S.A.L.T. – PARASHAT VAYAKHEL

By Rav David Silverberg

Motzaei Shabbat

            We read in Parashat Vayakhel of Moshe’s instructions to Benei Yisrael concerning the construction of the Mishkan and its furnishings.  He instructs, “All the wise-hearted among you shall come and make all that the Lord commanded – the Mishkan, its tent and its cover…” (35:10).  Moshe initially assigns the task of constructing the Mishkan to “kol chakham leiv bakhem,” all the talented artisans among Benei Yisrael.  It is only later (35:30-35) that Moshe specifies the designation of Betzalel and Aholiav as the chief artisans appointed to oversee the construction.  But in his initial presentation about the command to build a Sanctuary, Moshe speaks of the project as the responsibility of all those possessing the requisite skills.

            Rav Moshe Feinstein (Kol Ram, vol. 1) notes the significance of this manner of presentation, as it underscores the nature of leadership and the relationship between the leaders and the masses.  Moshe wanted to make it clear that this project is not assigned exclusively to Betzalel and his team, but is rather the collective responsibility of all Benei Yisrael.  Betzalel acted on their behalf, but fundamentally, this job was everybody’s joint responsibility.  If, for whatever reason, Betzalel would refuse to accept the task, or if something happened that hindered his ability to complete the project, the nation would have to find a capable substitute.  In essence, the job was assigned to every “chakham leiv,” even if, practically speaking, the work was done by a small group of individuals.

            In any community or institution, and in terms of Am Yisrael generally, a “division of labor” is necessary to ensure that the operation runs in an efficient and effective manner.  Moshe’s commands regarding the Mishkan should perhaps remind us that even if each individual is assigned only a small task, he must see himself as personally responsible for the overall enterprise.  When there is a glitch in the system, we must all be prepared to rise to the occasion and accept the task that is not being completed by the others.  We cannot excuse ourselves with the comforting claim of “this is my not responsibility.”  We all bear collective responsibility for the success of Am Yisrael, each of us doing his or her small share in pursuing our nation’s goals.  But when others cannot or will not do their share, we must rise to the challenge and increase our share to ensure that the operation continues to run properly.  We each have our small role – but when the need arises, we must be prepared to take on a bigger role out of a sense of joint responsibility to Torah and to Am Yisrael.

Sunday

            We read in Parashat Vayakhel of the construction of the Mishkan and its various furnishings.  Among the more intriguing verses in the parasha describes the construction of the kiyor, the copper washing basin that was positioned just outside the Mishkan, and from which the kohanim were required to wash their hands and feet before entering the Sanctuary.  The Torah tells that the kiyor was made from mirrors donated by the women of Benei Yisrael (38:8).  Rashi, citing the Midrash Tanchuma, famously describes Moshe’s initial hesitation upon receiving this donation of mirrors, which are a symbol of vanity and sensuality.  God, however, instructed Moshe to accept the mirrors, and even went so far as to say that these are the most “beloved” of all donations, as the women had used these mirrors in Egypt to make themselves attractive to their husbands in order to entice them  and thereby ensure the nation’s continued growth.

            In considering the significance of the mirrors, we might note the clear connection that exists between mirrors and the kiyor, for which they were used.  Mirrors help a person ensure a becoming, dignified appearance – a very similar function to that of the kiyor, which was used for cleanliness.  It is perhaps not coincidental that these two basic household devices – mirrors and a faucet – are associated with one another, and are associated with one another specifically in the context of the kohanim’s preparations for entering the Mishkan.  A kohen could not roll out of bed and then quickly run inside the Mishkan to perform the rituals.  He had to first stop, wash himself, and ensure a dignified appearance.  It may even be possible that the kiyor was made from mirrors so that the kohanim could look at themselves before entering the Sanctuary and check that they are appropriately groomed.  Before a kohen enters the Mishkan to fill his role, he must first see to it that he comes with a proper, respectable and dignified appearance and demeanor.

            Symbolically, this may represent the need to first achieve basic dignity before aspiring to the loftier ideals of holiness and spirituality that the Mishkan represents.  Just as a kohen must first make himself dignified before entering the Mishkan, similarly, each individual must first develop himself into a decent, honorable human being before attempting to achieve high levels of sanctity and spirituality.  We must first be dignified before we can become holy.  It is wrong to rush into the “Mishkan,” to strive for lofty standards of holiness, before taking some time at the “kiyor,” before making ourselves decent and upright.  This is the first critical step we must take before proceeding to the “Mishkan” to seek higher levels of kedusha.

Monday

            As mentioned yesterday, the kiyor – the faucet at the entrance to the Mishkan – was made from copper mirrors (38:8).  According to a number of sources, mirrors were needed in the Temple courtyard due to situations where women brought sacrifices to the Temple.  The Moshav Zekeinim, for example, writes, “A kohen who offers the sacrifice of a woman would have to offer it specifically with her in mind, and it is forbidden to look at her face, and the faucet was therefore made like a mirror… She looks at it and the kohen looks at the faucet and recognizes her.”  Meaning, a mirror was necessary because of the law of “lishma,” which requires the officiating kohen to perform the rituals specifically on behalf of the individual who brought the sacrifice.  Apparently, this required looking at the individual, and since it would be inappropriate for a kohen to look at a woman directly as he performed the ritual service, he would look at her through a mirror.  This explanation also appears in the Peirush Ha-Tur.

            Rav Menachem Kasher (Torah Sheleima, vol. 23, appendix 6) cites a number of writers who raised the question of why the kohen would be required to look at the person who brought a sacrifice as he tended to it.  The provision of “lishma” would seemingly require only that the kohen have this specific individual in mind as he performs the various rituals associated with the korban.  Why was it necessary to the kohen to look at the person?

            Rav Kasher suggests three different factors that necessitated the kohen’s looking at the person at some point during the process of offering a sacrifice.  Firstly, in Masekhet Sota (8a), the Gemara mentions a requirement for a person who brings a sacrifice to stand in the Temple courtyard while his sacrifice is being offered by the kohen.  Now on any given day, it is likely that dozens, and probably even hundreds, of people brought sacrifices to be offered, either in fulfillment of a pledge, as a sin-offering, or as part of a purification process (zav, zava, metzora).  Each individual was required to be present for the offering of his sacrifice, but how would he know when his sacrifice was offered, so that he could leave?  Presumably, Rav Kasher writes, there was a system in place whereby the people stood in a line and the officiating kohen would motion to the individual to indicate to him that the sacrificing has been completed.  (We might also add that in the case of a korban shelamim, the kohen would have to transfer the meat of the animal to the person offering the sacrifice.) 

            Secondly, the Gemara in Masekhet Zevachim (2b) indicates that (at least at one point) the kohen would announce the name of the individual offering a sacrifice before slaughtering the animal.  Obviously, the kohen could not be expected to remember every person’s name.  It stands to reason that people would stand alongside their sacrifices while waiting their turn, and the kohen would turn to a person when receiving his animal and ask the name.

            Thirdly, Rav Kasher writes, the Rambam, in his commentary to the Mishna (Zevachim, end of chapter 4), writes that the person offering a sacrifice must have in mind at the time of slaughtering that the sacrifice is being offered on his behalf.  This clearly necessitated that the person knew precisely when the animal is being slaughtered, and the kohen would thus have to motion to a person to indicate that his sacrifice was now being slaughtered.

            For all these reasons, it was necessary for the kohen to see the individual whose sacrifice he is offering, and according to the aforementioned sources, in the case of a woman this was done by way of the mirrors of the kiyor.

Tuesday

            Parashat Vayakhel begins with Moshe’s assembling Benei Yisrael to convey to them God’s instructions concerning the Mishkan, which he introduces by reminding them of the command to observe Shabbat.  Rashi (citing the Mekhilta) famously comments that it was necessary to reiterate the command of Shabbat observance to emphasize the point that the construction of the Mishkan must be suspended during Shabbat.  The people might have otherwise assumed that this project was important enough to override the Shabbat prohibitions, and Moshe therefore instructed that the laws of Shabbat are not waived for the building of the Mishkan.

            We might view this reminder in the context of another instruction given by Moshe several days.  Later in Parashat Vayakhel, we read that in response to Moshe’s call for donations of materials for the Mishkan, the people brought even more than was needed.  Moshe thereupon issued a new call asking the people to stop bringing materials (36:6).  A number of writers addressed the question of why Moshe did not want to accept extra materials.  Certainly, he could have found some use for them – either as additional enhancements to the Mishkan, or to keep in the treasury as a “security fund” of sorts for the future.  One possibility, perhaps, is that Moshe specifically wanted the people to realize that they do not have to donate all their costly belongings to the Mishkan.  The Mishkan, as critically important a function as it served, was not the only place where the Torah’s ideals must be implemented.  If Benei Yisrael had been allowed to impoverish themselves by donating toward the Mishkan, this may have left an exaggerated impression regarding the importance and centrality of the Mishkan.  It was important for the people to realize that they had other significant needs, responsibilities and concerns to which they must attend and invest their limited resources of time, money and effort.  Just as they needed to be reminded that the Mishkan does not override Shabbat, similarly, they needed to be told to save some of their wealth for other important causes, besides the Mishkan.

            Moshe’s warnings to the people thus perhaps remind us to view every law and value of the Torah in perspective, as part of a broader system.  We can easily imagine – especially according to the view that the Mishkan served to atone for the golden calf – how urgently the people wished to complete this project, and how it thus could have perhaps blinded them to the importance of their other needs and concerns.  It is easy to fall into this trap of “hyper-focusing” on one or several of the Torah’s precepts, at the expense of the others.  The Torah instructs that a certain point we must stop donating materials to the Mishkan, that we must limit our investment in particular areas of religious life so we can give the necessary attention to the full range of responsibilities that we bear as God’s servants.

Wednesday

            The Torah in Parashat Vayakhel tells of Benei Yisrael’s enthusiastic response to Moshe’s call for donations of materials for the Mishkan.  Immediately following Moshe’s announcement, the people brought all that was needed, and the Torah (35:27) specifies that the nesi’im, the tribal leaders, brought the precious stones that were needed for the kohen gadol’s garb, as well as oil and spices needed for some of the rituals in the Mishkan.

            Rashi, citing from Midrashic sources, famously describes the background to the nesi’im’s donation:

This is what the nesi’im said: The people will donate whatever they donate, and whatever is missing, we will complete.  When the people completed everything, as it says, “and the materials were sufficient” (36:7), the nesi’im said, “What can we do?”  And they brought the shoham stones… And since they were initially indolent, a letter was taken from their name – it is written “nesi’im” [without the letter yod].

The nesi’im did not imagine that the people would supply all the materials for the Mishkan, and they planned to wait and see which materials would be missing after the people finished donating.  To their surprise, Benei Yisrael supplied all the necessary materials, and all that remained for the nesi’im to donate were the stones for the kohen gadol’s garb, and the oil and spices.

            This account appears as well in Bamidbar Rabba (12:16), which adds that when the nesi’im saw how generously the people donated, they decided to bring their own donations so that they could participate in the campaign.  By that time, however, Moshe had already issued a call for the people to stop bringing materials (see 36:6), so they were no longer able to donate.  Distraught, the nesi’im did all that they could, and brought the stones, oil and spices.

            Rav Menachem Kasher, in his Torah Sheleima (chapter 35, note 96), notes the obvious difficulty in these comments of Rashi and the Midrash.  According to this account, the nesi’im brought their donation after the people had brought all that was needed and Moshe instructed that no more donations be brought.  But the question arises, why did Moshe issue this call if he had still not received donations of precious stones, oil and spices?  For that matter, why does the Torah tell that the materials that had been donated sufficed for the entire project, if the precious, stones, oil and spices were missing?  And, moreover, why does the Midrash speak of the nesi’im as forfeiting the opportunity to participate in the donations, and even feeling distraught over this lost opportunity, if they had actually made a donation?  In fact, the precious stones were likely the most expensive materials donated.  Seemingly, the nesi’im were correct in their assessment that the people would not provide all the necessary materials – after all, the people did not supply the stones for the kohen gadol’s garb!  Why, then, does the Midrash speak of the nesi’im as having erred in their prediction?

            Apparently, the Midrash did not consider these items part of the standard Mishkan donations, and saw them as, somehow, extraneous materials.  Thus, all the essential materials were donated to the Mishkan, and all that remained for the nesi’im were these extraneous items.  But this is itself a difficult premise to accept.  Both when God listed the materials needed for the Mishkan (in the beginning of Parashat Teruma) and in Moshe’s presentation of the list to the people (in the beginning of Parashat Vayakhel), these three items are included.  The straightforward implication is that they are integral to the project of the Mishkan as any other of the materials.  (Although, interestingly enough, in both contexts they are mentioned specifically at the end of the list – see 25:6-7 and 35:8-9.  One could, perhaps, argue that they are listed at the end because they were extraneous to the actual Mishkan.) 

            Rav Kasher does not offer an answer to this question, but he cites a different version of this account from the Midrash Ha-gadol.  This version makes no mention of the nesi’im waiting to see what the people did not donate, until Moshe ordered the people to stop bringing materials.  Rather, according to this account, the nesi’im thought that, in light of their stature, they should donate separately, and not together with the rest of the people, and they therefore decided to donate toward the priestly vestments and not toward the Mishkan.  They then felt distraught that they had not participated in the construction of the Mishkan, and had donated only toward the priestly garments.  In order words, according to the Midrash Ha-gadol, the nesi’im’s mistake was not delaying their donation with the expectation that the nation would not donate everything that was needed, but rather insisting on donating separately, and not participating in the donations to the Mishkan itself.

            In any event, according to the more common version of this account, whereby the nesi’im delayed their donations until Moshe called for the people to stop bringing materials, it is difficult to understand why the Torah speaks of all the materials having been donated, if the stones, oil and spices were still missing.

Thursday

            Yesterday, we discussed the Midrashic account of the donation by the nesi’im, the twelve tribal leaders, toward the Mishkan.  As Rashi (to 35:27) cites from Midrashic sources, the nesi’im anticipated that the people would not donate all the materials needed for the Mishkan.  They therefore stood on the sidelines after Moshe issued the call for donations, waiting to see what would be missing after the people donated all the materials they were prepared to give.  In the end, however, the people donated well beyond the nesi’im’s expectations, and all that was left for the nesi’im were the stones for the kohen gadol’s garb, and the oil and spices.  Rashi concludes his account by commenting, “And since they were initially indolent, a letter was taken from their name – it is written ‘nesi’im’ [without the letter yod].”  Chazal were critical of the nesi’im for failing to participate from the outset of the campaign, and claimed that the Torah subtly expresses its displeasure with their approach by dropping a letter from the word “nesi’im” in this verse.

            The question arises as to why Chazal found fault in the nesi’im’s approach.  After all, they were prepared to supply all the materials that were still needed after the people competed making their donations.  In a sense, this is the most generous – and helpful – donation of all, offering to complete the “shortfall” and supply whatever was missing.  Why was this improper?

            One possibility, perhaps, is that the nesi’im are called to task for underestimating the generosity of the people.  Chazal are often critical of leaders who spoke disrespectfully about Am Yisrael, most famously, perhaps, claiming that Moshe was stricken with tzara’at because he wrongly assumed that Benei Yisrael would not believe him when he presented himself as their prophet and redeemer (see Rashi to 4:6).  Here, too, perhaps, Chazal criticized the nesi’im for presuming, somewhat cynically, that the people would not donate sufficiently.

            It seems more likely, however, that the basis for Chazal’s criticism of the nesi’im is indicated by their use of the term “nit’atzelu” (“were indolent”) in this context.  Curiously, Chazal attribute the nesi’im’s initial nonparticipation to laziness.  Even though Chazal themselves explain very clearly why the nesi’im at first abstained – as they figured they would complete what was missing after the campaign – the Midrash still charges that the tribal leaders acted lazily.  The Nachalat Yaakov commentary explains that the nesi’im were “lazy” in that they should have considered the possibility that Benei Yisrael would have supplied all the necessary materials.  In the view of Chazal, it seems, failing to consider all possibilities amounts to “atzlut,” a kind of laziness.  Even if the nesi’im were sincere and driven by the noble, altruistic desire to ensure that all the required materials were supplied, they were “lazy” in that they did not thoroughly assess the situation and the possible developments.  They should have considered the possibility that the people would complete all the required donations, leaving them excluded from this important mitzva.

            We may also add another possible explanation of Chazal’s criticism of the nesi’im.  Quite simply, it is possible that what the nesi’im said did not accurately reflect what they felt.  They said that they would stand at the side and wait to see what would be needed, but in truth, their approached stemmed from a degree of “atzlut,” rather than altruism.  Chazal perhaps viewed the nesi’im’s handling of the situation as an example of how claims of altruistic motives can be used as cover for self-serving interests, or just plain laziness.  Often without realizing it, we justify wrong decisions by finding noble causes to which we can attribute them.  Possibly, Chazal viewed the nesi’im abstention in this light, and sought to warn us against concealing laziness in a cover of altruism.  It is easy to fool ourselves into thinking that we act nobly when we are in fact indifferent or selfish.  The incident of the nesi’im should perhaps remind us to deal honestly with ourselves, to identify the true motives underlying our decisions and conduct, rather than soothing our conscience by coloring our wrong decisions in artificial shades of idealism.

Friday

Numerous Midrashic sources and commentators draw an association between the “shittim” wood used in the construction in the Mishkan and its sacred furnishings, and the site where Benei Yisrael committed the grave sin of Ba’al Pe’or – Shittim (Bamidbar 25:1).  The Midrash Tanchuma (Parashat Teruma, 9) writes that when God issued the command to construct the Mishkan, He foresaw the incident of Shittim, and therefore instructed that the Mishkan and its main furnishings be made from shittim wood, so that Benei Yisrael’s source of atonement would already be in place.

The Tanchuma Yashan to Parashat Vayakhel (cited in Torah Sheleima to Parashat Teruma, chapter 25, note 60) cites in this context the verse from Sefer Yirmiyahu (30:17), “For I shall bring you healing, and I shall cure you from your wounds.”  Commenting on the phrase, “I shall cure you from your wounds,” the Tanchuma Yashan explains that God promises to bring Benei Yisrael healing “from” their wounds – meaning, utilizing the same means by which He inflicted the wounds in the first place.  Human beings generally use different media to injure and to heal; that which causes harm is not what brings the cure.  God, however, brings healing “from your wounds,” with the same means that caused the injury.  The Tanchuma Yashan viewed the shittim wood as a symbol of this uniquely divine quality – God “healed” the “wounds” of Ba’al Pe’or with shittim wood, which shares its name with the site of this tragedy.

It seems that Chazal were struck by the irony of a material called “shittim” used in the building of the aron and the other sacred articles of the Mishkan.  They found it jarring that the Torah would allow any kind of association between the Mishkan and the tragedy of Ba’al Pe’or.  The Mishkan symbolizes pure devotion to the divine will, whereas the tragedy of Shittim involved the lowest forms of betrayal – an especially vulgar form of idolatry, and unabashed immorality.  The fact that the term “shittim” could play a prominent role in both contexts symbolizes the quality of “I shall cure you from your wounds,” that the source of harm could also be the source of healing, and the source of depravity can also serve as the source of holiness.

The message that Chazal seek to convey, perhaps, is that we must avoid absolute, categorical classifications of “good” and “evil.”  All trends, tendencies, circumstances, events and virtually everything else can be source of both good and evil.  Just as “shittim” could be associated with both the holiest site on earth and the site where Benei Yisrael sank to the lowest depths of depravity, similarly, anything in life has the potential to be to both our benefit and our detriment.  This message perhaps underlies the Talmud’s famous comment that when a person repents sincerely, out of genuine love for the Almighty, then his transgressions are counted as merits.  After the fact, one can use his mistakes as impetuses for growth, thus transforming them from demerits to merits.  Even sin can be retroactively transformed from a “wound” to a source of “healing.”

“A person is obligated to become inebriated on Purim until he does not know the difference between ‘Cursed is Haman’ to ‘Blessed is Mordechai.’”  The human intellect stores information in categories, assigning definitive labels and classifying all things according to specific properties.  The Purim miracle demonstrates how the lines between “good” and “bad” are not always as clear as we think.  As described in the Asher Heini hymn customarily recited after the Megila reading, “ki fur Haman nehepakh le-fureinu” – “Haman’s lottery was transformed to our ‘purim’.”  Haman’s sinister plot, and the fear and dread it brought to the Jewish nation, was, in an instant, transformed into a source of jubilant celebration.  The Megila specifically uses similar terminology in describing the grief and sorrow of the Jews after hearing of Haman’s edict, and the exultation after Haman was hung (compare 3:12-4:3 with 8:9-17).  Our celebration of Purim thus requires that we suspend our intellects’ natural categorization of “Cursed is Haman” and “Blessed is Mordekhai,” to recognize the fact that from God’s perspective, there is no real essential difference between the two.  A wicked man could turn out to be the cause of blessing and salvation, and vice-versa.  Anything on earth can emerge as either a blessing or a curse – depending on how we utilize what we have, and how God orchestrates events.  At a certain level, “Haman” is not necessarily “cursed” and “Mordekhai” is not necessarily “blessed.”  They can both turn out one way or the other, and it is up to us to do our best and pray to the Almighty to ensure that everything in our lives becomes a source of blessing and holiness, and not, Heaven forbid, the opposite.