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Among the components of the mishkan (Tabernacle) described in Parashat Teruma is the "shulchan," the table on which the "show-bread" was placed. The Ramban explains the purpose of the shulchan by postulating that since creation, God's blessing does not come about "yeish mei-ayin" - from nothing. Only when there already exists some "raw material" will God's blessing abound. Thus, for example, the prophet Elisha saved the poor women from her debts by having her small stock of oil multiply (Melakhim II 4:20); the initial supply was necessary in order for the miracle to set in and multiply the quantity of oil. Similarly, through the bread on the shulchan God's blessing of prosperity will take effect and spread throughout Am Yisrael and the world.

The Taz, in Orach Chayim 670, cites a Zohar that explicitly establishes this very idea: God will not create something new from nothing, but He will multiply a preexisting substance. Based on this principle, the Taz arrives at an interesting solution to the famous question posed by the Beit Yosef as to why Chazal established eight days of Chanukah. Since the jug of oil contained enough oil for a single day, the miracle occurred over the course of seven days, not eight. The Taz suggests that as God would not simply create oil out of nothing, there must have been some oil left over on the first day from which to light on the subsequent days. Thus, a miracle indeed occurred on the first day, as well, in that the oil was not entirely consumed.

Rav Aharon Lewin, in his "ha-Derash veha-Iyun," cites a difficulty raised in the work, "Or Tzvi" (on Parashat Miketz) against this explanation of the Taz. The Gemara in Menachot 88b states that if a candle of the menorah would be extinguished before all the oil had been used, the remaining oil was to be removed before the menorah was rekindled. Thus, if the Almighty miraculously left a remnant of the original oil in the oil cups, the Chashmonaim would have had to empty the cups before lighting the menorah the following day. Such a miracle, therefore, would have been useless.

Rav Lewin, however, answers that the provision established by the Gemara in Menachot did not apply in the situation of the Chashmonaim. The reason why oil should not be reused in the menorah, he explains, is based on the principle, "ein aniyut be-makom ashirut," or, "there is no poverty in a place of wealth." The Mikdash was to be run in a manner reflecting royalty and grandeur. Reusing leftover oil connotes shortage and scarcity, a need to conserve, a connotation that has no place in the royal chambers of God's Temple. Certainly, though, in extenuating circumstances, such as those faced by the Chashmonaim who had but a tiny quantity of oil with which to light the menorah, this principle could not practically be applied. Thus, the Chashmonaim could - and, according to the Taz, did - reuse the oil that was miraculously left over after the first day of kindling.

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Both in his Sefer ha-Mitzvot (mitzvot asei, 20) and Hilkhot Beit ha-Bechira (1:1) in the Mishneh Torah, the Rambam cites the following, celebrated verse from Parashat Teruma as the source for the mitzva to construct a Temple: "They shall make for Me a Sanctuary" (25:8). However, towards the very end of the Mishneh Torah, in Hilkhot Melakhim 1:1, the Rambam discusses the three mitzvot charged upon Benei Yisrael after they entered Canaan, one of them being the construction of the Beit ha-Mikdash. There the Rambam cites a different verse: "you shall seek His residence and go there" (Devarim 12:5). (This verse is cited by the Semag as the source of this mitzva, as well.) How are we to account for these two, seemingly conflicting sources of this mitzva?

It seems clear that the Rambam distinguished between two requirements: the general obligation to construct a Sanctuary of some sort, and the specific command to establish a permanent location for that Sanctuary. In his listing of the 613 mitzvot, the Rambam lists one, general obligation of, "They shall make for Me a Sanctuary." At different points in history, however, this mitzva took on varying forms. Its initial form was the building of the mishkan, whereas later it entailed the establishment of the permanent site of the Temple in Yerushalayim. In Sefer ha-Mitzvot and Hilkhot Beit ha-Bechira, the Rambam addresses this general obligation. By contrast, in his treatment of the three mitzvot that took effect after Benei Yisrael successfully settled the land, the Rambam discusses one particular halakha relevant to this general mitzva. Namely, when Benei Yisrael settle the land, they must establish a permanent structure for the Mikdash in place of the mobile mishkan they had used until that point.

On the philosophical level, the mishkan/Mikdash is often viewed as symbolic of religious life in general, the values of sanctity and holiness. Here, too, we are charged with a general commandment that assumes different forms in different time periods. The ideal of "you shall make for Me a Sanctuary," of living spiritually meaningful lives, must be pursued at all times and under all circumstances. The particular application of this ideal, however, will vary from one person to the next, from one generation to the next, and from one situation to the next. Students of Rav Soloveitchik recall him claiming that every generation bears a particular responsibility regarding one of the mitzvot; meaning, in every generation there is one mitzva that takes on critical importance, more so than in other generations. Bringing God's "Shekhina" into our lives requires sincere devotion to the ideals of sanctity, Torah study and mitzva observance; the particular expression of that devotion depends on the given individual and the given circumstances.

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Yesterday, we noted that the Rambam codifies a verse in Parashat Teruma - "They shall make for Me a sanctuary" - as an obligation to build a Mikdash. A somewhat surprising expansion of this mitzva is cited from several works in the "Sedei Chemed" (vol. 1, p.332). These authorities maintain that the Biblical obligation of constructing a Sanctuary mandates the construction of synagogues, as well. Thus, the building of a Beit Kenesset in a community constitutes not only "tzorkhei rabbim," a communal need, but "tzorkhei mitzva," the fulfillment of a mitzva. One practical ramification of this principle, as discussed at length by Rabbi Herschel Shachtar in his Eretz ha-Tzvi (chapter 12), relates to the expansion of a synagogue when a community outgrows it. The Tzemach Tzedek (94) rules that when new congregants move in and the building cannot contain all the members, the "old-timers" cannot tell the newcomers to build their own Beit Kenesset. Rather, the newcomers can force the original members to participate in the expansion of the synagogue building. As the construction of a Beit Kenesset constitutes a Biblical imperative, all members of a community must take part in ensuring proper and adequate synagogue facilities.

Other sources indicate that not only does the obligation to build a Sanctuary refer to Batei Kenesset, but several detailed laws regarding the Mikdash apply to the synagogue, as well. The Rambam (Hilkhot Tefila 11:3) rules that the "bima" - the table on which the Torah is placed when it is read in the Beit Kenesset - should be situated in the center of the synagogue. This ruling is accepted as authoritative by the Tur and Rema (O.C. 150). The Chatam Sofer (Shut, O.C. 28) explains this requirement based on the positioning of the mizbei'ach in the Mikdash. As Rashi explains in our parasha (26:35), the mizbach ha-zahav - the altar situated inside the Tabernacle - was placed in between the menorah and the shulchan (show-bread table), in the center of the exterior chamber of the mishkan. The Chatam Sofer contends that in our Batei Kenesset, the bima from where thTorah is read parallels the altar in the Mand must therefore be situated in the center of the synagogue. The Chafetz Chayim, in his Bei'ur Halakha, strongly denounces the neglect of this halakha in many Batei Kenesset of his day.

Furthermore, the Chayei Adam (17) cites the view of the Yereim that the requirement to show respect to the Beit Kenesset constitutes a Biblical imperative - an extension of the mitzva to show reverence to the Temple grounds ("mora mikdash"). Some Acharonim have noted that the Rambam appears to follow this view. Nevertheless, we do find halakhic differences between the respect required in the Beit ha-Mikdash and in a synagogue. The Gemara in Masekhet Berakhot (63a) indicates that one must treat a Beit Kenesset with the same standard of cleanliness that one normally maintains in his own home. In the Beit ha-Mikdash, however, an objective standard of reverence must be observed. (The Gemara there speaks of "expectorating and wearing shoes," which in those times people would do in their homes but was forbidden on the site of the Temple.) Rav Soloveitchik explained that although the obligation to conduct oneself with reverence in the synagogue evolves from the same mitzva requiring respect towards the Temple, one basic difference exists. The Mikdash is to be viewed as the "Beit Hashem," God's home; when visiting His residence, as it were, we are bound by His stringent standard. The Beit Kenesset, however, is the home of Kelal Yisrael, the place where the Almighty descends, as it were, to meet with us. The required standard is thus that which people normally maintain in their own homes.

In the aforementioned chapter in his work, Rav Shachtar notes that Rav Soloveitchik applied this principle to walking into the synagogue with rubbers or dirt on one's shoes. Just as in modern homes we remove our boots when entering from inclement weather, so must worshippers coming to the synagogue remove their overshoes, rather than bringing the snow and mud into the sanctuary.

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According to many views in the Midrashim and commentaries, the mishkan, described in great detail in Parashat Teruma, served as an atonement for the sin of the golden calf. (Though the Torah relates the incident of the calf only later in Chumash, according to this view Parashat Teruma appears in the Torah out of chronological sequence.) The Midrash Tanchuma (Teruma, 8) seems to point to one very specific point of correspondence between the calf and the mishkan, rendering the latter an atonement for the former: "Let the gold of the mishkan come and atone for the gold with which the calf was fashioned… " Why does the Midrash emphasize specifically the gold as atoning for the golden calf? If Benei Yisrael already worshipped a graven image, does it really matter whether it was made from gold, a different metal, wood, or fabric? Why must they earn expiation for the donation of gold to the calf?

A beautiful explanation is suggested by Rav Shimon Schwab, in his "M'ayan Beit ha-Sho'eiva." Gold often symbolizes purity, in our case, purity of thought. The Ramban (Shemot 32:1) and others claim that Benei Yisrael did not actually worship the golden calf. Rather, they fashioned an image that would serve as a physical representation, a medium through which they can relate to the Almighty. In Moshe's absence, they felt they needed such a representation. They acted with the purest of intentions and noblest motives. Nevertheless, after having experienced God's revelation they should have known better, and they were therefore punished - their noble intentions notwithstanding.

Rav Schwab thus suggests that the image of the gold which the Midrash emphasizes represents Benei Yisrael's pure intentions during the incident of the calf. God now tells the nation to channel those same intentions, the same zeal and enthusiasm for a connection to the Creator, into the construction of the mishkan.

Like gold, good intentions are precious. However, they can also be misused, just as Benei Yisrael willingly contributed their jewelry to the golden calf campaign. Ensuring that our priorities, concerns and ambitions are properly directed constitutes a critical step towards a true Torah lifestyle. We must never forget, however, to choose the second step carefully. Good intentions that are not followed up by careful scrutiny can be implemented in the wrong direction, and thus result in a golden calf, rather than a pure, golden Sanctuary.

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"Mi-shenikhnas Adar marbim be-simcha" - "when Adar comes, we increase our joy" (Ta'anit 29a). Why do Chazal require us to increase our joy in anticipation of Purim in particular, something that we do not find with regard to other joyous holidays? Why don't Chazal mandate an increase in our joy with the onset of the month of Kislev, as we prepare to celebrate our victory over Greek oppression? And what about the month of Sivan - the month in which we received the Torah? And we haven't even mentioned Nissan - the month of our redemption when we became an independent nation for the first time. Why must we increase our joy specifically as we prepare for Purim?

Rav Tzadok ha-Kohen of Lublin (in Peri Tzadik - Shemot, p.126) explains the nature of the unique joy associated with the festival of Purim. The Jewish victory in Shushan appeared as an entirely natural event devoid of any divine intervention or supernatural quality. Ester found herself "in the right place, at the right time," she intervened on her people's behalf, and they formed a powerful military that defeated their enemies. As we all know, God's Name is mentioned nowhere in Megilat Ester. Benei Yisrael themselves, it appears, determined their fate and brought about salvation.

Rav Tzadok suggests that herein lies the unique celebration of Purim. On Pesach, Benei Yisrael were confined to their homes as the Almighty smote the Egyptians and unmistakably freed His people. But the ultimate joy occurs when a person achieves success through his own efforts while still acknowledging the Hand of God that renders these efforts effective. Rav Tzadok adds that the very beginning of Benei Yisrael's struggle against Haman operated in a similar fashion. "Yehoshua overwhelmed the Amalekites by the sword" (Shemot 17:13). Although Benei Yisrel's victory was dependent upon their looking to the heavens (ibid., 11, and Rashi), the Torah ultimately attributes their success to Yehoshua. The same balance between human initiative and divine assistance characterized the Jews' salvation during the time of Mordekhai and Ester. While looking up the heavens for help, the Jews battled their foes and emerged victorious. This is the special joy of Purim, of Benei Yisrael themselves bringing about their own salvation with the Almighty's help.

We may propose a slight modification of Rav Tzadok's approach based on Rashi's comment on the aforementioned Gemara in Masekhet Ta'anit. Rashi in fact writes that we increase our joy with the onset of Adar because it heralds the arrival of the festive Purim/Pesach season (all the hard work notwithstanding). By including both Purim and Pesach as the reason for our joy with the advent of Adar, Rashi perhaps points to the respective qualities of each festival. During this season we celebrate both our victories achieved through our own efforts as well the salvation granted to us by God when such efforts were impossible. Purim commemorates God's Hand working "behind the scenes" when we have the ability to fight our own wars and defeat our enemies through our own initiative; Pesach marks God's deliverance of His people when they are helpless and hopeless. The unique joy of Adar thus relates to our recognition of our dependence on the Almighty, whether or not we have the ability to invest our own efforts.

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Many commentators have noted that twice in Parashat Teruma - within a span of just several verses - God instructs the placing of the luchot (two tablets) inside the aron (ark): "You shall place in the ark the [tablets of the] testimony that I will give you" (25:16); "inside the ark you shall place the [tablets of the] testhat I will give you" (25:21). How are we to understand this repetition?

Some commentaries, inthe Peirush ha-Tur and the Or ha-Chayim, explain that the two verses refer to the two sets of tablets. Recall that according to many views, as discussed yesterday, the commandment to build the mishkan was issued only after, and in response to, the sin of the golden calf. As we read in Parashat Ki-Tisa, the incident of the calf led Moshe to break the original set of luchot. Thus, God here informs Moshe that he must place into the ark both the new set of luchot as well as the remnants of the original set that he had broken. Rav Aharon Lewin, in his ha-Derash veha-Iyun, notes that the Midrashic translation, Targum Yonatan Ben Uziel appears to adopt this approach, as well. In the first verse cited, Targum Yonatan translates the word, "edut" (testimony) as simply, "sahaduta," the Aramaic word for "testimony." In the second verse, however, Targum Yonatan translates the same Hebrew word as, "luchei sahaduta" - the tablets of the testimony. Apparently, Targum Yonatan understood the first verse as referring to the original, shattered set of luchot. He therefore speaks only of "testimony," the covenant that the stone remnants represented, but not of actual "tablets," as they had been shattered. The second verse, by contrast, speaks of the second tablets, lending themselves to the Aramaic translation of "luchei sahaduta."

The Ramban suggests that the second verse comes to explain the immediately preceding verses, which describe the "keruvim" (cherubim). God here explains to Moshe why a kapporet (covering for the ark) with keruvim were necessary: because the ark contains the tablets. God will speak to Moshe from in between the two keruvim (25:22); these keruvim must therefore be placed atop the ark containing the tablets, which serves as the "throne" of the Almighty.

The Chizkuni takes the converse approach, finding a specific reason for the presentation of the first command (whereas the Ramban suggested a specific reason for the second command). The first verse requiring the placement of the tablets inside the aron follows the prohibition against removing the transport poles from the ark. The Chizkuni claims that this prohibition is based on the interest to show honor and reverence towards the ark. As explained more clearly by Rabbenu Yosef Bekhor Shor, this prohibition ensured that when transporting the ark, it would not have to be handled at all prior to the actual transport. The levi'im would come and immediately find the ark ready for transport. This was necessary as a demonstration of honor for the aron. Thus, immediately after issuing this prohibition, the Torah explains the underlying reason of this provision: the ark contains the luchot. The special status of the tablets required that the ark be treated with a particularly stringent standard of respect, thus explaining why the poles were not to be removed.

Tomorrow we will iy"H discuss Rashi's approach to the repetition.

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Yesterday we noted that in His discussion of the aron (ark) in Parashat Teruma, God twice tells Moshe to place the luchot (tablets) inside the ark (25:16, 25:21). Why must He mention this twice?

Rashi explains that the second verse teaches the sequence by which the ark is to be assembled: first the tablets must be placed inside, and then the kapporet, the covering, is to be placed above the aron.

At first glance, this explanation seems very difficult. How else could Moshe have placed the tablets inside the aron? Is it not obvious that he must first insert the luchot before covering it? Why must God reiterate this point?

The Rosh, in "Hadar Zekeinim," raises this question and suggests that this verse prohibits covering the ark any time without having first placed the luchot inside. Even placing the kapporet to see if it sits properly on the aron is prohibited if the luchot are not first placed inside.

A different explanation of Rashi's comment has been suggested more recently, by Rav Asher Weiss in his "Minchat Asher" to Masekhet Bava Batra (46:8). He understands Rashi as offering the explanation suggested by the Maharal of Prague, in his "Gur Aryeh." The Maharal views this repetition as an example of the famous Talmudic principle, "shina alav ha-katuv le-akev." A repetition of a given halakha (particularly with regard to the laws of kodshim) in the Torah implies its indispensability, that if it is not observed the given service is invalid. Thus, by repeating the command to place the luchot inside the aron, the Torah teaches that an aron without the tablets is not considered an aron at all. This explains why in the Second Temple no ark was constructed. Towards the end of the First Commonwealth, the ark was hidden together with the tablets. Thus, when the Second Temple was built, there would have been no purpose in building another aron, as it would not have contained the tablets. (This approach appears as well in Rabbenu Bechayei's commentary.)

Rav Weiss suggests that to this Rashi referred in his comment. The aron cannot be completed without the presence of the tablets, as they lend the ark its formal status of an "aron kodesh."

In conclusion, we should note that an entirely different approach to the repetition is suggested by Rav Meir Simcha ha-Kohen of Dvinsk, in his Meshekh Chokhma. After first offering the explanation of the Maharal (which he seems to have come up with without ever seeing the Gur Aryeh), Rav Meir Simcha then suggests that the second verse does not refer to the tablets at all. Instead, it refers to the Sefer Torah that was placed alongside the ark. God here tells Moshe that after covering the ark with the kapporet, he should place the "edut" - "testimony," referring to the Sefer Torah, next to the ark, and there is no repetition whatsoever.

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