Before we purchased this couch, we invested in Torah.
This week's parshah (Torah portion) is Terumah, in which HaShem commands us to build the Mishkan, the portable sanctuary and dwelling place, as the Israelites travel through the desert. The Mishkan became the Holy Temple, and after the Second Temple fell in 70 CE, the Jewish home became the central dwelling place for HaShem.
Driving down any street where new construction is going up you'll see the shells of homes under construction. We start with the bones of a building and construct it inward, with the knickknacks, drapes, color combinations, bookshelves, and family photos all coming in at the end stages of construction.
In this week's parshah, however, we see that the first aspect of construction was the ark -- the resting place of Torah -- and then come the various vessels, the walls, and finally the framework.
What does it all mean? Why do we build our homes hafuch? (That's the name of a popular take on coffee in Israel, which just means upside down or inside out.)
When we build a home, we must place Torah at the center of everything before we begin to build anything else. Before we pick out towel colors or bathroom mats, before we pick out a couch or decide on plate patterns, Torah must have been placed at the center of the relationship.
If anything, Mr. T and I placed Torah on the ground floor of our relationship before building or exploring the everyday, seemingly monotonous aspects of our future together. Can you imagine first dates talking seriously and passionately about tzedakah and minhagim (traditions)? With a Torah-based marriage, you're setting yourself up for a dwelling place for the shechinah (the presence of HaShem). Until the Holy Temple is rebuilt, the Jewish home is the best and most important way we can express our dedication to HaShem, Am Yisrael, and, ultimately, each other.
This week's parshah begins with something very near and dear to the heart of the Jewish community: contribution. HaShem says to the Israelites, “Take for Me (vayikchu-li) an offering from every person whose heart inspires him to generosity" in preparation for the construction of the mishkan, the tabernacle that will be carried throughout the desert and eventually will lead to the building of the Beit haMikdash, the holy Temple.
It's a particular word spin, and I hope it makes you pause. The Big Man speaks, saying we should take from ourselves -- but only if we're inspired! The verb that's used does not mean give, it means quite literally to take, which also is peculiar because how does one take of himself or from himself? How does one provide a contribution on command and guarantee that it's genuinely inspired?
Very little of giving today happens on demand. HaShem doesn't call us on Super Sunday and say we have to give to our local federations or that the local Jewish retirement facility needs funds so we must give. And even if that did happen, would we? What compels us to give? Is it the action of taking of ourselves rather than giving of ourselves? It becomes a two-way street when you take something from your own life, from your own lot, and provide it for others. When you give, it's less so.
I want to start using more folktales on the blog (and really, who doesn't), so let's start with this one, a Yiddish one, that offers perspective on the difference between "giving" and "taking."
"Yankel the Cheapskate" would not give money to anyone, for any reason. It didn't matter how important the cause. No one could crack him. He just wouldn't contribute. One day, Yankel was crossing the river in a small boat. Suddenly, a huge storm breaks out, and his boat capsizes. Luckily, another boat approached. The sailor calls out to him: "Give me your hand. Give me your hand."
Yankel can barely hear him over the strong winds and the roaring waves. He hears only one word, over and over: "Give, Give..."
And good old Yankel can't help himself. He yells back: "No. I don't give. I don't give."
Again: "Yankel, give me your hand! Give me your hand." And again Yankel screams: "Never. I don't give."
Finally, in desperation, the rescuer yells: "Yankel, take my hand." And Yankel says: "Oh, take? Sure."
I think that this week's parshah offers a spin on what we considering taking. To take something from someone else benefits the self, so perhaps HaShem knew that asking the Israelites to take of themselves would give them a chance to feel a part of the building of the mishkan. No matter how poor or rich, old or young, everyone provided for the construction. Everyone took of themselves to put into the construction of a dwelling place for the shechinah (the divine presence of HaShem).
An old adage says that "A fool gives, a wise person takes." Be the wise person and whenever you offer a contribution or gift, make sure that you're taking of yourself and not just giving. Okay? Okay.
That's your public service announcement for Shabbat. If you want more on the awesome goodness that is tzedakah, I suggest you check out Maimonides Eight Levels of Charity, which is fascinating.
Last night, after returning from an exciting weekend at the Cherry Festival in Gush Etzion and a Shabbos in Neve Daniel with @tripnmommy and her band of merry munchkins, I wrote a really long and, what I thought, emotional post about the weekend. And then? Well, my computer went wonky and the app quit and my work was lost to the annals of time. So here we are, again. Let me try this one more time.
The great thing about Israel -- or maybe the Jewish community in general -- is that in an instant everything can change. I'm not talking anything philosophical here, but merely the fact that what I had planned for Shabbos fell through and I ended up opting (at the advice of a few folks) to go to the Gush for the Cherry Festival and then staying in the environs for Shabbos.
@freeves and I schlepped out to the Gush together, and when we got there we made a b-line for the Chocoholique booth so I could drop my Shabbos bags and to meet my meal hosts. Yes, I managed to land meals with the folks behind probably the most delicious chocolate liqueur on the planet. The funny thing is that I knew about this liqueur before going to Israel. See, when we were in Linden, NJ, for a Shabbaton, the rabbi there filled us in on the glory of spicy chocolate liqueur and said that he'd hook us up when I went to Israel. Of course, that conversation happened and was forgotten, so imagine my surprise when realizing that not only were my meals by the makers of Chocoholique, but that their next-door neighbors were related to the rabbi back in New Jersey. (Cue "It's a Small World After All ...)
You can only buy this in Israel, but it's worth having someone schlep back. Any distributors in the house?
After dropping my things, we traversed the booths, which carried every ware from falafel (if that's a ware) to tableclothes to mitpachot (head coverings) and more. It reminded me of everything I love about Middle America, actually, in that it felt very small town and quaint. Families sat around under gigantic shade tarps and ate lunch, kids crawled around and devoured gigantic cones of cotton candy. And the cherry picking itself? Wow. Now that was quaint. It reminded me of apple picking in Connecticut, but to a much more awesome level. Children and adults alike were up in the cherry trees dropping down handfulls to passersby, and babies were covered in cherry juice. People plopped down under the shade of the cherry trees and simply relished in the communal experience of harvesting cherries.
I walked away from the festival with some mitpachot, some of the delicious Espresso and Coconut @Chocoholique, as well as some Honey Liqueur (sorry Gottliebs!), which I had never before seen. I had about a pint of cherries in my possession, not to mention the countless cherries I ate while scrambling around the grove, and I was prepared to do something that I had never had the chance to do before: separating terumah and ma'aser.
Halachah requires the separation of terumah and ma’ aser from Israeli produce. When the Temple was extant, these separated portions were distributed in a specified manner to the Kohanim (Priests), Leviim (Levites) and the poor, or eaten in Jerusalem. While terumah and ma’ aser are no longer distributed or eaten in Jerusalem, the requirement to separate and designate them is still in effect.
After the festival, we rushed back to Neve Daniel to prepare for Shabbos. All I can say about the experience of Shabbos with the @tripnmommy family is that it was outstanding. The kids treated me like a big sister and the peace the hovers over the community could be felt at all times. And the view? Well, the view was killer.
There's something about Israel that I can't really explain to those who haven't spent a good deal of time here, and maybe even Israelis will think I'm nuts, but it's what I love most about this country: an overarching sense of chaos that breaks down at ground-level into complete peace. While standing outside in Neve Daniel, looking out over the communities in the distance, I felt calm. The kind of calm that makes you want to cry (and even as I write this, I feel surprisingly emotional) because you've reached this point of happiness, as if HaShem is walking with you, near you, around you. I felt this more on the mountainous Yishuv of Neve Daniel than I often do in many places in Israel, so maybe that is saying something. I really think that the location seems perfect for Tuvia -- him being a "country mouse" and all.
Residence in Israel is equivalent to the observance of all the biblical precepts.
Elazar ben Shammua, Sifre #80 to Deuteronomy 13:29
More photos? Of course!
And, don't forget, I'm in Jerusalem until late Thursday night, so if you want to grab a nosh or coffee, just let me know!
Note: If you haven't already considered it, think about donating to the Barry Shuter Family Trust, which I blogged about recently. If you hadn't put two-and-two together yet, Amy (aka @tripnmommy) is Barry's wife. Their kids, I can tell you from first-hand experience that hold a powerful light within themselves, and they should know only happiness and success in this world. My own father lost both of his parents before the age of 12, and he struggled with the help of those around him. Losing a parent and a husband is impossibly difficult, but there is so much that we can do to make life easier for the family.
Well. The truth is often a hard pill to swallow, and this has been one of the hardest. Nay, most frustrating. Nay, most infuriating. This bl...
On Jews
He has made a marvellous fight in this world, in all the ages; and has done it with his hands tied behind him. He could be vain of himself, and be excused for it. The Egyptian, the Babylonian, and the Persian rose, filled the planet with sound and splendor, then faded to dream-stuff and passed away; the Greek and the Roman followed, and made a vast noise, and they are gone; other peoples have sprung up and held their torch high for a time, but it burned out, and they sit in twilight now, or have vanished.
The Jew saw them all, beat them all, and is now what he always was, exhibiting no decadence, no infirmities of age, no weakening of his parts, no slowing of his energies, no dulling of his alert and aggressive mind. All things are mortal but the Jew; all other forces pass, but he remains. What is the secret of his immortality?
