B”H
This week’s parshah
(Torah portion) is Exodus 25:1-27:19, or T'rumah (תרומה / “Gift”). We learn about the intricacy of the building of the Mishkan
(משכן / Tabernacle),
which was the structure of sorts serving as a sanctuary or dwelling-place of G-D for the Israelites in the desert. Surely any
edifice claiming to house the very essence of G-D should be nothing short of
perfect, and it certainly seems that the Israelites went all out. From the
description outlined in the Torah, one can easily get lost in
the various precious stones, luxurious metals, and opulent materials that were
a part of the assembly of the Mishkan. All of the measurements are drawn
out precisely, and the artwork and decorations is so clearly illustrated. Truly,
the description is of a glorious construction that requires a vivid imagination
to fully envision. The imagery in this week’s parshah is so fantastically
alluring and enticing.
However, it
amazes me most that such a beautiful structure, the Mishkan, is meant to
be disassembled and rebuilt at a new stopping point, for the Israelites were wandering
the desert at this time. This concept of such an important place’s portability has
always been quite difficult for me to grasp. The need for a religious center dedicated
to various sacrificial offerings and spiritual connection with G-D is understandable,
but did it have to be so ornate…so lavish? Everything is outlined so
intricately in these chapters of Torah, and all for some structure that
constantly needs to be rebuilt over and over again. I also get that the Israelites
were in the middle of Exodus and all, so the need for portability is apparent,
but to carry around the building blocks of such an elaborate and
meaningful structure – indeed the very House of G-D – seems impractical,
unreasonable, and so very wasteful of limited resources.
However, this
time reading the parshah, I think I finally connected with T'rumah
in thinking about my own Jewish journey. After my Bar-Mitzvah, my family
grew disconnected from our synagogue, and so went my only source of connection
to my faith and heritage besides passed-down familial customs. We changed synagogues, but I didn't really have time get acquainted with the new house of worship. I felt spiritually
lost and religiously homeless between innumerous bouts of institutionally-supported
anti-Semitism in grade school and the lack of a strong Jewish community with
whom to connect. San Antonio was my Egypt: a barren place without food and
water for my Jewish soul, and it is the starting point of my initial exodus. Somehow,
though, I always found a way to carry a connection to my ancestors and to my
faith, to my people and to my religious conviction. I just needed the right
setting.
When I made the
decision to go to GW for undergrad, I became eager to discover a vibrant young
Jewish community on the East Coast, and I found a home in Hillel, a center for
Jewish life for the college community. The actual place itself was … well …
different – a converted building where the ceiling tiles were falling apart, the
walls were slightly discolored from various unknown liquids, and the carpets desperately
needed to be replaced. A few decorations, mostly handmade, adorned the bulletin
boards with cute but schmaltz-y jokes to convince the reader to go to
next week’s themed Shabbat or go to a DC hotspot with fellow Members of the Tribe. Some random tenants lived on the floor above the Conservative
prayer hub I frequented each week, and the building made all sorts of random
noises (especially in the downstairs dining hall). However, in this very
building, I found a place to finally nurture my religious soul, at the time so
infantile in its development. In the company of other Jews, I finally found a place
to freely grow as a Jew and felt comfortable to spiritually and religiously discover
myself.
I was initially
quite saddened to depart such a community when I uprooted for medical school in
Dallas. But now through Makom, a Jewish community in Dallas which successfully
takes away with synagogue and keeps the faith and customs in non-traditional
locales, I continue to embrace my Jewish development. But forget Hillel…Makom’s
personal building is literally nonexistent! For awhile, the rabbi held
services and other functions in his backyard, and now that the community is
growing so large, we now use a place meant to be customized and decorated by the
renter of the space. Bleached white walls with dry-erase marker decorations and
a few essentials allow one to create a new locus from scratch, and, in an
indescribably awe-inspiring way, guests themselves create the entire ambiance.
Through the community of other young Jews and the perhaps most basic of architectural
structures, I continue to find immensely deep meaning in the development of my
Jewish identity.
I am a
wanderer. My traditions, cultural ties, religious practices, and spiritual connections
have changed dramatically as I have entered adulthood. And honestly, I predict they’ll
continue to shift further as I enter new stages of my life. I struggle in that
I don’t identify firmly in a denomination of mainstream Judaism, or even in the
Judaism of my own family anymore. Furthermore, from San Antonio, to DC, to
Dallas, to wherever the National Resident Matching Program algorithm chooses to
send me for my time in residency, I have multiple times had to pick up (and
will continue to pick up) my faith and relocate….re-center…readjust. And yet, I
do not fear the future transition, for I have survived and thrived in what are,
objectively, the strangest of places. My growth has certainly not been found within
the walls of the beautiful synagogues that define the traditional centers of
modern Judaism.
T'rumah tells
the story of the Israelites who are commanded to erect the ever-portable Mishkan,
the spiritual center of religious activities, as fate carried them through the
desert. But what if the Mishkan was truly with them all along? Perhaps
the dwelling place of G-D was said to be the Mishkan because it is in the
Mishkan where the Israelites opened the doors of their hearts to welcome
G-D’s presence…just like an old, run-down building or a blank white room is
where I have allowed G-D to enter my life. In such way, T'rumah gives me comfort
that, wherever I may go in this life as a proverbial Wandering Jew, I carry
with me my own mishkan where I can establish home base to reconnect with
G-D and my faith...and it is a lot less stuff to schlep around.
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