By Shira Hecht-Koller
In Parashat Pekudei, we read about the completion of the construction of the Mishkan (the Tabernacle) as all its component parts are brought to Moses, who erects it, anoints it, and initiates Aaron and his four sons into the priesthood.
It is as though the Torah were telling us: you know what is about to happen, now observe how it comes about, and pay attention as everything unfolds. Every detail, every step, every piece of metal, every dye colour and every sheet of fabric deserves our attention, not only in the instruction manual, but in the description of the actual construction.
The Torah, notoriously brief in its narratives and devoid of superfluous descriptions, clearly treasures the details here. Why?
Let us see how the Book of Exodus concludes. Most of the parashah is taken up with the specifications for constructing the individual vessels. From time to time fascinating details are included, such as the laver, the kiyor, made from the mirrors – the polished bronze mirrors – of the women who served at the entrance of the ohel mo'ed (Tent of Meeting). Nothing is known of these women, but their mirrors contributed to the laver used to purify the kohanim as they entered the Mishkan. The ark (aron), the altar of burnt offerings (mizbeach) and the menorah are built with vivid details and imagery. Thus we reach the end of the process, where the final acts of construction are recounted step by step.
“Moses inspected all the work and saw that they had carried it out precisely as the Lord had commanded; then Moses blessed them.” (Exodus 39:43)
This verse harks back to the end of the creation of the world, where it was G-d who saw all the work that had been done, and He blessed it. Thus the construction of the Mishkan is an act of creation in line with the creation of the world.
Chapters 39-40 of Exodus are laden with imagery from the creation of the world, and the two narratives are linked by some of their most important vocabulary. The Midrash Tanhuma on Parashat Pekudei points out the verbal parallels between creation and the construction of the Mishkan, outlining the specifics of each, and drawing the conclusion that “the place of the Mishkan is equivalent to the creation of the world”.
With the command to build the Mishkan, G-d, so to speak, hands over the task of creation to humanity, and in doing so the focus shifts from sacred time to sacred space. When G-d's act of creation is described, what He completes and blesses is a fragment of time; when human creation is narrated, it creates, completes and imparts holiness to a fragment of space.
However, the work is not yet finished. When we move to chapter 40, the very last one, G-d gives a final command: set everything up on the first day of the first month. We thus arrive at the end, knowing what to expect and yet watching carefully. The spotlight is entirely on Moses. Even the burnt offering (olah) was offered by Moses this time, at least according to Rashi's commentary on verse 29. There is no one else on the scene. Bezalel, responsible for much of the construction up to this point, does not appear. Neither Aaron nor anyone else. We watch Moses as he attentively, meticulously, perhaps with love, perhaps with a hint of awe or even fear, moves alone, putting everything together, step by step. When he has finished, in an echo of the world's creation narrative, we hear it said: “Moses completed the work.” The work is complete. Every piece is in its place and the Mishkan as a whole is operational.
There is a movement within this sequence from the construction and assembly of the sacred objects, to putting those sacred objects together to build a Mishkan. When each sacred object has been built, nothing happens. It sits there, glorious in gold or gleaming in bronze, a sacred object for the divine, yet lifeless nonetheless. It is only when the sacred objects are put in their proper places and the various component parts built over the course of the parashah are fabricated into a single holistic structure that the Mishkan comes together. And when it does, the results are instantaneous and overwhelming:
“Then the cloud covered the Tent of Meeting and the divine presence filled the Tabernacle. Moses could not enter the Tent of Meeting, because the cloud rested upon it and the divine presence filled the Tabernacle.” (Exodus 40:34-35)
Once the sacred objects unite, they merge into a structure whose meaning far transcends anything each of them does alone. The cloud of the kavod does not rest upon the menorah or the altar or even the ark by itself, but only upon the Mishkan as a whole.
The Mishkan, once put together, is the literal vehicle for G-d's presence among the people. But of course the Mishkan could not be the Mishkan were it not for all those individual sacred objects.
The Mishkan is the house itself, and the sacred objects are the furnishings. A house without furnishings is an incomplete house, but furnishings without a house are nothing at all.
Even the materials themselves seem significant: the vessels in gold far outweigh the fabric and lesser metals of the structure. Yet the Mishkan is clearly not just a place to house sacred objects. Something happens when they are arranged in the right way. Then the Mishkan becomes the vehicle of the Divine Presence.
I believe that, in many ways, this model and these different perspectives offer us food for thought not only regarding our relationship with the divine, but also regarding our relationships with one another and our roles as individuals within broader contexts – within families and communities.
Of course, no individual is born without a context, without a family or a community; no one develops entirely on their own. But this is the eternal dichotomy: making sure that each sacred object is as spectacular, as beautiful as it can possibly be – making sure that each person is the most spectacular individual they can be – and at the same time working within the framework of the community so that the individual contributes to the whole.
The creation of the world was the act of an individual, but the construction of the Mishkan is the work of a community. The individual must be developed within the framework of the community, and the community can only be built by bringing individuals together. But neither can overshadow the other.
This applies to all our relationships. The true power of human relationship lies in the union of people who can stand on their own two feet. When we do this – each individual being a masterpiece in their own right, brought together in community and in partnership with others – then we ourselves and the communities we build become vehicles of the Divine Presence. In doing so we complete the creation of the world, and the worlds and communities we build are blessed with the imprint of the Divine.
Shabbat shalom
Shira Hecht-Koller is an educational entrepreneur, lawyer and writer. She brings two decades of experience in teaching Judaic studies and designing interdisciplinary curricula in classrooms and immersive learning environments for students of all ages and backgrounds.
Commentary published in English: https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/the-mishkan-larger-than-the-sum-of-its-parts/
Translated from the Italian with Google Gemini. The Italian text is the original.