Dear friends,
In this week’s Torah portion, Parashat Terumah, the Israelites are called upon to bring gifts (terumah) for the construction of the Tabernacle, the portable temple they carried with them during their desert wandering. Among the items collected are:
“gold, and silver, and brass, and blue and purple and scarlet yarn, and fine linen and goat’s hair, and skins of rams dyed red, and skins of seals, and acacia wood.”
The rabbis of old took special note of the inclusion of acacia wood in this list, and the great commentator Rashi asked, “From where did they obtain this in the wilderness?”
His question will make perfect sense to anyone who has visited the Sinai Desert, as it is among the most barren spots on the planet. Thus, even to Rashi, the idea that acacia trees would be found growing in the Sinai wilderness was laughable. How, then, the rabbis wondered, could God ask the people to supply something to which they had no access?
In good rabbinic form, Rashi then answers his own question. He cites a 5th-century Midrash that states,
“Rabbi Tanhuma explained, ‘Our father Jacob foresaw by means of the Holy Spirit that Israel was destined to build a tabernacle in the wilderness; so he brought cedars to Egypt and planted them and commanded his children to take them with them when they would leave Egypt.”‘
Despite Rashi’s apparent endorsement, Rabbi Tanhuma’s fanciful explanation is wholly unsatisfying. The idea that God told Jacob to bring cedars to Egypt in the midst of a famine, he and his offspring then planted and harvested the cedars, and then generations later, in the midst of Egyptian oppression, his descendants remembered to bring the lumber with them is hard to accept. Even if the trees had been growing in Egypt, the idea that slaves who didn’t have time for their bread to rise but did have the forethought to bring the wood with them is impossible to accept.
Yet despite the absurdity of Rabbi Tanchuma’s explanation, the point he was making is as relevant today as it has ever been—we are the beneficiaries of the actions taken by those who came before us. Their investments, which may not have benefitted them in their day, become the foundation upon which our lives are built.
If those who came before us did not build the foundation of Jewish life, if they did not plant seeds in their day, we would not be here as a Jewish community today.
Had visionaries not thought to establish the Anti-Defamation League one hundred and eleven years ago, the most important organization for addressing the explosive growth of antisemitism would not exist. Thankfully, they did plant those seeds.
If community leaders in Boston had not created the first Jewish Federation in 1895 (known as the Associated Jewish Philanthropies), we would not have the benefit of an umbrella organization uniting the Jewish community at a time when Jewish solidarity is more important than ever.
Had organizations to help educate lawmakers on the importance of the US-Israel relationship, such as AIPAC, not been founded in 1953, life-saving technologies such as the Iron Dome, which benefits both Israel and America, may not have received the necessary funding for its creation.
And we would not be here today if community members had not invested their time, commitment, and dollars in building synagogues such as our own TSTI.
But they did. And we have all benefitted from their foresight.
But the same holds true in our own day. If we value Jewish community, if we understand the importance of fighting antisemitism, if we care about Israel remaining Jewish AND democratic, if maintaining a synagogue at 432 Scotland Road that is not just viable but is strong matters to us, we need to lean in, with our commitment, with our efforts, and, with our support. Because in this moment of crisis, we are seeing the importance of the seeds planted by those who came before us. But the responsibility for planting the next generation of seeds now falls on us.
And if we don’t step up, who will?
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Daniel Cohen