Parshat Pekudei
March 7th-8th, 2003
4 Adar II, 5763

Here’s an interesting excerpt from our daily morning prayer service (Shacharis):

"You [G-d] have made the heavens, the earth, the sea, and all that is in them.

Who among all Your handiwork, those above and those below, can say to You,

‘What are You doing?’" [Artscroll Siddur; my emphasis]

Do we hear the question? What creature could possibly have the audacity to call the Creator to task, to question the way He runs His universe?! What living being, with its own limited intelligence, can possibly think that it knows better what is good or just or efficacious for the Creation than the One Who is of limitless wisdom and insight?!

Please take note that the very same (rhetorical) question is posed in the Book of Job (by the hero himself: 9, 12), and in Ecclesiastes (by its author, King Solomon: 8, 4). Who, indeed, could be so presumptuous--and so foolish--as to say to the Supreme King, "What are You doing?!"

You no doubt guessed the answer…for there does happen to be one certain being who is constantly uttering these words (or repeating them silently). A human being, that’s who! Without meaning to sound too cynical, I would suggest that perhaps this is a defining human characteristic: to suspect that I know better than G-d what’s good for me, and for the universe at large! And I don’t mean people who deny His existence outright, those for whom the question of, "Who knows better, G-d or I?" never consciously arises in the first place. I’m talking about human beings who actually do acknowledge His reality, and His sovereignty, and even His actual commandments, yet ironically (or tragically) fall prey to delusions of grandeur.

It could well be that the sin of Adam and Eve fits this description. In an extremely profound analysis of that story [greatly simplified here], Rabbi Eliyahu Dessler, zt’l, writes that Adam thought (or convinced himself) that it would be better for him spiritually if he ate from the forbidden fruit! He believed that he could ultimately bring about a greater sanctification of Hashem’s Name by struggling to serve Him from the "fallen" state that would result from his sin, as opposed to remaining at the lofty spiritual level of the Garden of Eden (where the "evil inclination" was not yet an internal part of his personality).

In any case, the point here is that the very first human being’s transgression was (naturally?) quintessentially human. Instead of simply following G-d’s directions, he came up with his own calculations. He thought that he knew better than G-d what was good for him.

Now take a look at this week’s Torah portion, Pekudei (the final parsha in the Book of Exodus), as it details the construction and erection of the Tabernacle. There’s a very strange monotony in the verses: the Torah concludes nearly every step of the manufacturing process by saying, "…as Hashem had commanded Moshe." Over and over again, in what seems to be a completely unnecessary way, the Torah underscores that the Tabernacle is being made just "as Hashem had commanded Moshe."

One of the great 19th century Jewish leaders and Biblical commentators, Rabbi Yosef Dov Soloveitchik (great-grandfather of Rabbi Yosef B. Soloveitchik, renowned 20th century thinker and Talmudist), in his work, Beis HaLevi, explains why there is a need for all this repetition. We are being taught both a very important lesson about the Jewish people in the aftermath of the catastrophic sin of the Golden Calf (recounted earlier in the Book of Exodus), as well as a crucial insight into the nature and value of our own service unto G-d.

How had the construction of the Golden Calf come about? The Jewish people feared that without Moshe, who they wrongly assumed had died on Mt. Sinai (due to their miscalculation of the day of his promised descent), they would not be able to experience G-d’s closeness. They went to Aharon, whose great and deep prophetic wisdom was second only to his younger brother, and urged him to use his knowledge to construct a structure that could be the focus of G-d’s presence (hashras Shechina) among the Jewish people. [In this interpretation, though some of the Jewish people--well as the "mixed multitude" of Egyptians among them--were truly guilty of idolatry, the great majority were merely seeking in the Golden Calf a substitute for Moshe, a leader or intermediary who would "channel" G-d’s presence as they believed Moshe had done.]

But here is the rub, according to the Beis HaLevi. The only way we can bring G-d’s presence (shechina) among us, the only true path (in other words) to holiness, is by carrying out the actions that He (in His wisdom) commands, not those that our own intellects decree! Even if, say, we were to utilize our deepest kabbalistic knowledge of the building blocks of Creation, we could not on our own construct a place (makom) where G-d’s presence could be intensely felt.

And this was the very lesson (and the spiritual rectification) afforded by the Tabernacle, which was built after the Golden Calf, and whose very purpose was to bring G-d’s presence in the midst of the Jewish people. "They shall make a Sanctuary for Me, so that I may dwell among them" (25, 8). In Pekudei, the Torah emphasizes that every single step of the construction of the Tabernacle was carried out, "as Hashem had commanded Moshe," to inform us that our ancestors had learned the lesson of the Golden Calf, and corrected their thinking accordingly. It was only by following G-d’s commandments, precisely and "to the T," that the Jewish people could construct a Tabernacle in which G-d would make His presence felt.

More generally, it is only through following the Torah’s commandments (mitzvos), and not through our own well-meaning, but ill-advised spiritual programs, that we can bring godliness into our lives.

The immense power of the mitzvos to transform our own lives, and to effect

far-reaching cosmic "rectifications" (as discussed in the Jewish mystical works), is a direct result of the fact that they are mitzvos--that is, actions decreed (for our own benefit) by the One of infinite wisdom. We grow spiritually, and become partners with Hashem in Creation (an overriding goal of the Torah) when we relate to them precisely as mitzvos…not as "nice traditions," or "lifestyle choices" that conform to our own self-generated plans, desires or philosophies. Each mitzvah represents the Will of Hashem, and when we carry it out, precisely and passionately, we give testimony to His sovereignty. We bring His Shechina to dwell in our lives.

It takes a bit of humility to work on the assumption that maybe G-d knows what’s better for me spiritually than I do myself. Maybe the Torah itself, in all its splendid totality, is the path to the greatest human self-fulfillment, and to the highest levels of holiness on earth. Maybe the mitzvos as they are (and as they always were) represent the means by which we can bring G-d into our lives, and achieve the highest spirituality. Indeed, this is the lesson of Pekudei. The Jewish people found blessing, and G-d’s closeness, when they followed what G-d had commanded Moshe…and not their own calculations and inclinations.

When we follow the path that "G-d commanded Moshe," and not one that we dream up--and validate--by ourselves, then we Jewish people are building an eternal Tabernacle on which G-d’s presence will rest. Anything else, and we’re just dancing around a Golden Calf… which may be pretty exciting for a while, but which never leads to a happy ending.

GOOD SHABBOS

My e-mail address is yosefe@comcast.net

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