One can learn a lot about a community through looking at its architecture.
Sixty years ago, when this building was built, the small playroom off the back of the shul served as the shul sukkah. The room had a removable roof that was replaced with branches and, presto, instant sukkah. We can learn something about the community from this piece of architectural history. There were many fewer people in the shul back then who celebrated Sukkot. Over one hundred people eat in our current sukkah during yom tov and if the people who designed this building thought a space that can fit 10 or 20 people was sufficient, it can only be because they knew that Sukkot was not as widely celebrated in those years. It’s hard to imagine today, that a congregation of this size once made do with a sukkah for only 15 people.
As some of you know, my not-very-secret fantasy is that one day in the future, we will speak in this same way about the beit midrash that we use for weekday tefilot. “Did you know,” we will ask newcomers to the shul, “that in 2016 our daily minyan took place in a room that could barely fit 15 people?”
“Impossible!” they will respond, “there are at least fifty people at Shacharit every day of the week, how could that room have been sufficient for weekday tefilot?” And then they’ll ask, “but if the Southern wing of the shul building which contains the rabbi’s grand office suite was once used as a beit midrash for weekday prayers, what did the rabbi use for his office?”
These parshiot, Terumah, Tetzaveh, and then Vayekhel and Pekudei, are replete with details upon details concerning the architecture of the mishkan. The form and the function of the mishkan, the portable sanctuary, is depicted as each object and vessel is described. But the mishkan is about more than its basic structure. There is a realm beyond the functional and utilitarian that is core to the experience of the mishkan. We see this clearly in the Haftarah that was read this morning from the book of Yechezkel.
The haftarah consists of Yechezkel’s prophetic vision of the Third Beit HaMikdash:
וְאִֽם־נִכְלְמ֞ו מִכֹ֣ל אֲשֶר־עָש֗ו צור֣ת הַבַ֡יִת ותְכונָת֡ו ומוצָאָ֡יו ומובָאָ֣יו וְֽכָל־צֽורתָ֡ו וְאֵ֣ת כָל־חֻקֹתָיו֩ וְכָל־צורתי [צ֨ורתָ֤יו] וְכָל־תורתו [תורתָיו֙] הוד֣ע אותָ֔ם וכְתֹ֖ב לְעֵֽינֵיהֶ֑ם וְיִשְמְר֞ו אֶת־כָל־צורת֛ו וְאֶת־כָל־חֻקֹתָ֖יו וְעָש֥ו אותָֽם׃
“And if they be ashamed of all that they have done, make known unto them the form of the house, and the fashion thereof, and the goings out thereof, and the comings in thereof, and all the forms thereof, and all the ordinances thereof, and all the forms thereof, and all the laws thereof, and write it in their sight; that they may keep the whole form thereof, and all the ordinances thereof, and do them.”
The term “tzurah” or “form” appears again and again in the haftarah, and is contrasted to the “torotav” and “hukotav.” Rav Soloveitchik taught that Yechezkel is emphasizing that the mikdash, the sacred space, is not only defined by its precise dimensions and specifics, but by being an esthetically inspiring place. The mikdash had “hukotav” and “torotav” rules and regulations, specifics and specifications, but it also had a tzurah, it had an esthetic appeal that could inspire those who visited.
And within our parashah as well, the clothing of the kohen are l’khavod ul’tiferet. Ramban explains that the honor and splendor of the garments can be understood in a simple and prosaic way. The priestly garments are similar to the garments of any human sovereign or king. We dress the kohen in royal clothing because he has an important job. But Ramban then suggests that, “al derekh ha’emet” which means using hidden mystical truths of Kabbalah, the tiferet – the splendor – evokes the God’s presence in the mishkan, which is meant to perpetuate the encounter with God at Sinai. The splendor of the clothing, it’s esthetic beauty, evoke and invoke God’s presence.
These two examples, Yechezkel’s vision of a beit ha-mikdash with tzurah – with forms and artistry, and our parasha’s description of a priestly uniform that evoked splendor and the Divine presence, speak to a plane of human existence, a facet of our souls, that is deeper than a functional-utilitarian way of existing. We are multifaceted beings. We construct complex dynamic personalities and are animated, not by utilitarian practical concerns alone, but by souls that can be inspired and touched by the presence of God.
That deeper component of our psyches was part and parcel of the mishkan experience. Describing the building in a utilitarian, practical, functional way isn’t sufficient. The building was about more than that because to understand a building and how it’s used, one needs to understand that people are multifaceted and multivalent and we need beauty and inspiration and not just function.
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Today ends the shiva, if you will, of Supreme Court Justice Scalia. His funeral is scheduled for today. In the aftermath of his death I’ve read and listened to countless analyses of his substantial judicial legacy and the equally substantial political fallout surrounding the unexpected vacancy on the court. He was a larger-than-life figure in American politics and in American intellectual life as well. But, without a doubt, the most moving reaction to his death was written by his colleague and friend, Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginzburg:
“From our years together at the D.C. Circuit, we were best buddies. We disagreed now and then, but when I wrote for the Court and received a Scalia dissent, the opinion ultimately released was notably better than my initial circulation. Justice Scalia nailed all the weak spots—the ‘applesauce’ and ‘argle bargle’—and gave me just what I needed to strengthen the majority opinion. He was a jurist of captivating brilliance and wit, with a rare talent to make even the most sober judge laugh.”
That she wrote such a touching tribute shouldn’t be surprising. She knew him well and worked alongside him for many years. Yet it was surprising to many people because of their ideological and political disagreements. Many were shocked that Justice Ginsberg could reject the worldview and ideology of her late colleague and, at the same time, mourn him with so much sincerity and sadness.
But we should know better. Politics and ideology do not explain all that there is to know about us and our motivations and passions. Love of opera, friendship, multivalent lives, a sense of humor, a common dedication to the work of the court and to the constitution can transcend differences of ideology or politics. That is not because those differences don’t matter, but because human beings are so very complex with so many different facets and layers.
Justice Ginsberg also wrote that she was a better judge because Justice Scalia’s criticisms made her writing better and her thought more clear. Her friendship with an ideological opponent, opened her to being a better judge because she was receptive to the critiques of someone with a dissenting opinion.
Isn’t that a better way to respond to difference?
This past Thursday was the 9th of Adar, the anniversary of the most destructive and dysfunctional disagreements between the Students of Hillel and the Students of Shamai. One day, the Talmud tells us, the students of Shamai saw that they comprised a majority of sages assembled. They set armed guards at the door of the beit midrash to preserve their artificial majority and eighteen major decrees were enacted that day which resonate in Jewish law to this day. The Talmud claims that day was as destructive for Israel as the building of the Golden Calf. Indeed, the Golden Calf, as we will learn next week, was a replacement of Moshe as a teacher, and the conquest of the beit midrash by ideologically motivated violence was a replacement of the culture of Torah which depends on the free and open exchange of ideas.
But there is also a positive record in our tradition of an ideological dispute that did not prevent a friendship from blossoming and where disagreement lead to an increase in Torah.
Rabbi Yochanan and Reish Lakish were in-laws, chevrutot – study partners, and adversaries. Every chapter of every tractate in the Talmud contains one or more disagreement between Rabbi Yochanan and Reish Lakish. They saw the world in different ways and so they saw Torah, in general and in its particulars, in different ways.
When Reish Lakish died Rabbi Yochanan was inconsolable. The other sages sent Rabbi Elazar ben Pedat to cheer him up. Rabbi Yochanan began to teach Torah and after each statement, Rabbi Elazar ben Pedat would say, “oh yes indeed, there is a baraita, an authoritative early source, that confirms what you have just taught.” Can you imagine? It’s like having an intern following you around to research and confirm everything you say.
But Rabbi Yochanan responded with renewed sadness: “You are nothing like Resih Lakish. Whenever I taught anything, he would ask 24 objections and I would need to formulate 24 responses to those challenges and in this way Torah was increased. What good are you if you just confirm what I already know? I already know I say good things!”
This exchange is so prescient of Justice Ginsberg’s mourning for her colleague. The criticisms of an ideological opponent, who is also a friend makes arguments better. In Rabbi Yochanan’s words, the challenges of Reish Lakish lead to an “increase in Torah.”
What does Rabbi Yochanan mean by “increase in Torah?” He means that his arguments were better. He means that the debate itself, and the twenty four challenges and the twenty four responses become part of the corpus of Torah and become Torah.
And, I would suggest, the recognition of friendship, and the possibility of human bonds that transcend ideology and deep differences, is a profound Torah message as well. We are not only creatures of utilitarian functionalism. We are not only the products of our ideology. We are full, rounded, multifaceted individuals, who respond to beauty and esthetics, and who are animated by souls that can be inspired to greatness.
Rabbi David Wolkenfeld 