Dear Friends,
There are moments in each of our lives that leave an indelible mark on us.
It may be a conversation that stirs something within us.
It could be a journey that broadens our horizons.
Or it might even be a sermon, a piece of music, a genuine connection that feels… real.
Last week’s parashah provided us with one of those transformative moments on a communal scale.
At Mt. Sinai, there was thunder, lightning, the resonant sound of the shofar, and the voice of God. One can only imagine how overwhelming an experience it must have been, one that our people still carry with us.
However, a short time later the Torah takes an unexpected turn. It states,
“V’asu li mikdash, v’shachanti b’tocham”—“Let them build for Me a sanctuary, and I will dwell among them.”
This is a vastly different kind of moment.
There’s no thunder. No lightning. No dramatic spectacle. Instead, the Torah offers us a detailed list of materials and measurements that gave the people the plans and the materials for their first great construction project.
In the juxtaposition of these two ideas, the Torah seems to be conveying that no matter how powerful a moment may be, it’s never sufficient.
So while Sinai was a singular moment, building the Mishkan, the tabernacle, was a process.
For all its focus on profound, transcendent experiences, Judaism has never been built solely on singular moments. Instead, those moments open the door to the actions that follow them. In this case: building a place to worship the one God.
Thus, this section of the Torah reminds us of a truth of Judaism—thoughts and feelings matter but not nearly as much as the tangible actions they inspire.
We’ve all experienced moments where we feel more connected, more contemplative, and more attuned to what truly matters.
We tell ourselves, “I should really…
…be more present for the people I love.
…make more time for things I believe actually matter.
…get more involved in supporting the work of my community.
And in those moments, we are genuinely sincere. We mean it.
Yet, as Torah reminds us, meaning something and acting on it are two entirely different things.
Thoughts are important. Intentions matter. But on their own, they don’t actually create anything. They don’t move the dial one bit.
At some point, we need to actually DO something.
The Mishkan, as described in the Torah, serves as a profound symbol of the process of translating abstract concepts like faith, connection, and purpose into tangible realities. It represents the tangible manifestation of these intangible ideas, something that can be physically seen, touched, and experienced.
The Mishkan was not merely a physical structure; it was a space created to re-experience the profound moment of encountering God at Sinai. The Torah emphasizes that the Mishkan was built “so that I may dwell among them,” rather than simply “so that I may dwell in it.” This distinction highlights the importance of the community and the collective effort in creating a space for divine presence.
The Mishkan was not the result of a single moment of inspiration or a powerful experience. Rather, it was the result of the collective contributions and efforts of the people who heard the inspiring message and then responded by bringing silver, copper, and other materials. They gave of themselves—freely, with purpose and in ways that were truly impactful. This tangible act of giving and contributing was a testament to the people’s commitment and dedication—the transformation of an inspiring idea into a reality that would benefit the entire community.
The Torah’s message in this parashah is a quiet challenge to us. It invites us to reflect on our own experiences of meaningfulness and to consider what we have done with those experiences since. It reminds us that it is not enough to simply feel or think something; we must actively engage with it and incorporate it into our lives.
The Torah’s message in this parashah is a reminder that the most meaningful things in our lives are not the moments that move us, but the actions we take afterward. It encourages us to be willing to build and sustain meaningful structures in our lives, to create spaces for divine presence and to nurture our communities.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Daniel Cohen