S.A.L.T. – Parashat Teruma

By Rav David Silverberg

Motzaei Shabbat

            In the opening verses of Parashat Teruma, God issues the command that Benei Yisrael must bring the materials needed for constructing the Mishkan and its furnishings and accessories.  The final items mentioned in this list are the avnei shoham and avnei milu’im, the precious stones that adorned the garments of the kohen gadol (25:7).

            The Or Ha-chayim raises the question of why specifically the most costly materials were mentioned last.  Given the prominence and value of the precious stones, one might have expected the Torah to list them first, rather than saving them for the end.  Indeed, the first items listed are the precious metals, in descending order of value (gold, silver, copper – 25:3).  Seemingly, then, the precious stones should have been placed at the top of the list, as their value presumably exceeded that of the other required materials.

The Or Ha-chayim suggests several answers, including an explanation based upon the Gemara’s famous comment concerning the origin of these stones.  The Gemara in Masekhet Yoma (75b) relates that Benei Yisrael did not have precious stones or jewels with them in the wilderness.  The stones used for the priestly garments rained down from the heavens one morning with the manna.  Benei Yisrael did not donate the stones from their own pockets; these materials came directly from the heavens for the purpose of adorning the kohen gadol’s apron and breastplate.

            For this reason, the Or Ha-chayim suggests, the Torah mentioned this donation last.  The donation of the precious stones – ironically enough – was the most inferior, least impressive, and least important of all the donations.  These were the only materials that involved no sacrifice or selfless giving; essentially, they were donated by God, not people.  The most important donations were those which entailed the most sacrifice, and the least important donation was the one which entailed no sacrifice.

            Rav Avraham Pam noted that the same is true regarding all achievements.  The ones we cherish the most, and take the most pride in, are those which entailed the greatest effort and posed the greatest challenges.  The highest form of gratification is achieving goals that were difficult to realize but were nevertheless reached through hard work and determination.

            Rav Pam cited in this context the Mishna’s ruling in Masekhet Bava Metzia (38a) concerning fruit that one was instructed to guard on behalf of its owner.  If the guardian notices that the fruit has begun to spoil, he should not (according to the majority view in the Mishna) attempt to salvage the produce by selling it before its value drops any further.  He should instead allow it to continue spoiling until the owner comes to retrieve it.  The reason, as the Gemara explains, is that “a person prefers his own kav [a measure of food] than nine kabin of his fellow’s [food].”  The farmer, who worked and toiled to produce the fruit, cherishes the results of his labor.  He prefers eating his own fruit, despite its depreciated value and quality, over selling it and then purchasing higher quality food in its stead.

            Many endeavors in life pose difficult challenges and tall obstacles that we must struggle to surmount.  The efforts invested in these pursuits ultimately result in unparalleled gratification when the goal is achieved, far exceeding the satisfaction that can be experienced through success that one earns without exerting effort.

Sunday

            In introducing the command to construct a Mishkan, God tells Moshe in Parashat Teruma, “They shall make for me a Sanctuary…in accordance with all that I show you – the structure of the Mishkan and the structure of all its furnishings; so shall you do” (25:8-9).

            Rashi, commenting on the words, “ve-khein ta’asu” (“so shall you do”), writes, “For all times; if one of the furnishings is lost, or when you make for Me the furnishings in the Eternal Building [the Beit Ha-mikdash]…you shall make them like the structure of these.”  Meaning, according to Rashi, God here instructs that the specifications of the keilim (furnishings) of the Mishkan apply for all time, even in the Beit Ha-mikdash.

            The Ramban, in his commentary, cites Rashi’s comment and rejects his claim: “I didn’t know that this was true, that Shelomo [who constructed the First Temple] was required to make the furnishings of the Eternal Building like the structure of these.  Shelomo made the copper altar twenty cubits long and twenty cubits wide.”  The Ramban notes that, quite simply, King Shelomo did not build the furnishings of the Beit Ha-mikdash in accordance with the specifications outlined here in Parashat Teruma in the context of the Mishkan.  Case in point, the outdoor altar in the Mishkan was five square cubits (27:1), where the altar built by Shelomo for the Beit Ha-mikdash measured 20X20 (Divrei Hayamim II 4:1).  This seemingly disproves Rashi’s theory that the specifications of the furnishings in the Mishkan were to be followed for all time.

            Several different approaches have been taken to defend Rashi’s position.  Rav Eliyahu Mizrachi claimed that Rashi refers to proportion, but not to actual dimensions.  Shelomo’s altar was of course much larger than the altar in the Mishkan, but it was perfectly square, just as the altar in the Mishkan was.  Rashi meant that the furnishings must always be constructed in the same form and shape, but not necessarily in the same size, and therefore the size of the altar in the Beit Ha-mikdash does not undermine Rashi’s position.

            The Maharal of Prague, in his Gur Aryeh, explains differently, claiming that the altar is not considered one of the Temple’s “furnishings” in this respect.  The altar was attached to the ground, and was therefore considered part of the building, rather than one of the keilim.  Clearly, the dimensions of the building of the Temple did not have to follow the dimensions of the Mishkan.  By extension, then, the altar, which was set into the ground, was not bound by the dimensions of the altar in the Mishkan.

            Finally, the Taz, in his Divrei David Turei Zahav, suggests that Rashi did not mean to negate the possibility of constructing the Temple’s furnishings differently from the furnishings in the Mishkan.  Rather, Rashi meant that the furnishings in the future must resemble those of the Mishkan unless the people are told otherwise by a prophet.  Just as the specifications of the Mishkan and its furnishings were established through prophecy, similarly, for all time, the construction must follow the guidelines conveyed through prophecy.  This meant either following the specifications presented in the Torah, in the absence of any further prophetic guidance, or following the guidelines of a prophet at the time when the Temple is constructed.  The specifications of the First Temple were established by King David before his death based upon the instructions he received from a prophet (Divrei Hayamim I 28:19 – “Ha-kol bi-khtav mi-yad Hashem”), and for this reason they did not conform to the specifications found in Parashat Teruma in the context of the Mishkan.

MONDAY

            The Rambam, in his Hilkhot Beit Ha-bechira (2:3), discusses the dimensions of the altar in the courtyard of the Beit Ha-mikdash:

The dimensions of the altar are very precise, and its shape is known [through oral tradition] one person from another.  And the altar built by the exiles [who returned to Jerusalem from Babylonia and rebuilt the Temple] was made similar to the altar that will be built in the future.  Its dimensions may not be added onto or detracted from.

According to the Rambam, it seems, the dimensions of the altar constructed by King Shelomo for the First Temple are eternally binding.  The altar in the Temple courtyard must always be built according to the dimensions of the original altar built in Shelomo’s time.  For this reason, the Jews who returned from Babylonia to rebuild the Mikdash built the altar in accordance with the dimensions of Shelomo’s altar, and the altar in the future Beit Ha-mikdash will similarly be built according to these measurements.

            Many later scholars noted that Maimonides himself appears to directly contradict this ruling, later in this same chapter (halakha 17):

The four “horns” of the altar, and its foundation and square shape, are indispensable [for the altar’s validity].  Any altar that does not have horns, a foundation, a ramp or a square shape is invalid… But the dimensions of its length, width and height are not indispensable…

Here, the Rambam writes explicitly that the altar is valid regardless if its specific dimensions, seemingly directly contradicting his earlier ruling designating the original dimensions as the eternally binding measurements of the altar.

            Rav Aryeh Leib Malin (Chiddushei Rabbi Aryeh Leib, vol. 2, 27) answered that in these two passages the Rambam addresses two different aspects of the altar.  The altar served two distinct functions: it facilitated the offering of sacrifices, and it was part of the “furniture” of the Beit Ha-mikdash.  As the Rambam writes in the beginning of Hilkhot Beit Ha-bechira, there is a Biblical command to construct a Beit Ha-mikdash, based upon the famous verse in Parashat Teruma, “Ve-asu li Mikdash ve-shakhanti be-tokham” (“They shall make for Me a Sanctuary and I shall reside in their midst” – 25:8).  The fulfillment of this mitzva requires the construction of both the building and its furnishings.  Thus, the altar must be built for two purposes – to allow for the offering of sacrifices (which cannot be offered without an altar), and to fulfill the mitzva of constructing a Mishkan.

            In halakha 17, where the Rambam writes that the altar is valid regardless of its dimensions, he refers to the altar’s suitability as a place of sacrificial offerings.  With respect to this halakha, its size is of no consequence.  Earlier, where the Rambam insists that the altar be built according to the precise dimensions as the altar built by King Shelomo, he refers to the mitzva of “Ve-asu li Mikdash,” the obligation to build a Temple.  The fulfillment of this mitzva, the Rambam held, hinges upon the dimensions of the altar built by Shelomo, which establishes the model that must be followed for the construction of the Temple to be complete and satisfy this obligation.

TUESDAY

            The Midrash Tanchuma (Parashat Ki-Tisa, 10) relates that when God conveyed to Moshe the command that Benei Yisrael must construct a Mishkan, Moshe “was startled and retreated backward.”  He said to the Almighty, “Master of the world!  Even the heavens to their outermost reaches cannot contain You!”

            God answered Moshe, “Moshe – it is not as you think!  Rather, twenty planks in the north, twenty in the south, eight in the west and eight in the east, and I will constrict My presence and reside among them.”

            The question that vexed Moshe is perhaps representative of one of the fundamental questions that arise concerning the very notion of religious observance.  How can we, mortal human beings, bring the Almighty into our physical reality?  How does an infinite God “reside” in, or relate to, a finite world?  Just as Moshe could not understand how a wooden structure could serve as God’s residence, similarly, it is impossible to understand how any aspect of physical life can be infused with spiritual meaning.  How can a piece of animal hide be endowed with a status of sanctity?  Why should the sound of a ram’s horn assume any spiritual significance?  And how could the ingestion of food on certain occasions be considered a religious act?  How can God “reside” in anything we do?

            God’s answer to Moshe is perhaps the only explanation we have to the question of how an earthly being can live a spiritual life: “Twenty planks in the north, twenty in the south, eight in the west and eight in the east, and I will constrict My presence and reside among them.”  In other words, we must follow God’s instructions.  Moshe could not understand how God could reside in a Mishkan, but God reassured him that by following His commands, it will happen.  Similarly, we have no way of knowing how we can bring God into our lives – other than by following the instructions He has given us, by observing the mitzvot.  The question posed by King Shelomo, “Even the heavens to their outermost reaches cannot contain You, how much less this House that I have built!” (Melakhim II 8:27), remains and will always remain unanswered.  We will never understand how the Almighty, a non-physical Being who is above the limitations of physical matter, can enter our world.  But we are told the way this is achieved: “Twenty planks in the north, twenty in the south, eight in the west and eight in the east” – by scrupulously observing the detailed laws of the Torah.

            We oftentimes do not understand or sense how we bring God into our lives through halakhic observance.  Intuition and culture-induced habits might lead us to seek modifications to our traditional creed to make it more appealing to our preconceived ideas of “spirituality.”  The Midrash Tanchuma reminds us that we build and foster our relationship with the Almighty by arranging “twenty planks in the north, twenty in the south, eight in the west and eight in the east,” by fulfilling God’s instructions down to their very last detail, rather than making other attempts to answer Moshe’s question of how we bring God into our world.

WEDNESDAY

            The Torah in Parashat Teruma records God’s commands regarding the construction of the Mishkan and its furnishings, including the aron, the ark.  According to tradition, the aron contained both the luchot (tablets) that Moshe brought down from Mount Sinai, as well as the original Torah scroll.

            The Midrash in Parashat Mishpatim (Shemot Rabba 30:5) associates the Torah’s storage in the ark with the image of a captive locked in a chest: “I had one daughter, and I sold her to you – you carry her out only when she is locked up in a chest!  Treat her respectfully, for you have captured her from Me.”  The Torah naturally belongs in the heavens, with God, and it was taken “captive” to “serve” us here in this world; we “use” the Torah in the sense that it guides us and gives us direction in life.  As an object of sanctity, its natural “home” is in the “heavens.”  But like a prisoner who is forcibly taken away from his homeland and shipped to a distant land to serve as somebody’s slave, the Torah was removed from its “home” and brought here to earth to serve Benei Yisrael.

            As the Midrash comments, God implores us to treat the Torah “respectfully.”  The Torah is here to serve us, but this does not entitle us to do whatever we want with it.  A master tries to train and mold the servant in a fashion that best suits his needs, ensuring to reap the maximum benefit from the servant.  Just as a company hires a young employee in the hope of molding him or her according to the needs and interests of the business, similarly, some might seek to mold our “servant,” the Torah, to suit our personal interests, to accommodate our preconceived notions or desires.  We are therefore enjoined to treat the Torah with respect, to keep it in our service without attempting to change or modify it.  It serves our needs only to the extent to which it retains its status as “the King’s daughter,” if it remains intact the way we received it.  Only if the Torah is authentically preserved will it serve to provide guidance and instruction how to live our lives in accordance with the divine will.

THURSDAY

            The Torah in Parashat Teruma presents the commands concerning the Mishkan and its furnishings.  Four of the Mishkan’s furnishings – the ark, the two altars, and the table – were constructed with transport poles that were used by the Leviyim for carrying these articles during travel.  (As we read later, in Sefer Bamidbar, the Mishkan itself was transported in wagons.  The menorah, apparently, was transported on the Leviyim’s shoulders without transport poles.)

            Netziv, in his Ha’amek Davar (25:14, 27:6-7), notes an intriguing distinction between the different discussions of the transport poles in the Torah.  With regard to the ark and the mizbach ha-ola (the altar stationed outside the Mishkan), God commands affixing the poles as part of the instructions regarding the fashioning of these articles.  Amidst God’s commands concerning the building of the aron, He instructs that the poles be inserted in the rings in which they were kept (25:14), and, likewise, in the Torah’s discussion of the mizbach ha-ola, God commands the insertion of the transport poles (27:7).  By contrast, when the Torah commands Benei Yisrael to prepare transport poles for the table (25:28) and for the mizbach ha-ketoret (the incense altar, which was stationed inside the Mishkan – 30:5), it does not issue the command to affix the poles to the sides of the altar.  It seems that this was done only when the time came for Benei Yisrael to begin travel, and not at the time of the Mishkan’s construction.

            This distinction continues later in Sefer Shemot, in the Torah’s description of the construction of the Mishkan and its furnishings.  In the account of the construction of the aron (ark), the Torah informs us that Betzalel, who made the ark, affixed the transport poles alongside it (37:5).  In the context of the mizbach ha-ola, too, the Torah notes the affixing of the transport poles as part of the account of the altar’s construction (38:7).  No such mention is made of affixing the transport poles in the contexts of the table (37:10-16) or the mizbach ha-zahav (37:25-28).

            Netziv offers a symbolic explanation for this anomaly.  The presence of the poles alongside the ark and the mizbach ha-ola symbolized their transportability, that they are, by nature, capable of being transplanted.  The table and mizbach ha-ketoret, by contrast, are fundamentally bound to their respective positions inside the Mikdash, even though in the wilderness it was necessary to transport them.  The ark, Netziv explains, symbolizes the Torah (as the ark contained the original Torah scroll), and the mizbach ha-ola, where the sacrifices were offered, symbolizes avoda (ritual religious service).  These two aspects of religious life can and must be “transported” to wherever the Jewish people find themselves.  Even after the Temple’s destruction, we carry with us to every station in exile the ideal of Torah learning, as well as the ideal of avoda – in the form of prayer, which takes the place of the Temple service in the absence of the Beit Ha-mikdash.  The ideals symbolized by the table and mizbach ha-zahav, by contrast, are not transportable.  The table, according to the Netziv, alludes to Jewish kingship, while the mizbach ha-zahav represents the kehuna (priesthood).  These two institutions apply only when the Temple stands, when the divine presence resides among the people.  Therefore, the transport poles were affixed to the ark and the mizbach ha-ola as part of their construction, in order to emphasize their intrinsic transportability, while this was not required for the table or the mizbach ha-zahav.

            Netziv also notes in this context a distinction between the poles of the ark and the poles of the mizbach ha-ola.  Although both pairs of poles were affixed as part of these furnishings’ construction, only the ark’s poles had to remain permanently affixed (“lo yasuru mimenu” – 25:15).  No such provision applies to the transport poles of the mizbach ha-ola.  Although they were affixed at the time of the altar’s construction, we do not find any prohibition against subsequently removing them from the sides of the altar, as we do regarding the ark.

            The reason, Netziv explains, has to do with the Gemara’s famous comment in Masekhet Menachot (98b) concerning the aron’s position in the Beit Ha-mikdash.  Although the ark was not visible from its place in the kodesh ha-kodashim (holiest sanctum) behind the parokhet (curtain), its poles protruded into the curtain.  The Gemara describes this protrusion as an expression of God’s love and affection for Benei Yisrael (“ke-min shenei dadei isha”), a symbol of the special closeness between the Almighty and His nation.  (See Tosefot s.v. dochakin – “le-chibatan shel Yisrael”.)  Thus, Netziv explains, the ark’s poles remained affixed alongside the ark so that they could protrude against the curtain as an expression of God’s special affection for His people.

FRIDAY

            The opening verses of Parashat Teruma list the materials that Benei Yisrael were called upon to donate toward the construction of the Mishkan.  This list begins with the three metals that were necessary for the Mishkan – gold, silver and copper.

            The Midrash, in an intriguing passage (Shemot Rabba 49:2), comments that these three metals used in the Mishkan correspond to the three patriarchs.  The gold symbolizes Avraham; the silver represents Yitzchak; and the third metal, copper, alludes to Yaakov.

            What message might the Midrash seek to convey by associating the three precious metals with the three avot?

            Rav Yehuda Leib Graubart, in his Yabia Omer, explained by noting that, as Rashi (25:3) comments, the silver used in the Mishkan was not donated voluntarily.  As opposed to the other materials, which the people volunteered to give, the silver was obtained through a flat, mandatory tax.  The Torah writes later, in Parashat Pekudei (38:25-6), that the silver collected through the half-shekel tax supplied all the silver needed in the Mishkan.  All other materials, by contrast, were collected through voluntary donations, without any requirements as to who should donate, or how much.

            Numerous sources in homiletic literature associate the three patriarchs with the three “pillars upon which the world stands” – Torah, avoda and kindness (Avot 1:2).  Avraham, of course, embodied the ideal of loving kindness, as the Torah emphasizes in elaborating on the hospitality he extended and other acts of generosity and selflessness.  Yitzchak, who was offered as a sacrifice upon an altar, represents the ideal of avoda – the sacrificial order. Finally, Yaakov, the “dweller of tents” (Bereishit 25:27), is seen as the model of dedication to Torah learning.

            By associating the three metals with the three patriarchs, the Midrash perhaps seeks to establish the proper approach toward the three “pillars” of Torah study, sacrifices, and chesed.  When it comes to the “silver,” to the ideal of avoda represented by Yitzchak, we are not urged to make voluntary donations.  The Torah imposes strict requirements to bring sacrificial offering on certain occasions – just as it required each member of Benei Yisrael to donate a measure of silver – but it does not encourage indulging in sacrifices.  The areas in which we are strongly urged to indulge, to exert ourselves to greatest extent possible, are Torah learning and kindness.  Here, the Torah does not establish strict frameworks of obligation, just as it did not specify a particular amount of gold and copper required of each member of Benei Yisrael.  Rather, we are all to make the greatest effort we can in pursuing Torah scholarship and in assisting those in need.

            Developing this approach further, we might expand the connotation of avoda beyond the narrow definition of the sacrificial rite.  The silver, corresponding to Yitzchak, perhaps symbolizes the general area of the Torah’s ritualistic observances, the specific ritual obligations and restrictions.  It is perhaps significant that most of the silver collected through the half-shekel tax was used to produce the adanim, the sockets that formed the base of the Mishkan (see 38:27).  The basis of religious life is the ideal of avoda, strict obedience to God’s laws.  The Mishkan, a life of sanctity and devotion to God, cannot stand without this foundation of compliance with the Torah’s obligations and restrictions.  However, the Torah does not encourage additional, voluntary donations of silver.  Although there may be rare situations warranting personal vows and self-imposed measures, Halakha does not generally advocate voluntary do’s and don’ts, accepting upon oneself strictures and obligations beyond the basic creed of Torah observance.

            Once the basis of strict observance is established, we are urged to pursue the ideals of “gold” and “silver” at the very highest standard we can.  When it comes to the areas of Torah learning and chesed, we are indeed called upon to invest our time, resources, energies and ingenuity to reach the highest levels of achievement.  Here, we must not limit ourselves to basic, elementary requirements, and must instead strive to achieve the highest standards that are within our furthest reach.