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March 23, 2001/Adar 28, 5761, Vol. 53, No.25
Desert tabernacle stresses life's beauty
Torah Study
RABBI IRWIN N. GOLDENBERG
Vayak'heil-P'kudei/Exodus 35:1-40:38
Why did the Israelites build such an elaborate tabernacle? Some condemn this act, saying that something grand was needed to assuage the Israelites' guilt for worshiping the golden calf. Others ask, could not the treasures that were used for the tabernacle have been put toward the better purpose of feeding the hungry? But surely Moses would not encourage a waste of resources.
One of my personal mentors, Rabbi Levi Olan, whom I will paraphrase, pointed out that Israel needed such a tabernacle to carry them through the forbidding desert of their lives and to serve as a vision of the beauty that life can and should contain. The chochmat lev (those endowed with a heart of wisdom) build tabernacles that heal those of lev namuch a (depressed heart).
In the wilderness, the Israelites struggled with depression and hopelessness. Their bodies were battered by the hot, sandy desert wind, and their mouths were parched by thirst. They were anxious about their uncertain future.
However, when they stood in the tabernacle, they probably experienced awe, wonder, and mystery to the point of hearing the angels singing, "Holy, holy, holy," just as we do in grand synagogues or cathedrals today.
As Olan said, "Religion is less a theology, philosophy, or code of behavior than it is an art. So Moses was right when he took every possible step to make sure that the first sanctuary was a thing of beauty. In that rough wilderness, people needed something to open for them the possibilities of a better existence."
This may appear to confirm the Marxist view that "religion is the opiate of the masses." On the contrary, artists like Bezalel, the one mentioned in this week's double portion Vayak'heil-P'kudei, were prophets like Moses, endowed with ru-ach Elohim (divine spirit). They taught commitment to the ethical and holy life, not escape from moral responsibility.
In our century especially, artists have been the true prophets, revealing that which we do not wish to see or hear. They possess a special sensitivity to the world around them, whereby the ugliness of a suffering humanity stands in contrast to the beauty that life should be.
Thus, as world war hung over Europe, Picasso painted "Guernica," an immensely ugly, horrifying work that protested the Nazi bombing of that Spanish town. It foreshadowed and warned of the terror that would engulf the world if the Nazis were permitted to go unchallenged, which they were.
After World War I, Benjamin Britten's "War Requiem" warned of the growing danger of sacrificing the young on an Abrahamic altar of war.
Some of the modern, discordant music reflects our fragmented, discordant lives and points us to tikkun olam (repairing the world).
The Moseses of our world give life direction through law by appealing to our faculty of reason. The experience of the art of Bezalels through synagogue music, magnificent or simple architecture, and handsomely crafted symbols, such as menorot and Torah ornaments, speak to our souls.
If they are successful, they should arouse us to turn toward holiness. They, like the prayers of our siddur (prayer book) should inspire us to leave the synagogue with the determination to make our lives and the lives of those around us beautiful, saying with all of our "heart, soul, and might," "O God, send me!"
Irwin N. Goldenberg has been the rabbi of Temple Beth Israel in York, Pa., since 1973. Torat Hayim, produced by the Union of American Hebrew Congregations, is on the Internet at www.uahc.org/growth.
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