Flickr: Jennifer C.
Shortly after we graduated from college, Annie and I joined a synagogue. The membership packet included a form for volunteer opportunities, with spaces for us each to write our skills and interests. Perhaps you've filled out something similar. My column contained skills like “great with kids” and “loves arts and crafts.” Annie was volunteering for Habitat for Humanity at the time, so her column said, “great with power tools” and “loves to hang cabinets.”
Clearly, building projects are not my area of expertise. So it’s a great irony that I’m going to speak this evening about not one but two building projects. Tonight I want to tell you two stories. A story about building a calf, and a story about building a chapel.
If this sounds familiar to some of you, it means you were kind enough to live-stream my senior sermon last year. I am thrilled to share a new version with our community tonight. I hope it’s even better the second time.
Let's begin with the building of the calf. Our ancestors trembled in terror at the foot of Mount Sinai. Moses had ascended the mountain 40 days before, and they started to worry that he would not come down. Panic reverberated across the community. “Moses has abandoned us. He took us out of Egypt. He showed us miracles. He led us here. And now he’s gone... and he’s taken God with him. Who are we without him?” In fear, they approach Aaron and demand, “Make a god for us, for Moses, our leader, has vanished.” [i]
Aaron, fearing for his life, tells the people to bring him gold, so the men and the women pile their golden earrings in front of him. Then they go back to their tents, proud of themselves for “doing something” and eager for Aaron to solve their problems. What Aaron builds is the infamous Golden Calf. When Moses returns the next day, he and God are furious. They burn the idol down and they punish the people for their faltering faith. The calf is the spiritual low point of our journey in the desert.
Now for the second building story: The chapel. At the exact moment that Aaron is forging the calf at the foot of the mountain, Moses is high above, talking with God and receiving the instructions for the Mishkahn – the portable sanctuary where the Israelites will worship in the desert. It was an elaborate tent, at the center of which was the Ark, the ornate golden box that housed the tablets of the commandments. The mishkahn will serve as the Israelites’ chapel – their spiritual center during their time in the wilderness. And building it will require the people to bring gifts. At first glance, these gifts are a strange echo of the golden calf. But unlike with the idol, when they complete the Mishkahn, God’s presence will come and fill it. [ii] It will be a dwelling place for God.
There’s a striking contrast between the mishkahn and the golden calf. At the top of the mountain the people are commanded to build a sanctuary. At the bottom, the people demand an idol. A chapel and a calf. One is sacred, the other is sacrilegious. One building project is a dwelling place for God, the other God finds detestable. So we are left to wonder, whenever we are building, how do we ensure that we build a chapel, and not a calf?
The story of the golden calf is just 35 verses, while the Torah spends whole chapters explaining the precise blueprints for building the sacred structure of the Mishkahn. “This wall should be this many cubits. That curtain should be that many cubits.” Like I said, I’m not a construction expert. That’s really Annie’s department. I can see her reaching for her phone to google the conversion of cubits to feet. But I read the blueprints as a metaphor – they are instructions for building sacred community.
God commands:
וְעָ֥שׂוּ לִ֖י מִקְדָּ֑שׁ וְשָׁכַנְתִּ֖י בְּתוֹכָֽם: [iii]
Build me a sanctuary and I will dwell among them. But even before that, Six verses before God tells us what to build, God tells us the spirit in which we should build:
דַּבֵּר֙ אֶל־בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל וְיִקְחוּ־לִ֖י תְּרוּמָ֑ה מֵאֵ֤ת כָּל־אִישׁ֙ אֲשֶׁ֣ר יִדְּבֶ֣נּוּ לִבּ֔וֹ...׃ [iv]
“Tell the children of Israel to bring me gifts from every person whose heart is so moved.” The Hebrew word for “gifts” is Trumot, or Trumah in the sigular. Before we can even imagine building the mishkahn, God inspires us to bring our trumot – our gifts. The difference between the calf and the chapel lies in how we build them. When we want to build the chapel, we bring the fullness of our gifts.
When we think of trumot, we tend to think of material gifts, of gold and silver, gemstones, and acacia wood. But the text implies that equally important are the offerings of people’s hearts. God calls for the participation of: “everyone who is wise of heart, whose spirit I have filled with wisdom.” [v] And later, God commands: “Let all among you who are skilled come and make all that I have commanded.” [vi] The gifts that the Israelites use to build the mishkahn are not just their gold and precious gems. It is their sacred skills and the wisdom of the hearts. Only with these trumot can they build a dwelling place for God.
This is the difference between the calf and the chapel. When the Israelites start to build an idol, they bring their gold. But when they start by thinking of the gifts each of them can offer, what they build is a sanctuary.
And this is not just a story about an ancient construction project. Rashi, the 11th Century commentator, says that every generation has to build a mishkahn. [vii] In preparation for this sermon, I asked, but the board insisted that there is no line item in the budget for acacia wood. So we have to find another way to answer Rashi’s call: how will our community fulfill the commandment to build a dwelling place for God?
The answer is the trumot. Every person has a gift, a sacred talent to share.
Like Moses, Jewish leaders must ask people to bring their gifts, knowing that each is sacred material in the construction of a dwelling place for God. Our community is a vessel overflowing with abundant talent.
In his book, 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, Steven Covey describes dichotomous worldviews: a scarcity mentality and an abundance mentality. A person or organization with a scarcity mentality looks at the world and says, “I don’t have enough. How can I get more?” An abundance mentality says, “I have everything I need. How blessed am I?” Both mindsets look at the same data, but draw different conclusions. Covey challenges us to move from a mentality that sees only scarcity to one that appreciates abundance.
The golden calf is the kind of building project that comes out of scarcity – built out of the fear that Moses had left. Aaron tells the frightened people to drop off their gold and he builds the calf for them. They pay their dues and say, “Do this for us.” What Aaron builds is an empty vessel, instead of an invitation to holiness. The move from the calf to the chapel is a transition from a mindset of scarcity to a mindset of abundance. It’s the abundance that comes when we ask for people’s gifts, not simply their gold.
It is easy fall into the trap of scarcity, and see only what we do not have. But Jewish tradition reminds us that there is another, more abundant way of seeing the same circumstances. There is a midrash that even Moses up on the mountain had a moment of scarcity thinking. When God tells him about all the gifts that the Israelites are going to bring, Moses asks how these former slaves who escaped with only what they could carry, could possibly have all the precious items needed to complete the project. But before he can even finish the question, God interrupts and says, “Not only do the children of Israel collectively possess the necessary materials to build the mishkahn, but in fact, every Jew could do so singlehandedly.”[viii] If the Israelites only bring their gold, they can only build a single calf. But if they are willing to bring their gifts, their sacred wisdoms, then there’s no limit to what they can build.
Trumot can transform our community by enabling us to peer past perceived scarcity and see an abundance of talent dwelling here.
I learned to look for abundance, not from Covey, or the Torah, but from my mother. She was a non-profit consultant who specialized in volunteerism. But more importantly, my mother was a guru of gifts. If she were here, she would look out on this sanctuary and see an ocean of trumot. She believed that each of us has unique gifts to share, and that organizations need to be better at helping us share them. This was more than her vocation, it was her conviction. When she looked at people, she saw wellsprings of talent. When she met someone, on a plane or in line at the grocery store, it took barely a second before she got them talking about their passions. This was her gift: she was a diviner of talent. When I read the Torah’s description of the building of the mishkahn, it is her voice I hear whispering, “Imagine if each of us could develop skills to find and bring out the gifts in one another.”
My question for you is this: what gift could you can share with this sacred community? Maybe it’s a professional skill. Perhaps you are a marketing expert, or a teacher, or a finance person. Or maybe it’s a passion. Perhaps you love to write, or weave, or paint. Maybe your gift is that you have a big idea or time to spare on a day we need it. Maybe you are great with kids. Maybe you are great at baking. Whatever it is, that’s your trumah. It’s not just a donation, it’s not just a volunteer hour – it’s a gift you give in the construction of this sacred dwelling place for God. For the many, many of you who share your gifts here, we are grateful. Your gifts of time and talent not only make this place run, they make this place a sacred community.
And maybe others of you don’t even know what your gift is yet. And then it’s our job, as a community, to help you figure that out. Two weeks ago, I was sitting in my office before Kadimah, our Monday-night educational program, when a 10th grader named Julia walked in and asked me if I had minute. She said she didn’t understand why more of her classmates didn’t bring tzedakah to class, and she wanted me to make an announcement that everyone should bring more. As far as “things rabbis like to hear” go, this is pretty much as good as it gets. When I recovered from the realization that I’d peaked so early in my career, I realized I had a choice. There were two ways I could respond to Julia’s wonderful request. I could thank her for her passion and assure her that I’d say something to the students about bringing tzedakah. But that’s the calf model – a scarcity response – thanks for your gold. The second option was to see that something sacred was being offered. A trumah. She was offering a gift she didn’t even know she had. “You have a gift,” I told her. She looked at me skeptically, but I continued. “Not everyone has this passion, this commitment to tzedakah.” Then we talked about why she cared so much, and about all the strategies we could use to help other people learn to care, too. I told her I could not do it for her, that it would not have as much impact coming from me. But if she were willing to share that gift, I bet we could make a real difference. I suggested she come back the next week and to bring two friends who would offer their own, different gifts. I wasn’t sure she’d do it. I feared my rabbinic excitement had gotten away from me. But the very next week, three passionate teens showed up in my office. And now we are well on our way to building something truly sacred, something impactful. Not a calf, but a chapel.
We at Beth Haverim Shir Shalom want to know what your gifts are. And if you don’t know yet, we want to help you find out. In this year of building and rebuilding, we want to create new avenues for you to offer your gifts. We grateful to all those who already share their gifts, and we want to find new ways to sanctify your offerings. And, if you have not had a chance to share your gifts here before, or if you have not done so in a while, and you are willing to take a step, we want to take a step to meet you in return. We’ve put together a group of board members and committee chairs who want to meet you for coffee and learn about your life. We are not asking for a commitment. We are not even asking for you to know what your gift is yet. We are asking a cup of coffee and a conversation to get to know you better. As you leave tonight, the ushers will have blue cards. Fill out your name and phone number and return it to me, so that we can set up a one-on-one conversation to get to know you and your gifts in a new way. These blue post-cards are a request for your partnership in the work of building sacred community.
Now, since we are asking, we are going to do our best put your gifts to use. That’s on us. Some of us have been hurt before when we have offered gifts to organizations which were not ready to receive them. I won’t promise we will use every offered gift right away, and I won’t be so hubristic to say that we will be instantly good at this. But if you meet with one of us, we are going to do our best to find places where your gifts can be used in ways that are meaningful to you and the congregation. We know how difficult it can be when a congregation does not live up to this promise. As we navigate these years of transition in this congregation, we want to learn to be better stewards of each other’s gifts.
But you are busy people. And perhaps you already volunteer somewhere else. So what makes sharing your gifts here different? According to the Torah, when we build with our gifts, it’s not just our communities that we make into a sanctuary; it’s our own lives. The verse I read earlier hints at this sacred transformation:
וְעָ֥שׂוּ לִ֖י מִקְדָּ֑שׁ,
וְשָׁכַנְתִּ֖י בְּתוֹכָֽם
“Build me a sanctuary that I may dwell in them.” [ix]
That last word is not what you would expect. You’d think it should say “v’shachanti b’tocho” –so that I can dwell in it in the sanctuary. But it says B’tocham – So I can dwell in THEM. The Divine presence came to rest in the hearts of the Israelites, and “not in the wood and metal of the mishkahn.”[x]
If we bring our gifts, if we put them to sacred use, God will dwell in us. Offering your gifts is not just a way you serve your community – it is part of a spiritual life, a way we seek the One who gave us gifts in the first place.
I think there are a lot of you here who, like me, are searching for meaning. We are eager to find purpose and encounter the mystery that we call God. We feel scarcity and crave abundance. Know then, that God has placed in us something special. A gift that only we can offer. If we let it, it can be an expression of the divine within us – a higher purpose to which we can aspire. Think of Julia, who came in with a question, and found that she had gift – a spark of the divine that had been hiding in her all along.
Rashi says we have a sacred obligation: To help each other find our trumot. And to build sanctuaries where those gifts can be shared. Let us build. Let us build out of abundance. Let us build a mishkahn that can stand the test of time. Let us build with our gifts of artistry and wisdom, which are the pathways for God to be present in our lives. Let us build for our community, places for God to dwell in our sanctuary and social hall - and in our homes and hearts. This is not a means to an end, but the essence of the call. Let us build together. Because when we do, we will discover God dwelling among us.
[i] Exodus 32:1
[ii] Exodus 40:34
[iii] Exodus 25:8
[iv] Exodus 25:2
[v] Exodus 28:3
[vi] Exodus 35:10
[vii] Rashi, commenting on the seemingly superfluous phrase in Exodus 25:9, "וְכֵ֖ן תַּעֲשֽׂו"comments: "This is an additional commandment, extending the obligation of building the Tabernacle to future generations.”
[viii] Shemot Rabbah, as quoted in The Midrash Says (Exodus), p. 239
[ix] Exodus 25:8
[x] Language from Meam Loez on Exodus 25:8