisrael to build for Him a “small chamber,” the Mishkan, so He can reside near the Torah, so-to-speak.  “This is what the Almighty said to Israel: I have given you the Torah.  I cannot separate from it, but I cannot tell you not to take it.  So, wherever you go, make for Me a building in which I will reside.”

            Rav Yosef Shaul Nathanson, in his Divrei Shaul, explains this Midrash as referring to the authority invested in the Torah scholars to interpret and apply the Torah.  A number of famous passages in the Talmud teach that God, quite literally, has no say in Torah law once He gave the Torah to Benei Yisrael.  Torah law is determined based on the scholars’ understanding of the material transmitted through our religious tradition, and their implementation of the rules and guidelines of pesak halakha (halakhic decision making) established in the Torah.  Rulings are not reached based on prophetic revelations of any sort.

            In this sense, the analogy drawn between the Torah and the king’s daughter is indeed a very accurate one.  At Matan Torah, the Torah left God’s authority, much as a princess leaves her father’s palace and control when she marries a prince of a foreign land.  Just as the king must now trust his new son-in-law to please and properly care for his precious daughter, so must the Almighty trust that Benei Yisrael will treat His Torah with care, and ensure not to distort or abandon it.  Naturally, the king’s anxious concern for his daughter makes it difficult for him to let go completely; he insists on exerting some level of supervision and control, and therefore beseeches his son-in-law to prepare a place for him so he can frequently visit.  In the case of God and His “daughter,” this purpose is served by the Mishkan.  The divine presence among Benei Yisrael serves to ensure that they will treat His Torah responsibly.  Sensing God’s presence, and having a constant reminder of our obligations to Him, the scholars will approach their work with utmost seriousness, care and tireless devotion.  Just as the king’s presence ensures that the son-in-law treats his new wife lovingly, similarly, the Almighty’s presence ensures that the Torah scholars treat the Torah as it ought to be treated.

            We might add that this concept might underlie the Sages’ famous remark that the Shekhina (divine presence) is present whenever somebody studies Torah (Avot 3:2).  Chazal perhaps speak here not of a reward for Torah learning, but rather of a burden of responsibility cast upon the student of Torah.  During study, a person must feel as though the Torah’s “Father” is present and observing it is being treated.  This awareness of the divine presence will help avoid distortions and careless errors in interpreting, analyzing and applying the Torah.  Studying Torah means caring for the Torah – a responsibility that must be approached with a keen sense of obligation and devotion, no less than the obligations of a groom to his bride.