This sermon was delivered at our Friday Night Shabbat service on March 8th, 2024. You can watch on Mishkan’s YouTube channel or listen on the Contact Chai podcast.
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וַיַּקְהֵ֣ל מֹשֶׁ֗ה אֶֽת־כׇּל־עֲדַ֛ת בְּנֵ֥י יִשְׂרָאֵ֖ל וַיֹּ֣אמֶר אֲלֵהֶ֑ם אֵ֚לֶּה הַדְּבָרִ֔ים אֲשֶׁר־צִוָּ֥ה יְהֹוָ֖ה לַעֲשֹׂ֥ת אֹתָֽם׃
And Moses assembled all of the congregation of Israelites and said to them: These are the things that the Infinite has commanded you to do…
VaYakhel is often translated “assemble” or “come together.” Why was it necessary for the text to specify that Moses assembled all the people, collected them, brought them together? Haven’t they been together, traversing the Sinai, for the past five months, since leaving Egypt, together? Every time we sing Mi Chamocha we remember how, together, the Israeltes celebrated walking to freedom, crossing the sea and singing and dancing, together. Every time we gather for Shabbat and read or study Torah, like right now, we remember how we all stood at Sinai, all of us, present for revelation, only three new moons after leaving the narrowness of Mitzrayim. Haven’t we, the Children of Israel, been here, all together, this whole time, with Moses? Why now, introduce this language of bringing together?
Well… there was a kind of major breach in that cohesion that we read about last week, what some scholars call the Original Sin of the Jewish people. No it wasn’t Eve and Adam eating from the Tree of Knowledge (though I wouldn’t mind being in that mythical garden of Eden right about now, basking in the natural balance, harmony and beauty that the Infinite One created us all into at the beginning of time.)
No, that Original Sin came when Moses, after 40 days, still hadn’t come down from the mountain, and then we, the people, got restless and wondered, Where is that guy? Where is our leader? We need guidance, we need Torah, we need to be seen, to be heard, and we’re not feeling it!
And so in Moses’s absence, the people took the gold off their ears and wrists and threw it into a fire and Moses’s own brother helped birth the Jewish people’s first collective idol, the Golden Calf. They danced around it and shouted, “This is your God, O Israel, who led you up out of Egypt!”
How good it must have felt to them in that moment, when in the the perceived abdication of their leader, they reclaimed their sense of direction and purpose; shouted and rallied as a way to fill that void, as a way to feel a sense of control in a moment when they felt powerless to do anything else.
The only problem was that this momentary sense of agency they relinquished the very fragile bonds that had been holding them together, that had been so essential for their liberation. Moses comes down from the mountain with the Tablets, He is so sad, so angry: How after everything we’ve been through together, could you throw it all away, for that momentary sense of power, because you needed a sense of certainty? Of something solid and stable?
I understand that. I understand that sense of wanting things to feel solid, stable, predictable. I understand that when we find those things that give us that sense of safety, solidity, we put our faith in them. “This is your God, O Israel.”
And then, when those things show themselves to be just as breakable, as illusory, as everything else in this world, we are devastated. Disappointed, and often, rather than grieving the loss, feeling that sense of betrayal… we jump right into what our next source of certainty — our next Golden Calf — can be.
So… Enter the Mishkan. Rabbi Steven described how on the heels of the Golden Calf episode God introduces Shabbes, a space for community, for healing. But we can only exist in that open spacious place one day out of every 7. The rest of the week God and Moses understand, we need more of a sense of physical stability, of homing home, and critically, we need to build it together. Moses can’t do it for them nor can God. It’s a group effort.
Vayakhel, and Moses gathered them, assembled them, brought them together to be part of this community building project that was called the Mishkan. And the people, wanting, yearning, to be of service, to have something to DO in a world in which they had so little control, brought gifts. Exodus 35, “And everyone who excelled in ability, and everyone whose spirit moved them came, bringing to the Infinite, an offering for the work of the Mishkan. Men and women, all whose hearts moved them, all who would make an elevation offering of gold to God, came bringing brooches, earrings, rings, and pendants —gold objects of all kinds.”
It’s worth saying the gold here is listed among a very long list of other materials, but it is as if the text wants us to really notice how a substance, any substance, can be used in the service of community, or used in the service of idolatry. Our offerings, too, our words, our prayers, our gifts, our governments… can be used in the service of care, help, healing, freedom, feeding people, peace-building, or can be used to further exploit and destroy our world. Sometimes we imagine we’re doing the former, when really we’re doing the latter. Sometimes it’s hard to know when what you’re doing is piling onto a Golden Calf, or creating something holy.
And so Moses, on the heels of one of the most desperate moments for our people born of trauma and fear… is trying here to help them imagine a different path forward, away from the certainty and solidity of the Golden Calf and toward something more relational. How they can build something beautiful together, instead of ripping each other to shreds, blaming each other for their blunder. If you heard me do the translation of this last week, you heard from the text, God blames Moses, Moses blames Aaron, Aaron blames the people, the people blame, Aaron, Aaron blames Moses, Moses blames God… no one takes responsibility. No one says, here was my part in this breakdown. I’m sorry. I didn’t stand up before… but I’d like to stand up now.
And so Moses looks at this demoralized people, and VaYakhel, gathers, assembles, inspires, them to create something beautiful together, in relationship with one another. They might not be able to destroy Amalek, the marauding desert bandits, hell bent on terrorizing them no matter what they do; there might be a Pharaoh that arises in every age, as we’ll read in the Passover seder in 6 weeks; there may always be a Haman (you can boo), a Nebuchadnezzar, a Hamas… but in the face of that terror they were instructed to bring an offering of something authentic and true and reflective of their innermost yearning, to create something beautiful in the service of the divine. And importantly, they do it with, they NEED to do it, with Kol Adat B’nai Yisrael, the whole rest of the community, the people they agreed with, and the people they didn’t agree with. The people at whom they might have looked and said, “I’m not with you in this Golden Calf project, I don’t think it’s good for us,” and they looked right back at them and said, “I’m into this Golden Calf and think you don’t really love God.” And after all that mistrust, and thinking the worst of each other, these people had to come back together to both demonstrate the best of themselves, and request of those around them, I’d like to see the best of you? What gift, what art, what attitude of support, encouragement, honesty… are you showing up with to bring here? Here’s what I’ve got. That’s how they created space for the Divine in this world, that’s how they constructed a little corner of magnificence in a world they couldn’t control.
And somehow together, even tho we can’t drive evil out of this world either, and it is frankly dangerous to imagine that we can– we can transform our little corner of it. We can banish the idols of hatred and stereotyping and painting inaccurate characterizations and caricatures of one another, as we build our Mishkan together. Which is increasingly hard in times like the ones we’re in now. Because just like our ancestors came to the project of Mishkan-building hurt, and scared, even feeling ashamed, disappointed, and betrayed by their leaders and by each other… many of us too, arrive as this Mishkan hurt, and scared, even feeling ashamed, disappointed, and betrayed by our leaders and maybe by each other… and yet we feel called to show up here to this place, to create something beautiful. A home for ourselves, and a home for the divine. Which means both bringing your truth and vulnerability, and creating space for the truth and vulnerability of the person sitting next to you, and across from you, and who’s not here because they’re not sure they belong.
As this is a Shabbat to celebrate our Builders and invite you, if you aren’t one, into the project of Mishkan Building, I wanted to take the opportunity to share with you a little bit about how this community came into being, how we got where we are today. Rabbi Steven was a young 23-year-old who had recently moved to Chicago for the joint Social Work Divinity program at University of Chicago and he can corroborate everything I’m saying, because he was around for our very first service in 2011– (he says you can blame him for the choice of Century Gothic as our official font). I was a 29-year-old queer-ish, single, vegetarian, progressive rabbi whose last job in Los Angeles combined community organizing with the rest of a traditional rabbinic portfolio. I wanted to live in this amazing city where I grew up, but looked around at the options for a person like me and could not see where I wanted to pray, make community, bring my gifts together with the gifts of others to create holy space. Mishkan Chicago was born out of that yearning for a holy space that was harmonious and uplifting and musical and oriented around justice and peace-making and acceptance of precisely the people who, like me, weren’t finding their Judaism in the spaces already out there, and where I as a rabbi could be myself and not have to adhere to dogmas or policies I didn’t believe in, or force anyone else to adhere to dogmas that they didn’t believe in either. Rather, we would encounter the tradition, and Torah, and God, or whatever you want to call that powerful and magnificent Mystery, in an inspired, joyful, down to earth way, and see where it took us.
This vision did not just appeal to other young adults like myself, or grad students like Rabbi Steven was at the time, though the first few years of Mishkan were populated by many grad students and young adults. We also appealed to people in Interfaith relationships, spiritual seekers, empty nesters and people who did not need the services of a full service synagogue, because of course we did not have the services of a full-service synagogue at that time. What we had was inspiration, and that acted as a beacon, a homing device, for people who were looking for that. And we built from there.
And, as you might imagine, people from across the spectrum of Jewish denominational backgrounds (as well as plenty of not-Jewish denominational backgrounds too), found their home with us. And, as you might imagine, that diverse group of Jews also had diverse views on the most polarizing topic in the Jewish community. Our first board chair identified as a Jabotinsky-eque Revisionist Zionist, and many of our early small group leaders and rabbinic leadership fellows– people who stood up here with me leading and giving inspiration to the community– were active in Jewish Voices for Peace, If Not Now, and identified as anti-zionists. And our community ran the gamut in between. Something that I actually think has worked in our favor over the years, is that without us having some kind of a statement on the website declaring our stance on Israel, people just projected onto us what they wanted us to be.
But over the last few months people have been asking, but where do YOU stand? We now have a statement to get you a sense of Mishkan’s approach, and I can tell you, some people have been grateful for it and others have been disappointed in it– feeling it doesn’t reflect their views, feeling it doesn’t do justice to the breadth of the Mishkan that exists with all of you in it in all of your fullness. As a personal data point, I sit on the Rabbinic Cabinet of JStreet, a pro-democracy, pro-peace, pro-Israel political action committee. I’m aware of some of our folks who attend the AIPAC convention, and some folks who stand outside and protest the AIPAC convention. Over the years, and even now, I don’t really didn’t care what label you give yourself, as long as you believe in a vision of Jews and Palestinians living in the land that I call Israel and many Palestinians call Palestine, safely, in freedom, without fear of the other. I rely on knowing that those political advocacy groups exist so that Mishkan doesn’t have to get into that business on this issue, understanding the diversity of the community we have built. Golden Calves are fixed and solid, the Mishkan is dynamic and fluid and built by the love of the people who show up to build it. I don’t need everyone here to think the same way on this, and I am not interested in litmus tests of whether a person belongs at Mishkan or does not, based on your Israel politics. I figure, if you are here, davening with us, giving us your time, your energy, your hands schlepping books and picnic blankets and pot-luck dishes over the years, setting up and folding down chairs for services, greeting at the door, hosting shabbat dinners and Shabbat afternoon reading groups, giving us your literal gold, and the hundreds and hundreds of other ways that Mishkanites have shown up over the years… if you’re here doing all of that, you belong here.
And what I believe is true, is that we have a unique opportunity here, given the breath of the community who gathered not first and foremost around a shared ideology on Israel, but rather on a shared experience of Judaism right here in Chicago. We have the opportunity to build the very muscles and skills that we know will be necessary to birth any kind of a shared future between Israelis and Palestinians. As Alon Lee, from Standing Together, an Israeli social justice organization building co-existence and co-resistence among Israelis and Palestinians, as he has said, there are 7 million Israelis and 7 million Palestinians living in that land, and none of them are going anywhere, despite what the extremists on either side try to do to drive the other side out. They have to learn to live alongside each other.
But not only over there… here this country, right now, as Rabbi Steven discussed last shabbat, is dysfunctionally polarized, not just ideologically, but emotionally. When it comes to someone we disagree with, we think the worst of each other. I remember the second Friday night in November in 2016, after Trump won the election, and in this room, packed from wall to wall, was a room full of people who were dazed and confused, who, like many people who the Tuesday before had thought we were electing our first female president, felt as if we did not know the country in which we lived anymore. Many of us said to ourselves, “Wow, I’ve really got to get to know people who think differently from me. Maybe I’ve got to invite over someone with some different viewpoints.” I don’t know anyone who says that now. I think that instinct has disappeared in favor of our looking for the people who confirm our beliefs, who do not challenge us on the things we care most about, but who reinforce and amplify us in those beliefs. Social media and the news stations we choose to watch, all reinforce the filter bubbles we find ourselves in and then we are shocked when the world appears so irrational, and we are so unprepared for it, shocked by it. Let alone have the skills to interact with and build a better world alongside people who think differently.
That’s where I believe we have an opportunity. We can become the premier space for helping people both hone and burnish their own voice on this issue, but more than that, transform the discourse on it to make it more compassionate and loving. Strong views are fine– but our tradition warns against becoming so rigid that we can’t be in dialogue with people who see things differently, losing respect for those with different views. Our whole tradition is predicated on Mahloket l’shem shamayim– disagreement for the sake of heaven, and it is practiced by our most revered sages.
Since October 7th, and you’ve heard me say this before, the collective trauma of people here and in Israel is manifesting in ways that are pushing and testing our community in ways it has never been pushed and tested before. We are finding people asking us for something solid to hold onto, a statement, a stance, something to show that we see you, we hear you. It feels a little like asking us to construct a Golden Calf– something fixed– when what we’re trying to do is create a Mishkan– something dynamic, spacious, and inclusive. I can tell you: we see you, and we hear you. And we have, time and again, and will continue to, create space to hold the grief, the disappointment, the sense of betrayal and confusion, not to mention, the disparities, present in this room. And to do it with compassion and love. And continue to create brave spaces for you to bring your opinions and your stories to share in diverse company, with mutual respect and with resilient listening.
And when it comes to how we share from our own beliefs from this pulpit (or music stand) Rabbi Steven and I have said, again and again, we will hold the unimaginable pain of our own people, and we will not lose sight of the pain and humanity of the Palestinian people. We will call out and name antisemitism when we see it, and we will create spaces to support you as you are finding more and more places in life where you’re bumping up against not just critique of Israel’s policies or their war, but hatred of Jews and the existence of a place called Israel and all the Jews in it. And we will name, alongside the world, and alongside the Israelis lying on the highway in Tel Aviv blocking traffic today, that we want to see Hamas to surrender and release the hostages, and also want to see Israel’s leaders to prioritize the hostages and stop the assault on Gaza, and let humanitarian aid and food through to a starving people. Rabbi Doniel Hartman, an Israeli rabbi, wrote this week, after the tragedy that resulted in over 100 Gazans in a food line getting shot or trampled to death, “For the Jewish people to fulfill our moral aspirations, requires the preservation of our humanity and the essential humanity of others. Events like today deserve our condemnation, our atonement, and our insistence that they never happen again.” He received a lot of flak for saying that, but also hundreds of messages of gratitude, because instead of us all deflecting blame, like God, Moses, Aaron and the Israelites after the Golden Calf, it’s incredibly powerful for us to stand up and declare when we can own a sense of responsibility and affirm our values in the face of moments that don’t reflect them. It doesn’t make us weaker or embolden our enemies– it actually makes us stronger, and reminds us of who we are.
The concept of original sin isn’t Jewish, but the idea of something that happened mythically a long time ago and somehow explains or describes the way we are today, fits our story. The Golden Calf is called the Original Sin of the Jewish people because it refers to something in our nature– how, in the midst of a world that is broken and heartbreaking, we yearn for something solid and stable to take refuge in. That place of certainty often turns out to be something of an idol. The Mishkan is, by contrast, a space of dynamic tension and aliveness, created by the energy of all who brought their generous hearts. If you’re part of this Mishkan, or want to be, I invite to bring your confusion, your conviction, your heartbreak and your hope, the ways you’ve been inspired and want more of it, and the ways you’ve been hurt and are looking for healing. I invite you to bring your love of art and music and dance and mediation and meditation and social work and reading and foreign films and shabbat dinners and extroverting at the door and your belief that we can and must build a more compassionate world starting with ourselves.
Shabbat shalom.