Tetzaveh
Shemot/Exodus 27:20–30:10
Yechezkel/Ezekiel 43:10–27
If you know any congregational rabbis, this is a good time of year to be kind to them. As people often expected to teach and speak about the Torah portion, they recently have entered a most challenging season: the weeks in which the Torah portions focus upon the design and construction of the Mishkan.
The Mishkan, or Tabernacle, was the portable Temple used by the Jewish people throughout decades of wandering in the desert and then centuries longer after entering Israel. It served in many respects as the model for Solomon’s Temple in Jerusalem, and was the central gathering place for spiritual inspiration and religious worship.
There is much detail offered about the structure, the priestly garments, the implements, tools and utensils. But for all but architects and clothing designers, it is enough to make the eyes glaze over. (To make matters more challenging, these five weeks are followed by a couple more weeks focused on the sacrificial law, keeping rabbis on their educational toes.)
Yet hidden within the detail and wording of these portions is the secret to one of the most common questions I receive as a rabbi (particularly as an Orthodox one), one that gets to the heart of the concept of Shabbat.
It is well known that Jews whose practice is very traditional are especially particular about what they do and don’t do on Shabbat. The list of “no-no’s” includes not turning on and off lights (one may make use of them, but not ignite or extinguish), no cooking, no driving a car (its internal combustion engine is a controlled fire), and so on.
But what does it matter if one strikes a match or turns on a light? That isn’t labor! And driving a car is something people often do for pleasure, so why is any of this considered work? And while we’re at it, how can rabbis go and do their jobs on Friday night and Saturdays? Religious leaders go to work on Shabbat!
Let’s go back to the beginning. What is the original source of Shabbat in the Torah? Most people will tell you that in the beginning of Bereshit, it says HaShem “rested” on the seventh day after six days of creation, and so we are instructed to do the same. But really? What made HaShem so tired? Was it the creation of the massive blue whale? Or maybe the sequoias? Stretching out that giraffe, or guiding the bizarre evolution of the duck-billed platypus? Of course not — the idea that an infinite Being would become physically exhausted is a preposterous notion in Jewish philosophy.
Instead, take a closer look. It doesn’t say in Genesis that HaShem did work (avodah), but rather uses the Hebrew word “melachah.” Six days of melachah, and then on the seventh day cessation of melachah. What does this word mean?
One of the most common ways to arrive at a definition of an unfamiliar word is to look at all the contexts in which it is used. This term is found in two contexts in the Torah: creation, and the construction of the Mishkan. The latter refers to the melachah done by the blacksmiths, by the stonecutters, by those weaving and dying fabrics, drawing design plans and more. What emerges is that melachah refers to creativity; to impacting and changing the material world. Thus, HaShem was materially creative for six days, and then let the world be on the seventh.
The Mishkan we read about during these weeks represents creation. It was a human effort to create an oasis of life and enlightenment, a sort of return to Eden. We put all of our creative energies into it, and it became the example of the myriad ways in which people can impact and change the physical world around us. But for one day a week, we let that be, and we experience the world for what it is.
Strange as it sounds to say it, I work on Shabbat. Trust me, I do. But I do no melachah, for on this day I explore and develop my inner spiritual realm while allowing the world around me to rest.
Rabbi Judah Dardik is the spiritual leader at Orthodox Beth Jacob in Oakland. He can be reached at [email protected].