Surf A Little Torah
Yeshivat Har Etzion

by Rav David Silverberg

Parashat Vayakhel tells of Benei Yisrael's meticulous compliance with God's commands regarding the construction of the Mishkan. A team of artisans, led by Betzalel, gathered the materials collected from the people and built the Mishkan and its accessories.

Notably, throughout the narrative describing the construction of the Mishkan, the Torah employs the singular form, as if only one individual constructed the Mishkan, despite the fact that an entire team of craftsmen worked on the project. The exception to this rule is the first verse that tells of the work: "Vaya'asu kol chakham lev…" (36:8), which is written in the plural form. (Another exception is the aron, which the Torah explicitly mentions was built by Betzalel personally; see 37:1 and Rashi.) How do we explain this shift?

The Or Ha-chayim suggested that this transition alludes to the miraculous nature of the Mishkan's construction. Normally, when different people work on different areas of a project, each finished product will bear the specific imprint of its maker; the homogeneity of the entire project will almost invariably be compromised. Given the individual style of each artisan, a joint project will often lack some degree of consistency. Regarding the Mishkan, the Torah wishes to emphasize that this was not the case. Although many different workers participated in the project, no single part of the Mishkan bore a particular imprint. It was as if one individual personally constructed the entire Mishkan and all its vessels.

Rav Moshe Feinstein suggested a different answer. Often, projects requiring the cooperation of many different people take the most time to complete. Each participant expects the others to shoulder the burden, and the work goes unfinished. The Torah here emphasizes the diligence that characterized the individual work of each artisan in the construction of the Mishkan. Despite the many participants, each one took responsibility as if the entire enterprise depended solely on his efforts. In this sense (as well as in many others), the Mishkan becomes the supreme example of the proper attitude towards religious responsibility. Torah and mitzvot cannot be looked upon as "for the other guy"; one cannot exempt himself on the grounds that others will do the work for him. Building the collective "Mishkan" of Am Yisrael - even in the absence of a physical Temple - demands the active and diligent participation of every member. Even though we are many, each of us must see the nation's "Mishkan" as his personal responsibility.

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Towards the beginning of Parashat Vayakhel, the Torah tells of Moshe's successful appeal for donations of materials for the construction of the Mishkan. Benei Yisrael respond by bringing too many materials for this project. The Torah records that the craftsmen in charge of the project complained to Moshe that they have received beyond that which was necessary for the Mishkan and its accessories. Moshe immediately announces the end of the appeal.

At first glance, it appears strange that too many materials were contributed. Was there nothing that could be done with the excess? Couldn't it have been used to add more beauty, to enhance the Mishkan, for some purpose?

The Seforno, sensitive to this question, writes (36:5) that no deviation whatsoever was permitted in the Mishkan's construction. The entire project, including the dimensions, weight, and quantity of all the Mishkan's components, had to correspond precisely with God's instructions to Moshe. In this sense, the Seforno adds, the Mishkan differed from the two Temples built in Jerusalem. Shelomo and Herod designed the two Temples, respectively, with their own intuitive plans with an eye for beauty and grandeur. In the Mishkan, this was not permitted. Therefore, there was nothing to be done with the excess donations.

The Seforno does not, however, explain the basis for this distinction between the Mishkan and the Temples. Why couldn't Benei Yisrael further glorify the Tabernacle by adding more gold and silver than God required?

Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg, in his "Yalkut Yehuda," offers an explanation on the basis of a comment in the work, "Rabbotenu Ba'alei Ha-tosafot" in Parashat Teruma. The Ba'alei Ha-tosafot there write that essentially, the ark should have been made entirely out of gold. An item of such sanctity and importance deserved to have no other material involved in its constitution. But God instructed that it be made from wood with gold plating, instead, out of consideration for the Levi'im, who had to transport the ark when the nation traveled. Carrying an ark made entirely of gold was too difficult a burden to charge upon the Levites, and so God ordered that the ark be made of wood. (Rabbotenu Ba'alei Ha-tosafot apply the same idea to the two altars, as well, which were also made of wood and plated with metal.)

For the same reason, Rav Ginsburg suggests, nothing could be added to God's specifications concerning the Mishkan. Unlike the two Temples, which were permanent structures that never required transportation, the Mishkan was made to be a mobile Sanctuary. Out of consideration to the Levi'im, who bore the burden - quite literally - of transporting the Mishkan, no extra materials were allowed.

Rav Ginsburg adds that an important lesson emerges from this explanation. As laudable as it is to strive to perform beyond the strict letter of the law and take on additional, voluntary measures of piety, one must take into account the effect these measures might have on others. One should not take upon himself unnecessary measures of stringency - however intrinsically noble they may be - at the expense of those around him. The Almighty forbade additional beautification of His Sanctuary if this would unduly intensify the Levi'im's workload. Similarly, we may not take on personal measures of piety that cause others inconvenience.

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Yesterday we looked at the Seforno's explanation regarding the excess materials brought by Benei Yisrael for the construction of the Mishkan, as told in Parashat Vayakhel. The Seforno cryptically remarks that unlike the two Batei Mikdash, the Mishkan could not feature any additional trimmings or decorations beyond the precise specifications outlined by God in Parshiyot Teruma and Tetzaveh. Yesterday we saw one possible explanation for this distinction; today we will suggest another, perhaps more obvious, approach.

According to many commentators, including the Seforno, the construction of the Mishkan served as an atonement for the grave sin of the golden calf. We find many Midrashic passages to this effect, including one which associates the "gathering" with which Parashat Vayakhel opens, during which Moshe instructs Benei Yisrael with regard to the Mishkan, with the "gathering" for the purpose of making a calf (see Shemot 32:1). As we discussed last week, many commentators saw the golden calf not as actual pagan worship, but rather as a misguided attempt to serve the Almighty. According to some views, Benei Yisrael's innovation in this regard itself constituted their sin. The Bet Ha-levi, for example, explains that Benei Yisrael sought to introduce a new medium for hashra'at Ha-Shekhina - to bring God's presence into their midst. While intrinsically a noble endeavor, this attempt overlooked a fundamental tenet of Jewish faith: we can bring God's Shekhina into our midst, we can connect to the Almighty, only by following His rules. We cannot independently decide, based on our own, personal inkling or intuition, how and where God will enter our lives. He gave us a Torah for this very purpose, and any attempt to innovate other means towards that end is akin to making a golden calf. The Bet Ha-levi adds that for this reason, throughout Parshiyot Vayakhel and Pekudei, the Torah concludes its record of each stage of the Mishkan's construction wthe phrase, "ka'asher Hashem et Moshe" - "as God commanded Moshe." The Torah emphasizes that the construction of the Mishkan indeed served its purpose of correcting the fundamental flaw of the Mishkan; Benei Yisrael understood once and for all that spirituality is attained strictly by following God's commands, not by following our own intuition and feelings.

We can now return to the Seforno's comment with which we began. While normally further enhancement and beautification of God's Sanctuary would be encouraged, as we see during the time of King Shelomo, the specific context of the Mishkan's construction did not allow for any contribution beyond the particular dictates given to Moshe. This entire project was intended to rectify the sin of the golden calf, for Benei Yisrael to demonstrate their unwavering obedience and submission to God. This, therefore, was not a time for otherwise laudable enhancements and "personal touches." The circumstances surrounding the construction of the Mishkan mandated the strict adherence to the very last detail of God's instructions. Therefore, once the materials needed to comply with God's commands were supplied, no further donations could be accepted.

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Parashat Vayakhel tells of Benei Yisrael's enthusiastic response to the appeal for donations for the construction of the Mishkan. The Torah tells, "Everyone whose heart stirred him came, and everyone whose spirit moved him brought the offering of the Lord for the work of the Tent of Meeting… " (35:21). This verse appears to describe two groups of individuals: "kol ish asher nesa'o libo" - "everyone whose heart stirred him [literally, 'lifted him']"; and "kol asher nadeva rucho oto" - "everyone whose spirit moved him." What precisely do these two phrases denote?

The Ramban claims that these two groups consisted of the craftsmen and the donors, respectively. Those who came forth to work on the project are referred to as "everyone whose hearts stirred him." The Ramban explains based on his comments earlier in Sefer Shemot, to 31:2, where he writes that the artisans who built the Mishkan were blessed with supernatural gifts and talents. Clearly, as slaves in Egypt, nobody was professionally trained in the skills necessary for the intricate work required for the construction of the Mishkan. This ability came as a special, miraculous gift from Above, and to this the Torah refers when it speaks of "nesa'o libo" - those whose hearts "carried" them. The second group, consisting of "everyone whose spirit moved him," included those who contributed the materials.

The Or Ha-chayim explains the verse differently, that both phrases refer to donors, but to two different types of donors. The second clause, "kol asher nadeva rucho oto," consisted of the "normal" donors, meaning, those who contributed what they could afford. The first group, however, was made up of those who went beyond the standard limits of generosity and donated more than they would normally be considered able to. The verse therefore refers to these people as "everyone whose heart carried [or, lifted] him." These people, in their overwhelming desire to contribute to the Mishkan, saw themselves as wealthier than they really were; they inflated, so-to-speak, their perception of their financial status in order to donate more than others in their situation would.

A third approach, cited in Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg's "Yalkut Yehuda," explains based on distinguishing between "lev" (heart) and "ru'ach" (spirit). Man's natural instinct leads him to hold on to what he has rather than share it with others or donate it for worthy causes. Those in the second group are described as "nadeva rucho oto" - meaning, their "spirit," or desire for spiritual excellence, overcame the selfish human instinct and led them to make donations towards the construction of the Mishkan. The first group, however, went even further. The verse describes that their "hearts" were "lifted." This refers to a fundamental transformation of instinct, to the point where they no longer needed the weight of conscience to subdue their innate selfishness. Their hearts naturally responded to Moshe's appeal with fervent generosity, overcome by an instinctive desire to take part in this holy endeavor of bringing the Almighty's presence into the nation's midst.

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Among the articles in the Mishkan whose construction is described in Parashat Vayakhel is the kiyor - the faucet from which the kohanim would wash their hands and feet before entering the Mishkan to perform the service. The verse (38:8) tells that the kiyor was made from the brass mirrors donated by the women of Am Yisrael. Rashi brings a Midrash that fills in the details regarding the history behind these mirrors. Back in Egypt, the men, broken physically and emotionally by slavery, lost interest in maintaining their marital lives. The wives would therefore beautify themselves in an effort to entice their husbands, thereby ensuring that Benei Yisrael would continue to propagate and flourish even during the period of bondage. The mirrors used by the women for this holy purpose were then donated to the Mishkan, and from them the kiyor was fashioned. The Midrash relates that Moshe initially refused to accept these mirrors, the tools for arousing the evil inclination, for use in the Mishkan. The Almighty, however, told Moshe that these mirrors helped sustain Benei Yisrael during their exile and should therefore be used for the kiyor.

Why did God ordain that specifically the kiyor would be made from these mirrors?

Rashi, based on the Midrash in Bemidbar Rabba (9:14), explains that the water from the kiyor was used not only for the kohanim's washing, but for the sota ritual, as well. As described in Bemidbar 5, a woman suspected of infidelity was "tested" by drinking a special potion which included water from the kiyor. Appropriately, then, the mirrors used to enhance the relationship between husband and wife later served this same purpose by freeing the husband of any suspicions he may have had concerning his wife's fidelity.

A different passage in the Midrash, however, suggests a different perspective. The Midrash Tanchuma (Pekudei 9) records God telling Moshe as follows: "These mirrors were what sustained these multitudes in Egypt; take from them and make from them the brass kiyor and its stand for the kohanim." This Midrash focuses not on the sota ritual, but rather on the purpose served by the kiyor "for the kohanim," presumably referring to the requirement that the kohanim wash from the kiyor before performing the service. The question thus arises, wherein lies the connection between these mirrors and the kohanim's preparations for their service?

Rav Moshe Feinstein, in "Derash Moshe," explains that the relationship involves the mindset required of the kohanim as they prepare for their service. These mirrors served to sustain Benei Yisrael through their exile; they ensured the nation's continued population growth when it otherwise may have subsided or stopped altogether, Heaven forbid. Likewise, the kohen service in the Temple is meant to atone for Benei Yisrael and thus enable their continued growth and prosperity. To help focus the kohanim's attention on this important role served by their activity in the Mikdash, they washed from the laver made from these mirrors before beginning their work.

We may perhaps suggest a different explanation. The women in Egypt used these mirrors to beautify themselves, to adorn themselves and improve their appearance. The kiyor was used for a similar purpose - for the kohanim to clean themselves before beginning the service. The mirrors symbolized - in the starkest way - that tending to one's appearance need not be associated with arrogance, self-absorption, or an exaggerated sense of self-importance. Our preoccupation with our looks can be used for spiritual goals and sublime purposes. When tending to his appearance, the kohen is reminded that this has nothing to do with his ego, with his image, but rather with kevod Shamayim - divine honor. He must cleanse himself not to impress otherpeople, but rather to show respect to the Almighty in His Sanctuary. Juas the women used these mirrors for a higher purpose - to sustain Am Yisrael, so do the kohanim wash themselves for the purpose of glorifying the Mishkan and the God whose Shekhina resides within it.

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In response to Moshe's call for volunteers to perform the work for the Mishkan's construction, skilled women came to spin the goats' wool used for the "yeri'ot" - the cloths that covered the Mishkan. Rashi (35:26) quotes a Midrash that the women actually spun the goats' hair before it was even sheared; they spun the wool while it was still attached to the goats. Several different reasons have been suggested as to why this was necessary. Rav David Pardo, in his "Maskil L'David" (a work on Rashi's commentary) explains that this helped ensure the highest standard of cleanliness; the less the wool is handled, the less soiled it will become. A much different approach is suggested by Rav Yehonatan Eibshitz, in his "Tiferet Yehonatan," who claims that many of the women were likely to be ritually impure. In order that the cloths for the Mishkan do not contract tum'a, they were spun while still on the goats, since wool is not susceptible to tum'a until after it has been sheared.

We will focus on a different aspect of this topic, one which emerges from a revealing passage in a rather uncommon source. A verse in Divrei Hayamim I (2:18) tells about the wife of Kalev, the great-grandson of Yehuda, who is best known for his heroism in resisting the other scouts during the infamous incident of the meraglim. The verse tells that his wife was named "Azuva." (The verse actually refers to her as his daughter, but see Rashi who shows that in truth she was his wife.) According to the Gemara in Masekhet Sota (11b-12a), "Azuva" was another name for Miriam, Moshe's sister, who married Kalev. Now the Targum Rav Yosef on that verse in Divrei Hayamim tells us that this woman, Azuva, spun the wool directly from the goats in preparation for the cloth coverings of the Mishkan. Apparently, she led the team of women in charge of this task. Combining this Targum Rav Yosef with the aforementioned Gemara in Masekhet Sota yields a fascinating conclusion: it was Miriam the prophetess, who led the women in song and dance after the splitting of the sea (Shemot 15:20), who now led the team of women in their work for the Mishkan.

On this basis, Rav Dov Meir Eisenstein, in an article published in the memorial volume for Rav Yaakov Betzalel Zolti zt"l, suggests an explanation for an otherwise difficult passage in the Yalkut Shimoni (Shemot 164). Back in Parashat Shemot, we read of the heroic refusal of the two Hebrew midwives, identified by Chazal as Yokheved and Miriam, to comply with Pharaoh's order to kill the newborn males. As a reward, the verse tells, Hashem made for them "batim" - "homes" (Shemot 1:21). The Yalkut Shimoni comments that Yokheved was rewarded with the kingship and priesthood - her two sons were Moshe, the king, and Aharon, the high priest - whereas "Miriam was rewarded with wisdom; from her came Betzalel, who was wise." At first glance, it appears as though Yokheved earned two rewards - kingship and the kehuna gedola - while Miriam received only one - Betzalel, who led the work for the Mishkan. Based on what we have seen, however, it is clear that the Yalkut refers to two rewards. First, Miriam herself earned "wisdom," the skill to spin the goats' hair, and she led the women in this project. In addition, she begot Betzalel, who led the entire building project.

We might add that according to this approach, a parallel of sorts emerges between the reward granted to Yokheved and that received by Miriam. The Gemara in Masekhet Shabbat (99a) indicates that this unique method of spinning the wool, straight from the goats' backs, was necessary only for the "yeri'ot elyonot" - the outer layer of the Mishkan's cloths. The lower layer, however, did not require this method. Thus, Miriam and her group of women were responsible for preparing the outermost layer of the Mishkan. Betzalel, though charged with the general responsibility to oversee the Mishkan's construction, was particularly involved in the building of the innermost object in the Mishkan - the Ark of the Covenant, which he himself built (see Rashi to 37:1). Miriam's two rewards thus involved the outermost and innermost aspects of the Mishkan.

In this sense, perhaps, her reward parallels her mothers'. Kingship and priesthood are institutions that work on the outermost and innermost layers of the nation, respectively. The king is responsible for the general concerns of the country, particularly in areas of diplomacy and foreign policy. The kohen gadol, by contrast, works in the nation's innermost sanctum, dedicating his life to the Temple and the service of God within the Sanctuary. If the king bears responsibility for the "outer limbs" of the national body, the kohen gadol is in charge of the heart and soul.

Herein, perhaps, lies the significance of the reward granted to Miriam and Yokheved for their heroism. God blessed them with both types of national leadership, with the outer layer of the "Mishkan" - both literally and figuratively - as well as the "ark," the power of the spirit and the ability to bring God's Shekhina into Benei Yisrael.

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Earlier this week, we looked at Rashi's comment (based on the Midrash) concerning the construction of the kiyor, the faucet used by the kohanim to wash themselves before beginning their service in the Mishkan. As the verse (38:8) tells us, the kiyor was made from mirrors. According to the Midrash, these were the mirrors used by the Israelite women back in Egypt to beautify themselves and thereby encourage their husbands to maintain marital life even under the brutal conditions in which they lived.

We find in halakhic literature some discussion as to whether the fashioning of the kiyor establishes a precedent for transforming mundane items into sacred ones. The Tosefta in Masekhet Megilla (2:10) states: "Utensils that had initially been used for mundane purposes may not be used for sacred purposes." This ruling is codified by the Rambam in the context of the building of the Temple (Hilkhot Bet Ha-bechira 1:2). The question then arises as to how Moshe could use these mirrors for the fashioning of the kiyor.

The Magen Avraham (O.C. 147) writes that once the original item has undergone a physical transformation, one may then use it for the Mikdash. Only when a mundane item remains physically unchanged is there a prohibition against turning it into something sacred. These mirrors lost their initial, physical identity once they were transformed from mirrors to a laver; hence, no prohibition is involved.

Others have suggested a different approach, based on the comments of the Chatam Sofer in one of his teshuvot (O.C. 40). The Chatam Sofer there addresses a different question which arises from the story told about Yaakov Avinu in Parashat Vayetze. Recall that as he makes his way to Charan, Yaakov uses several stones as a pillow on which to sleep, and the following morning, after experiencing a prophetic vision, turns those stones into a monument for God. Here, too, we must ask what allowed Yaakov to turn the stones used as a pillow into a monument dedicated to God. The Chatam Sofer answers by first posing an even stronger question. According to one passage in the Midrash, these stones had been part of the altar erected by Noach upon his departure from the ark, and upon which Avraham placed Yitzchak at the akeida. If so, then how could Yaakov have used them as a pillow in the first place? Would this not violate the prohibition of me'ila - using sacred property for mundane purposes? (This question obviously assumes that Yaakov was somehow aware of these stones' illustrious past.) The Chatam Sofer cites an answer from the "Zayit Ra'anan," who claims (based on Rashi's interpretation of Bereishit 28:11) that Yaakov did not, in fact, use these stones as a pillow. Rather, he arranged them around him to protect himself from wild animals and thelike. Therefore, the prohibition of me'ila did not apply. A violation of me'ila requires direct benefit from the object; benefit, such as here, when Yaakov merely shielded himself with these stones, is permitted. The Chatam Sofer applies this rule to the reverse situation, where one wishes to use a mundane object for a sacred purpose. If the original mundane use involved indirect benefit from the object, such as Yaakov's use of the stones, then there is no prohibition against using that item later as a sacred object. Yaakov was therefore justified in using these stones as a monument to God.

The same theory would apply to the mirrors used for the kiyor. The use of a mirror is, by nature, indirect. One simply looks at the mirror; he does not come in any more direct contact with it when using it for its intended purpose. Therefore, no halakhic problem was involved in later turning these mirrors into a sacred item to be used by the kohanim in the Mishkan.

by Rav David Silverberg

Parashat Pekudei tells of the conclusion of the construction of the Mishkan. Towards the end of chapter 39, we read that those in charge brought all the various components before Moshe for his approval. One of the items listed as having been presented to Moshe is the "lechem ha-panim" – the "show bread," which, as we already saw in Parashat Teruma, was to be placed on the shulchan ("table") in the Mishkan each week. This otherwise innocuous piece of data becomes considerably more intriguing in light of Rashi's comments in Masekhet Menachot (45b). The Gemara there notes that the mitzva of "shetei ha-lechem" – the bread offering brought on Shavuot (see Vayikra 23:17) – did not apply during the years of Benei Yisrael's sojourn in the wilderness; it took effect only once they entered the Land of Israel. Rashi attributes this to the simple fact that Benei Yisrael had no bread in the wilderness; they lived exclusively off the miraculous manna that fell from the skies each morning. Clearly, then, the mitzva of "shetei ha-lechem" could not apply.

Tosefot, however, take issue with Rashi's assumption that Benei Yisrael had no bread in the wilderness. After all, as our verse explicitly mentions, Benei Yisrael somehow managed to produce the lechem ha-panim. How, then, could Rashi have claimed that Benei Yisrael had no bread in the wilderness?

One possible solution to this difficulty in Rashi's commentary was suggested by Rav Yaakov Aryeh Meisels, in an exchange of letters he shared with the famous "Imrei Emet" (one of the Rebbes of Ger), published in Rav Meisel's work, "Chedvat Yaakov." There he cites a comment of Rabbenu Efrayim (one of the Tosafists) that the manna resembled a type of dough, and Benei Yisrael used it for the baking of the menachot (flour offerings) and lechem ha-panim. We thus have an explicit source to the effect that Benei Yisrael did not use real bread for the lechem ha-panim, but rather manna. Therefore, the fact that, as mentioned in our parasha, Benei Yisrael baked lechem ha-panim does not contradict Rashi's assumption that they had no bread in the wilderness.

One question, however, remains. Recall that Rashi made this comment to explain why the mitzva of shetei ha-lechem did not apply in the wilderness. In light of this contention of Rabbenu Efrayim, that Benei Yisrael used the manna for the baking of the show-bread and menachot, the obvious question becomes why they could not do the same for the shetei ha-lechem. If manna could take the place of bread in the conditions of the wilderness, as Rabbenu Efrayim indicates, why couldn't it be used for the shetei ha-lechem?

Rav Meisels suggests a possible halakhic distinction between the requirements of menachot and lechem ha-panim on the one hand, and shetei ha-lechem on the other. In introducing the obligation of shetei ha-lechem, the Torah emphasizes that the two loaves must be baked from chametz, leaven, unlike all other flour offerings in the Temple, which could not be leavened. It follows, then, that the mitzva of shetei ha-lechem features a specific requirement that it be made from leavened dough – a requirement that could not be met by using the manna. As we know from the laws of Pesach, only flour processed from the five principal grains (wheat, barley, oats, rye and spelt) can technically qualify as chametz. (This is why potato starch, for example, is permitted – and commonly used - on Pesach.) Therefore, while manna could be used as a substitute for lechem ha-panim and menachot, it did not meet the criteria required for use in baking the shetei ha-lechem offering, which had to be made from chametz.

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Yesterday we saw that the Torah in Parashat Pekudei mentions that as part of their work in the construction of the Mishkan, Benei Yisrael also prepared the lechem ha-panim – the show-bread that was placed on the shulchan in the Mishkan (see 39:36). As we discussed, on this basis Tosefot (Menachot 45b) challenge Rashi's assertion (there in Menachot) that Benei Yisrael had no bread in the wilderness. We then saw one possible answer, by Rav Yaakov Aryeh Meisels, in his "Chedvat Yaakov," who notes that according to Rabbenu Efrayim, while in the wilderness Benei Yisrael used the manna to produce the lechem ha-panim.

The "Imrei Emet," one of the Rebbes of Gur, in correspondence with Rav Meisels, raised several difficulties against this theory of Rabbenu Efrayim. First, we read in Sefer Vayikra (24:5) that God ordered Moshe to prepare the lechem ha-panim, and He says, "You shall take choice flour and bake of it twelve loaves…" God makes it clear that the lechem ha-panim had to be made from "solet," choice flour; presumably, then, manna could not be used. Secondly, Chazal tell us that a special miracle occurred with regard to the lechem ha-panim: it was left out on the shulchan for a week without going spoiled or even losing its freshness. Now as we will recall from Parashat Beshalach, God strictly forbade leaving any manna over from one day to the next. If any manna were left over, it would rot and spoil. How, then, could Rabbenu Efrayim claim that manna was used for the lechem ha-panim and left there for an entire week?

The "Imrei Emet" proceeds to suggest an answer for this second question raised against Rabbenu Efrayim. He writes that his father, the famous "Sefat Emet," posed a question concerning the manna that fell on Friday. Recall that on Erev Shabbat, a double portion of manna fell and Benei Yisrael were specifically instructed to leave over a portion for Shabbat, on which no manna fell. Unlike the manna throughout the week, which would become inedible immediately the following morning, this Friday manna lasted through Shabbat. The Sefat Emet wondered whether or not it would last after Shabbat, as well. Was this manna essentially the same as the manna of the rest of the week, only that it did not spoil before the end of Shabbat, or was it of an entirely different nature, such that it did not turn bad even after Shabbat? The Sefat Emet concluded that the manna of Erev Shabbat would, in fact, turn spoiled after Shabbat, and this is indeed the clear implication of the Ramban, in his comments to Parashat Beshalach.

However, the Imrei Emet suggests, Rabbenu Efrayim may have held otherwise. He perhaps felt that the manna of Erev Shabbat possessed a unique quality, separate and apart from regular manna. This would then resolve the second question raised against his comment concerning the lechem ha-panim. Benei Yisrael could have used manna left over from Shabbat for the baking of the lechem ha-panim, and it would not spoil the following day.

Needless to say, this does not resolve the first question discussed, that the verse in Sefer Vayikra appears to specifically require flour for the baking of the lechem ha-panim.

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Parashat Pekudei begins with the accounting conducted by Moshe Rabbenu of all the precious metals donated towards the construction of the Mishkan. As many Midrashim comment, Moshe prepared such an accounting in order to avoid any accusations of mishandling the contributions and siphoning off some for his own personal use. The Midrash Tanchuma writes as follows: "He [Moshe] heard the cynics of the generation talking about him, as it says, 'It was, when Moshe wougo out… and they would look after Moshe' (Shemot 33:8). What would they say? Rabbi Yitzchak interprets this verse as referring to praise… [Benei Yisrael would praise Moshe for the fact that he had communion with the Shekhina.] Rabbi Ami interprets the verse as referring to insults…" According to the second view, many among Benei Yisrael would look at Moshe's strong, healthy build and comment to one another how their money is going towards Moshe's robust diet. Others would then add, "What do you expect? Someone in charge of gold and silver coins for the Mishkan – of course he will be wealthy!" Aware of all this murmuring, Moshe responsibly presented the people with a detailed record of what was used with all the donations.

While the message of this Midrash is relatively clear, its presentation seems awkward. Why does the Midrash digress to present the view of Rabbi Yitzchak, that those who "looked after" Moshe did so admiringly, rather than critically? How does this contribute to the discussion at hand? The Midrash here seeks to explain that Moshe prepared his report to avoid accusation; doesn't this explanation follow the second view, rather than that of Rabbi Yitzchak? If so, then why is Rabbi Yitzchak's view mentioned here at all?

Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg, in his "Yalkut Yehuda," suggests that in fact both views directly relate to the discussion in this passage. What could have potentially prompted Moshe to make this accounting, the Tanchuma informs us, is either those who accused Moshe, or those who spoke in his favor. The respect and admiration of people necessarily charges an individual with a higher standard, it places upon his shoulders a heavier responsibility. Even according to Rabbi Yitzchak, Moshe's accounting was in order. Knowing how admired he was for his prophetic stature, he had to avoid any possible situation where it could appear – no matter how remotely – that he acted improperly, that he cheated his constituency. Such an accusation would cause a terrible chillul Hashem (desecration of God's Name). This Midrash thus follows both views, for even according to Rabbi Yitzchak, that nobody had accused Moshe heretofore, and to the contrary, he received only the warmest compliments and highest respect, this reputation itself warranted a detailed report of his handling of the contributions.

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The final verse of Sefer Shemot describes the appearance of God's Presence in the Mishkan. By day, the Shekhina appeared in the form of clouds, whereas by night the cloud was replaced by fire. The Midrash Ha-gadol on this verse reveals the underlying symbolism behind this system:

According to this Midrash, the cloud-fire cycle symbolizes the survival of Benei Yisrael from the flames of their enemies, their ultimate triumph over oppression, and the constancy of the Shekhina's residence among them. Regardless of how many fires are set to the spiritual "Mishkan" of Benei Yisrael, morning rises again, and the pillar of cloud supplants the pillar of fire.

This analogy may perhaps be extended to apply to the previous two verses, as well. Just before describing the two pillars, the Torah tells of how God's Presence in the Mishkan regulated Benei Yisrael's travel through the wilderness. So long as the clouds remained in place hovering over the Mishkan, Benei Yisrael encamped. When the cloud rose, Benei Yisrael picked up and embarked on the next leg of their journey. They would continue marching until the cloud lowered, at which point they would encamp and remain in place until the cloud rose once again.

This, too, may be seen homiletically as symbolic of Benei Yisrael's experience through exile. There is something more than disconcerting about arriving in a place without knowing the length of stay. Should they unpack their bags? Should they make themselves settled, anticipating a one- or two-year encampment, or should they keep their shoes on and bags packed, prepared to resume travel in a few hours? And during travel, Benei Yisrael never knew how much time was left. Looking at their watches or the odometer would give them no indication of when they could expect reaching their next destination. Their only source of security was the pillar that led the way or hovered over the Mishkan, the Presence of God that they confidently trusted to chart their journey. Their otherwise perpetual uncertainty was eliminated by the ever-present Shekhina which they saw, felt and followed throughout their sojourn.

This picture accurately describes the Jewish people's journey through history, as well. Wherever we arrived, we never knew for how long we would stay. Whenever we were banished, we never knew how long it would take before we would land on safe shores. But all throughout, we found comfort and solace in the invisible yet tangible Presence of God that charts our path. Our security lay in our trust in the Almighty whose mysterious cloud continues to lead us and guide us through the inhospitable "wilderness" of exile. Many times, this pillar of cloud suddenly transformed into a raging fire that appeared ready to consume our entire Mishkan. But that fire has always turned back into a cloud, we arose after the long night of darkness to find the Mishkan standing firm, tall and proud. The "pillar of cloud" has always served as our only source of security and comfort, and it is that same pillar that will continue leading us to our ultimate destination, speedily and in our days.

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Parashat Pekudei opens with a detailed account of how the metals donated for the construction of the Mishkan were used. The Torah tells that the silver came from the machatzit ha-shekel tax levied upon all males over the age of twenty. These 603,550 men contributed an amount described by the Torah as "100 talents and 1,775 shekels" (38:25). The one hundred talents were used to make the one hundred "adanim" – the sockets in which the boards of the Mishkan were held in place; each socket consisted of a talent of silver. As for the remaining shekels of silver, the Torah says, "And of the 1,775 shekels he made hooks for the posts, overlay for their tops and bands around them" (38:28). In other words, this silver was used to make the accessories for the "amudei he-chatzer" – the posts, or pillars, that stood around the outer courtyard of the Mishkan.

The Midrash Tanchuma on this parasha (9) adds some details regarding this accounting of the silver. As we discussed earlier this week (based on an earlier passage in the Midrash Tanchuma), there were those among Benei Yisrael who did not fully trust Moshe honesty with the precious metals donated to the Mishkan, thus necessitating this record. He therefore accounted for the one hundred talents of silver, which went towards the one hundred sockets. Somehow, however, Moshe forgot about the accessories for the amudim; he could not recall what he did with the remaining 1,775 shekels of silver. The Almighty then "illuminated his eyes" (according to Rabbenu Bachye's version of this Midrash, a Heavenly voice issued a declaration) and reminded him of the hooks of the amudim made from the remaining silver.

What does this incident come to teach us? What does it mean that Moshe "forgot" about the amudim?

Rav Shimon Schwab zt"l, in his "Ma'ayan Bet Ha-sho'eiva," suggests a symbolic reading of this Midrash. Moshe's orientation was to a large extent focused on the interior of the Mishkan. God spoke to him from the kodesh ha-kodashim, the innermost sanctum of the Tabernacle. This orientatio, this "interior" mindset, led to a small measure of neglect – to whatever extent one can make such an accusation against Moshe Rabbenu – of the outer circle, the commoners. Moshe's intensive involvement in the most sacred chambers of the Mishkan, his constant communion with God, may have caused him to "forget" the pillars in the courtyard, the people he leads and represents that have not found their way inside as he has. God therefore reminded him, so-to-speak, of those outer layers, that his intensive engagement with the Shekhina may not rin his neglect of the commoners among the people.

If this approach is correct, it may help explain how this mysterious suspicion arose in the first place. Why would Benei Yisrael accuse Moshe of stealing their money? In light of Rav Schwab's comments, one may suggest that a barrier of sorts stood in between Moshe and the people; they perhaps saw him as too far inside the Mishkan, not sufficiently aware of and involved in the more "worldly" existence outside, along the periphery. Such a barrier, this kind of perceived detachment, naturally results in suspicion and mistrust. The more distanced the people felt from Moshe, the less they could trust him with their wealth. God therefore urged Moshe to focus not only on the Mishkan's interior, but on its outer perimeter, as well, and try to relate to all members of the nation, even those situated along the periphery.

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We read in Parashat Pekudei of the assembly of the Mishkan after the completion of all its parts. Among the stages described involved the preparation of the aron – the ark: "He [Moshe] took the Pact [the two tablets] and placed it in the ark; he fixed the poles to the ark, placed the cover on top of the ark, and brought the ark inside the Mishkan" (40:20-21). Interestingly, Moshe does not immediately place the kaporet (covering) over the ark after putting the tablets inside. He first affixes the poles to the ark and only then covers it. The question, of course, is why. Intuitively, we would have perhaps expected to cover the ark immediately after placing the tablets inside, before affixing the poles.

Rav Eliezer David Greenwald, in his "Keren Le-David," suggests a homiletic explanation to this sequence by examining the symbolism behind the poles of the ark on the one hand, and the kaporet on the other. As many Midrashim indicate, the ark itself symbolizes Torah, specifically a student or scholar of Torah. (Thus, for example, as we discussed in our series for Parashat Teruma, the gold plating on the interior and exterior of the ark symbolizes the need for consistency on the part of a Torah scholar, that his inner being correspond to his outward behavior.) The badim, or poles, of the ark, which were used for transporting the aron, are often viewed as representative of those who "carry" Torah, meaning, those who support Torah scholars and institutions. In Parashat Teruma, the Torah requires that the poles remain attached to the ark at all times (25:15), an obligation seen by many as alluding to the fact that even those who support Torah must still "attach" themselves directly to Torah, that they themselves must invest some time and effort in learning.

The kaporet, the Keren Le-David suggests (based on earlier sources), symbolizes the humility required of a Torah scholar. Just as the kaporet concealed the tablets inside the ark, so must a student of Torah "conceal" his learning; he mustn't flaunt his scholarship or strive for notoriety or fame on account of his academic achievements. However, the Keren Le-David claims, this obligation of "concealment" comes with an important qualification. Though it constitutes the ideal, it may nevertheless be violated at one's early stages of development as an impetus for further growth and achievement. One's learning still has value even should it be accompanied by an eye towards honor and recognition, if this ambition helps one progress in his studies. This provision is expressed in the famous dictum, "One should always involve himself in Torah even not for its sake; for out of [learning] not for its sake, he will come to [learn] for its sake." Thus, even study without a "kaporet," without the element of humility, has value, as it serves as an important stepping-stone to the next stage, where one studies with the proper intentions and motives.

Combining these two symbolic approaches, to the kaporet and to the poles, we may perhaps explain why the poles were affixed even before the ark was covered. Torah study must be supported and encouraged even if it has yet to reach the optimum level. The attachment of the poles to the uncovered ark represents facilitating Torah learning at even the initial stages, where the student requires incentives of reward or prestige. Torah study is a multi-step process; we must therefore encourage and support even the initial stages, in the hope that they will lead the students to the later stages, when they have developed the proper attitude towards the study and practice of Torah.

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The final pasuk in Parashat Pekudei reads, "For over the Mishkan was a cloud of the Lord by day, and fire would appear on it by night, in the view of all the house of Israel throughout their journeys." As we discussed earlier this week, the cloud and fire on the Mishkan regulated Benei Yisrael's travel: they would encamp so long as the cloud or fire rested on the Mishkan, and would pick up and travel once the cloud or fire lifted (see previous verses). In light of this, the final words of this last verse – "be-khol mas'eihem" ("throughout their journeys"), requires some explanation. The cloud and fire did not appear only "throughout their journeys," as Benei Yisrael traveled; they were there at all times, even during the periods of encampment. Why, then, does this final verse describe the fire and cloud as hovering over the Mishkan only throughout Benei Yisrael's journeys?

Interestingly enough, Rashi appears to interpret the verse as referring specifically to the periods of encampment, and not at all to the periods of travel. He comments on this verse, "In every trip on which they went, the cloud would rest in the place where they would encamp." This is what the verse speaks of – the cloud's resting when Benei Yisrael encamped. Rashi continues by addressing the obvious question of how the verse could describe their encampment as "their journeys": "Their place of encampment is also called ‘masa' [journeying]… because from the place of encampment they continued traveling." According to Rashi, the fact that Benei Yisrael eventually embarked from every point of encampment to continue their journey renders these encampments eligible for the description, "mas'eihem" – "their journeys." Why? If Benei Yisrael temporarily settled in a given area, why would this stopover be called a "journey" due simply to their ultimate departure from that site?

Rav Yehuda Leib Ginsburg explains that these encampments are referred to as "journeys" because they helped facilitate the next leg of the journey. A stopover for purposes of gathering strength and energy to continue further may indeed be defined as a "trip" insofar as it constitutes a necessary contribution to the trip.

In effect, then, Rashi here teaches that if activity A helps enable activity B, then a person involved in activity A may be said to be currently involved in activity B. Since he engages in that which will ultimately lead to B, we may view him as already involved in activity B.

Rav Ginsburg proceeds to apply this concept to religious life in general. Though human beings obviously cannot be expected to devote all their time to inherently sacred pursuits, and the human condition requires man's involvement in ordinary, mundane activities, we nevertheless have the opportunity to transform even those mundane pursuits into something meaningful and holy. To the extent to which our ordinary activities are seen as a means to avodat Hashem rather than an end unto themselves, they themselves become a form of avodat Hashem. Just as a stopover for fuel is considered a journey insofar as it facilitates the next leg of travel, so do our "stopover" from Torah and mitzvot become sanctified when they are intended to enable us to serve our Creator. With the proper perspective, even our "encampments" can be transformed into "journeys."

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