blogs/rabbi-huberman

Where God Truly Dwells 

The Talmud, our collection of ancient laws and legends, tells the story of a man who walked the streets mourning the collapse of his marriage. 

"When our love was strong," he opined, "we could have lain together on the width of a sword. But now that we are not strong, a bed of one hundred feet does not suffice for us."
(Sanhedrin 7a).

It's a sad but often true story of what happens when people lose track of what brought them together. 

There is a fascinating line which launches this week's Torah portion titled Terumah (Gifts): God asks the Israelites to contribute to the building of a movable sanctuary in the desert.

The sanctuary, known as the Mishkan, or Tabernacle, is meant as a place of worship, and will house the Ten Commandments. God asks that this be done in order "that I may dwell in your midst." (Exodus 25:8)

The great Rabbi Judah Abravanel (1437-1508) noted that this divine directive reinforced the idea that God -- giver of the Ten Commandments -- does not live in the heavens, remote from humanity, but rather within the nuts and bolts of human existence.

The rest of the Parashah reads like an IKEA manual: page after page of assembly instructions involving dowels, braces, rings, poles and molding which hold together exotic woods, skins, fabrics, jewels, gold and silver.

The Israelites gifted these items lovingly and selflessly.

Many rabbis over the generations have pointed to this Torah portion to underscore the importance of supporting synagogues.

After all, synagogues, especially during periods of exile, served as epicenters of Jewish life. It is doubtful we could have survived had we not had places of worship for "God to dwell in our midst."

In recent years, though, the nature of worship and spirituality has changed. 

Ask many contemporary Jews today where they sense God's presence most, and they will answer "While taking a walk-Watching a sunset-By the sea-With my family and friends."

Our understanding of where God dwells continues to evolve. 

Of course prayer and ritual are important: they ground us. They provide us with continuity as Judaism evolves L'Dor Va'Dor, from generation to generation.

But we know that God is not confined within the walls of our synagogues.

In a world where grandparents bond with their grandchildren and soldiers are heartened by the faces of loved ones by the latter-day miracles of Skype and FaceTime, where rabbis and other teachers can converse with students hundreds of miles away, we know now more than we ever have that God not only dwells in houses of worship, but in the strength and commitment we give to our relationships.

We have the technology. But when it comes to relationships, like that tabernacle more than three thousand years ago, "some assembly is required."

Our tradition tells us that we have everything we need to build a perfect world, but we have yet to achieve it. This week's Torah portion reminds us that we must build carefully with what we have -- not only to support physical entities, but also to sustain loving relationships, and a just society.

The Ten Commandments are divided into two basic categories.  One tablet concerns itself with humanity's relationship with God; the other guides how we should treat one another. These latter five commandments in particular require strong materials.

We need love.

Love is more than a feeling. It reaches beyond our own needs: it is a selfless commitment to raise the positive sparks within another person, while accepting, even celebrating, their glimmers of imperfection.

We also need to indetify common purpose.

Like the Jews in the desert, we must focus on what unites us. What passions do we share? What can we accomplish as one? The founder of the Chassidic movement, the Baal Shem Tov, teaches:

From every human being there rises a light that reaches straight to heaven. And when two souls that are destined to be together find each other, their streams of light flow together, and a single brighter light goes forth from their united being.

We need that light.

We also need open and heartfelt communications. There is nothing like two individuals exchanging live words.

We need patience. Those we love are not perfect. Neither are we. We must not expect perfection: imagine the toll of having perfection expected of ourselves, and all the good it negates. 

Often, when we lose our tempers, we are too often reacting to faults in others that we know more viscerally to be our own. 

We also need to have more fun together. We all work to hard and miss too much of what is beautiful and miraculous about our lives: a little less "oy" and a lot more "joy" is always in order. What makes you happy? Do more of that together.

There are so many building materials surrounding us. 

The great teacher Ben Azzai wrote two thousand years ago that the most important line in the entire Torah is, "This is the record of Adam's line."  (Genesis 5:1) In other words, each of us is descended from the same loving source.

We dream of the day when humanity will peacefully co-exist, and could "lay together" on the width of a sword.

Until then, there is work to be done.

This week's Torah portion begs the question, "What can we do, in our interactions with others, to invite God to dwell in our midst?"

The focus in Judaism has always been less on concrete structures and more on helping God to complete creation. As we are reminded this week, the work is not yet done. 

The Israelites in the desert contributed towards their sanctuary with full and open hearts: we must do the same in our relationships.

And we must open the doors to our homes and synagogues: all who are thirsty must enter. When we open our doors to our fellow spiritual travelers, God dwells in our midst.

The materials are all around us: love, patience, hospitality, kindness, generosity, care, and compassion. 

We have yet to achieve our vision of a perfect world: that will come in time, if we work towards it with full hearts.

It is not the beauty of our synagogues which attract those on their spiritual journeys, but what occurs within their walls, and what they inspire us to carry out into the world. 

That is where God truly dwells.

Shabbat shalom, v'kol tuv, (with all goodness)

Rabbi Irwin Huberman