Who carries whom?

I don't know that I have regular readers anymore, but if I do, sorry for the lag between posts. It's not for lack of topics on which to blog. I'm trying to get my schedule under control, but I don't expect to succeed until after Shavuos...

In the meantime, here is an article I wrote for this week's Toronto Torah, on the job of carrying the Aron. The core idea is original, but I think it's right:

Our Torah portion, collaborating with Parshat Naso, offers perplexing misdirection.

This week we are told, "Aharon and his sons will take down the curtain, and use it to cover the Aron [Ark]. They shall place over it a cover of tachash, spread a garment of techelet above it and put its poles in place… and then the sons of Kehat will come to transport." (Bamidbar 4:5-6, 15) Next week we will add, "The sons of Kehat… work with the sacred items, transporting [these] upon their shoulders."

These verses teach that the clan of Kehat carries sacred items, including the Aron. However, the Talmud (Sotah 35a) contends that the Aron actually carries its "bearers". Describing the way the Jews entered Canaan, the Talmud claims that G-d split the Yarden River to allow the Jews to cross, then the river was restored, and then "the Aron carried its bearers" across the water. Lest one say this levitative incident was a momentary fluke, the Talmud continues to say that this state is the norm. [See Shemuel II 6 for more regarding this.]

If the Aron truly carries itself, why does the Torah pretend that human beings carry it?

Perhaps we may compare "carrying" the Aron with another unlikely biblical pretense of transportation. The prophet Yechezkel describes four chayot which transport a Divine throne. (Yechezkel 1) As explained by Don Isaac Abarbanel, the chayot do not actually move the throne; rather, "transporting the throne" refers to carrying out the Divine will. One chayah, which has the image of a bird, flies swifly to the rescue of those who serve G-d. A second chayah, pictured as an ox, delivers benefit like the blessings of the fields. The third chayah, appearing like a lion, deploys massive strength to punish criminals. And the fourth chayah, looking like a human being, conveys the Divine message via prophecy. The bearers of the Divine throne are transported by that throne, charged with a mission and energized with the power to carry it out. The same may be said for the task of carrying the Aron; to "carry" the Aron is to be charged with implementing a mission on its behalf.

This idea may illuminate a debate regarding which people were charged with "carrying" the Aron. Bamidbar 4 teaches that the Levite clan of Kehat carried the Aron. On the other hand, Devarim 31:9 mentions "the Kohanim, sons of Levi, who carried the Aron." Is this mitzvah for Levites, or for Kohanim? The mixed message persists after the Jews enter Israel. When the Jews cross the Yarden River (Yehoshua 3-4), the Kohanim carry the Aron. The Kohanim also carry the Aron when the Jews surround the city of Yericho (Yehoshua 6), and when the first Beit haMikdash is dedicated. (Melachim I 8) On the other hand, Divrei haYamim I 15 records that the Levites carried the Aron during the days of King David. So whose mitzvah is this?

Rambam (Sefer haMitzvot, Aseh 34) contends that Levites only carried the Aron in the early days, when there were few Kohanim, and then the mitzvah was transferred to the Kohanim. Ramban (Hasagot to Shoresh 3) disagrees, contending that the mitzvah was always for the Levites; the three recorded times when the Kohanim carried the Aron were exceptions, commanded by prophets.

Perhaps transport by the Kohen and Levite reflects two different missions carried out with the Aron on behalf of G-d: the Kohen's service in the Beit haMikdash, and the Levite's task of teaching Torah to the nation. (Devarim 33:10) Per Rambam, the Aron is a denizen of the Beit haMikdash, associated with the Kohen's service of G-d in the Beit haMikdash; carrying the Aron is an act between Man and G-d. Per Ramban, the Aron is home of the Torah, associated with the Levite's teaching of Torah to the Jews; carrying the Aron is an act of conveying the presence of G-d to the nation. Within this view, only in unique moments of Divine closeness – crossing the Yarden, the miracle at Yericho and the inauguration of the Beit haMikdash – is the Aron carried by those who conduct the service in the Beit haMikdash.

Whether transporting the Aron is a way for Man to serve G-d or a way to communicate G-d's Torah to Man, one point is clear: its bearers, like those who bear the Divine throne, have a fundamental mission. G-d does not need the service of the Kohanim or the Torah teaching of the Levites, but if the Torah were to state openly, "the Aron moves on its own," then the bearers might take their mission lightly. By stating, "You shall carry the Aron upon your shoulders," the Torah emphasizes our great task. Service of G-d, and communication of the Divine message to human beings, ought not be left to others, or to G-d; these responsibilities rest upon human shoulders.

The Noble National Endeavor (Derashah, Vayyakhel-Pekudei 5773)

Here is the derashah I plan to deliver this Shabbos; if you have any he'arot, please send them before Shabbos!

Few people in Tanach are more isolated than Moshe:

• In his youth, Moshe dwells in Pharaoh's palace.
• As an adolescent, Moshe is forced to flee to Midian – where he marries Tzipporah, a woman from a pariah family.
• Moshe returns from Midian to a nation that possesses neither the strength nor the patience for his religious mission; they wished he would return to Midian and leave them in their slavery.

Perhaps the presentation of the Torah gave Moshe his long-awaited chance to join the nation, to be a teacher and grow to know his people – but then Moshe descends from Har Sinai and discovers the Golden Calf, and he becomes an outsider yet again:

• He is a wrathful judge, ordering the execution of thousands of people who had worshipped the Calf.
• He is a spiritual outsider, a pious third party pleading with G-d on behalf of the sinful Jews.
• He is a physical outsider, moving his tent beyond the tribal perimeter, a leper of sorts.
• He is distanced from his students, wearing a veil to obscure his radiance when teaching them.
• He is even distanced from family; as the midrash explains, he separates from his wife, Tzipporah.

Moshe is the Loneliest Man of Faith, and in this light, his actions in the following midrash make sense:

After listing the items created for the Mishkan, the Torah tells us “הוקם המשכן,” the Mishkan was raised. But then, in the very next sentence, the Torah says, “ויקם משה את המשכן,” “And Moshe raised the Mishkan.” Why does the Torah mention the act of construction twice, but include Moshe only in the second assembly? Our midrash[1] explains:

היה משה מיצר על שלא נשתתף הוא עמהן במלאכת המשכן... ולפי שהיה משה מיצר העלים הקב"ה מהם ולא היו יכולין להעמידו... עד שאמר לו הקב"ה למשה לפי שהיית מיצר שלא היה לך עשייה ולא חלק במלאכת המשכן לפיכך לא יכלו אותן חכמים להעמידו בשבילך

Moshe was upset that he had not personally taken part in actually building the Mishkan… Because Moshe was upset, Gd hid information from the people and they could not make the Mishkan stand… until Gd told Moshe, "Because you were upset about not having an active role in the work of the mishkan, therefore, those craftsmen could not assemble it in your place."

Like Yonah camped outside of Nineveh, like Eliyahu living in the wilderness, Moshe had been excluded from the people he had led out of Egypt and had saved from Divine wrath. Perhaps Moshe now wishes to re-join the nation, via the symbolic act of participating in the construction of the Mishkan.

However, this midrash requires deeper examination, for that cannot be the whole picture of Moshe's intent.

The midrashic image of Gd watching the Jews blunder about clumsily like the Three Stooges, putting up walls and having them collapse, is amusing (if theologically disturbing). But the idea that spiritual Moshe, who just spent many weeks atop Sinai without eating or drinking, now wanted to engage in physical construction, is intriguing. Is he a forerunner of A.D. Gordon and Labour Zionism, insisting upon working with his hands? If not, why is this, the act of building the mishkan, the moment that Moshe seizes to re-join the community?

Let's make the question stronger – Why does Gd permit Moshe to join the Jews who had worshipped the Calf?

• Moshe is meant to be apart, veiled, separate even from his wife!
• Recall that G-d did not speak to Avraham as long as he lived with Lot,[2] or to Moshe as long as he was in idolatrous Egypt[3] - why would Gd now want him to be with idolaters?

Why does Moshe belong at the site of the Mishkan, at all?

The answer may lie in the two Ohel Moed structures the Jews had in the wilderness.

The first אהל מועד was Moshe's tent, and it was for כל מבקש ד', for any individual who sought to meet Gd. After the sin of the Golden Calf, as we read last week, Moshe moved that tent outside of the camp.[4]

With the construction of the Mishkan, though, there was a second, communal אוהל מועד. As described in our parshah,[5] the new tent of meeting with Gd was part of the mishkan – in the middle of the camp.

The private ohel moed, for individuals, was moved outside the camp; individuals, even Moshe, were unworthy of connecting with Gd in the domain of those who had worshipped the Calf. This Divine denial of entry was the fate of Avraham with Lot, and of Moshe in Egyot. However, the community as a whole could greet Gd in the public ohel moed, the Mishkan, even within the camp. טומאה הותרה בציבור, a community approaches Gd with a power far beyond that of the lone Jew, overriding the impurity of their recent idolatry. The moment when a nation approaches Gd, rising from the ashes of its failings to soar toward its spiritual destiny, has a power which no past calamity could undermine.

This image of the Mishkan as a site in which the community of stumbling Man could meet with sacred G-d, in which holiness could be present despite the coarseness of sin, is seen in a nuance of the law of shaatnez. As Jews, we are prohibited from wearing shaatnez, garments which mix wool and linen. Traditionally, we have considered this law a rule above rational explanation, but Rabbi Eliezer of Worms, the 13^th century author of the Rokeiach, suggested in a mystical vein that wool represents the purity of the heavenly domain, and linen represents the coarseness of the earthly domain.[6] Normally, we recognize a distance between those two realms – but wool and linen meet in the אבנט, the belt worn by the kohen when working in the Mishkan and Beis haMikdash.

Moshe understood that in the Mishkan a community could bond with Gd despite their flaws and errors. Beyond wanting to simply "fit in", Moshe longed to participate in this process. To Moshe, the Mishkan presented an opportunity to join with the nation in their pursuit of national atonement, an auspicious venue in which to bend the curve of heaven a bit closer to earth and elevate the human being to the limits of his plane; this warranted cooperation with a nation that had violated its covenant with G-d mere months earlier.

The mishkan unites Jews of every level, from the purity of the heavens to the coarseness of the earth. This is where Moshe wanted  to be – not off in his tent, secluded with Gd, but part of the noble, national Jewish experience, building a home for Gd on Earth. Moshe was pained by the thought that he might be excluded from this venture.

We wear Moshe's shoes; Jews who observe halachah are compelled to stand apart from the rest of the Jewish community in so many ways. We eat in kosher restaurants and kosher homes. Our Friday night is dedicated to celebrating Shabbos. We dance differently, we sing differently, we learn differently.

At the same time, we dare not become Yonah balefully glaring at Nineveh from the distance of his hut, or Eliyahu off in the wilderness complaining to Gd of the sins of the nation. Rather, we are summoned, it is our destiny, to be like the אבנט of the kohen, to work as Moshe did, to find ways to be משתתף, to partner with, the world around us, when they unite as a community in service of Gd. To make our shul part of a Federation, a JCC, a Jewish Family Service, a Limmud. Not because this will win us adherents, but because we see our shul, our mishkan, as a place to bring stumbling man closer to sacred Gd, together.

I happen to believe in A.D. Gordon's Labour Zionism; physical work does have a redemptive character – and especially in building up our homeland. But Moshe's message here is not about the physical act of putting up a building. And Moshe is not only trying to defeat the isolation he had experienced for much of his life. Rather, Moshe is articulating a message of sublime beauty: Stand apart as you must - but in the mishkan, stand together, contribute to that noble, national enterprise.

In last week’s parshah, after the חטא העגל, HaShem performed the ultimate act of separating Moshe from the rest of the nation: Gd declared, “I shall destroy the rest of them, and inaugurate a new nation with you.” This is it, Moshe – you are going to be the new Avraham, and your descendants will begin again.

Moshe dramatically rejected this Divine offer, standing his ground and insisting that his fate would lie with the nation.
Moshe saw his spiritual identity intertwined with that of his people, his spiritual home located in the Mishkan that played host to the entire population. May we, in our own mishkan, remain committed to do the same.

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[1] Tanchuma Pekudei 11 (Warsaw)

[2] Rashi Bereishis 13:14

[3] Shemos Rabbah 18:1

[4] Shemot 33:7

[5] Such as Shemos 40:35

[6] Peirush haRokeiach al haTorah

Derashah: A Judaism of Fire (Terumah)

This Shabbos I'm speaking at a Shabbaton; you can find the flyer here. The theme of the Shabbos morning derashah is "A Judaism of Fire". The writing is not terribly complex or deep; it's not that kind of occasion. Still, I think it may resonate with some readers, so here it is:

Every time I visit this shul I take note of the beautiful drawings of the new building you're raising, and that reminds me of the old story of a visitor to Israel who attends a concert in the brand new Soloveitchik Hall.

The visitor admires the remarkable acoustics, the magnificent architectural detail, the fine furnishings. He asks one of the ushers, "Is this hall named for Joseph Soloveitchik, the great rabbi?" The usher responds, "No, it's named for Harold Soloveitchik, the writer."

The visitor thinks for a moment, but the name is unfamiliar. He asks, "What did he write?"

To which the usher responds, "A check."

This morning we read about the construction of the first magnificent synagogue, the Mishkan, the portable Temple in which the Jews connected with Gd during their 39-year journey from Mount Sinai into Israel, and then for another 440 years in the land of Israel itself. The construction was a remarkable feat, product of a collaboration of men and women who were expert in crafts ranging from weaving to leatherwork to woodwork to metalwork. The first director of the project was none other than Moshe Rabbeinu, our master Moses, who brought us the Divine command, "They shall build for Me a sanctuary, and I will dwell among them."

This morning's parshah, and the one we read next week, include more than 200 verses of instructions for creating the mishkan and populating it with ritual furnishings. But Gd did more than tell Moshe, "Build this," "Make  that."

• The Talmud[1] notes that Gd told Moshe, "This is the form of the menorah." The sages suggest that Moshe at first experienced difficulty understanding the Divine instructions regarding the menorah he was to build, until Gd showed him a menorah of fire. "This is what you shall make."
• More: A verse in our Torah portion[2] says that Gd showed Moshe the Mishkan's vessels at Mount Sinai. According to the Talmud,[3] Gd displayed to Moshe fiery images of the Ark that would hold the two tablets, the Table on which special bread would be placed, and the aforementioned menorah.
• A midrash[4] goes even further, citing an additional verse and saying הכל הראה לו דמות אש, Gd displayed to Moshe everything, in fire.

In addition to presenting verbal instructions, Gd showed Moshe images of everything he was to create, and here we learn a pedagogic lesson that extends beyond the instructions for a building: Don't just tell them, show them. Demonstrate it.

As our topic this morning is how we raise Jewish children, one lesson here is that we need to do more than tell our community's children about our ideals; we need to live these ideals, visibly. I know this is likely obvious, but I state it as a first important step for parents, and for all of us, as adults; we are role models by dint of our simple presence.

Last night we highlighted the problems of a Jewish generation some 2700 years ago, a generation that lacked a clear vision of Judaism. Looking for a vision which would not be too narrow or divisive, I proposed a broad, ground-level ideology of "Just Jewish". The idea is simple enough to transmit – but the education Gd gave to Moshe reminds us that if our children are to adopt this or any other ideology, they need more than just to hear about it; they need to see it lived in front of them, in our daily actions.

But that's just Step One; for Step Two, I refer you to the words of the playwright Franz Kafka, in a letter he dedicated to his father:[5]

"Four days a year you went to the synagogue, where you were, to say the least, closer to the indifferent than to those who took it seriously, patiently went through the prayers as a formality, sometimes amazed me by being able to show me in the prayer book the passage that was being said at the moment, and for the rest, so long as I was present in the synagogue (and this was the main thing) I was allowed to hang around wherever I liked. And so I yawned and dozed through the many hours (I don't think I was ever again so bored, except later at dancing lessons) and did my best to enjoy the few little bits of variety … How one could do anything better with that material than get rid of it as fast as possible, I could not understand; precisely the getting rid of it seemed to me to be the devoutest action."

I want to come back to Kafka's scathing words in a few minutes, but first I'd like to read you another passage. This is a text from the more famous Soloveitchik – not Harold – describing how he learned about Judaism. In a eulogy [for his son-in-law's mother], Rabbi Soloveitchik said of his own mother,

"I used to watch her arranging the house in honor of a holiday. I used to see her recite prayers; I used to watch her recite the Torah portion every Friday night and I still remember the nostalgic tune. I learned from her very much. Most of all I learned that Judaism expresses itself not only in formal compliance with the law but also in a living experience. She taught me that there is a flavor, a scent and warmth to mitzvot. I learned from her the most important thing in life - to feel the presence of the Almighty and the gentle pressure of His hand resting upon my frail shoulders. Without her teachings, which quite often were transmitted to me in silence, I would have grown up a soulless being, dry and insensitive.[6]"

Let us be clear: The central difference between Franz Kafka's experience and that of Rabbi Soloveitchik is not about level of observance, it's not about "formal compliance with the law". It's not about Kafka attending synagogue four days each year, and Rabbi Soloveitchik's mother praying daily. Rather, the point is inspiration! Visiting the synagogue just four days each year can be inspiring, and living a halachic lifestyle can be dull and dry. But Kafka's father was indifferent, and Rabbi Soloveitchik's mother conveyed a Judaism that had a flavor, a scent, a warmth – a heartfelt inspiration.

This message is displayed in the way Gd showed Moshe how to construct the Mishkan. He did not simply show Moshe a diagram of an Ark, a model of a Menorah. It was של אש, it was of fire! Indeed, the Torah describes Judaism as אשדת, a religion of fire![7] Our Judaism must crackle with energy, radiating heat, shining with brilliant light, this is an entity we wish to create, to perpetuate, to convey from generation to generation!

Of course, this presupposes that the adult feels that fire. We can't fake it; kids will detect that in less than the time it took me to state this sentence. So what does a parent do if he doesn't feel the flavor, the scent, the warmth? If shul is as dull for him as it was for Kafka's father, if cooking a Shabbos meal is boring, if she feels a duty to pass along Judaism to her children but opening up a chumash makes her feel like she's back in the worst part of her Hebrew school experience, how can she achieve inspiration? Where will the fire come from?

Some suggest that we store up our strongest emotions from various experiences, and call them to mind when we need to be moved.[8] Others suggest that we meditate. Others suggest that we look at the world with wide, reverent eyes, and recognize the beauty of Gd's Creation. All of these are valuable recommendations.

Personally, though, my favorite route is the advice of Rabbi Naftali Zvi Yehuda Berlin, the last head of the Volozhin yeshiva. In his commentary to the Torah,[9] Rabbi Berlin wrote, "Gardens have many kinds of seeds. Still, each garden has one central variety, and small quantities of other varieties are planted around it. So, too, each Jew is filled with the mitzvot of Gd, but each has one special mitzvah in which he is extra careful."

In other words: The Torah has many, many mitzvos – 613, and then some! There are mitzvos of prayer. There are mitzvos of generosity. There are mitzvos of study. There are mitzvos of ritual. There are mitzvos of gardening and mitzvos of construction and mitzvos of calligraphy and mitzvos of medicine and mitzvos of creativity and mitzvos of music. There are mitzvos of sacrifice and asceticism, and there are mitzvos of indulgence and pleasure. There is mysticism and there is rationalism, there are chasidim and there are misnagdim, there are farmers and entertainers and social workers and scholars and writers. Torah presents a landscape of religious activity as broad and varied as humanity itself, and although we are expected to work toward achieving the whole of it, different aspects of that landscape will resonate with different people.

When we find a mitzvah to which our nature responds, which moves our heart to sing, which brings us fulfillment and a sense of, "Yes, that's what I wanted to do," then we will be inspired – and that inspiration can spill over into the rest of our Judaism.

The same applies to helping our community's children find their own inspiration.

Torah is too broad to expect that a child, unsophisticated and narrow in his experience, is going to find all of it to be beautiful and motivating. There are mitzvos that require sitting still and concentrating, a challenge at any age but certainly in adolescence. Some mitzvos are tough until one gets to the age when hormones settle down. Understanding certain mitzvos requires a great deal of contemplation. Appreciating other mitzvos requires life experience. And some mitzvos, let's face it, will never be appealing within today's world.

But again, Torah is so big and broad that everyone can find the spark from which the entire Torah, in its variegated beauty and multifarious colours, will catch fire. If children see adults living an inspired Judaism, with what resonates for us; if we offer our children a range of Jewish opportunities, to help them find what resonates for them and use it as an anchor; then we will have a much greater chance of succeeding in passing along our Judaism.

The ideas I have expressed here are not complex, perhaps the midrash, the Netziv, Kafka and Rav Soloveitchik are unfamiliar, but really, passing along Judaism is not the exclusive province of scholars of esoteric text, or deep mystical thought. Exposing our ideals, demonstrating that they inspire us, displaying the fiery image of the mishkan and its vessels, are activities each of us can do.

Of course, we have no guarantees. A parent can do everything by the book, and children will still grow up and become independent and chart their own paths, and who can guess where that will lead? Many, many fine parents have lived their ideals with enthusiasm, raising children who then said, "I'm glad that works for you, but it's not for me."

Nonetheless, when we invest the time to think about and define our ideals; when we invest the effort to live those ideals; and when we invest the heart to do it with fiery enthusiasm, then we, like Moshe, will build a mishkan, and we will see fulfillment of that Divine promise, "ועשו לי מקדש ושכנתי בתוכם – When you build a sanctuary for Me, I will dwell in your midst."

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[1] Menachot 29a, based on Bamidbar 8:4

[2] Shemot 26:30

[3] Menachot 29a

[4] Psikta Zutrita Shemot 25:9, based on Shemot 25:9

[5] http://www.writersmugs.com/books/books.php?book=87&name=Kafka&title=Letter_to_His_Father

[6] http://www.traditiononline.org/news/originals/Volume%2017/No.%202/A%20Tribute%20to%20the.pdf

[7] Devarim 33:2

[8] Bnei Machshavah Tovah

[9] Haamek Davar to Bamidbar 24:6

Vayyakhel - Community Mitzvah Participation

When I first read the following midrash, I thought it was a straightforward endorsement of Aaron David Gordon and Labor Zionism:
When the Torah describes the construction of the Mishkan, it tells us “Hukam haMishkan, ” the Mishkan was raised. But then, in the very next pasuk, the Torah says, “VaYakem Moshe et haMishkan,” “And Moshe raised the Mishkan.” Why does the Torah mention the construction twice, and why does it mention Moshe only in the second assembly?
The Midrash explains that the mishkan was actually assembled twice, for Moshe’s sake. The midrash says, “Moshe was upset that he had not personally taken part in actually building the Mishkan, since the materials had been brought by the Jews and the work had been performed by Betzalel, Ahaliav and the craftsmen. Because Moshe was upset, Gd hid information from the people and they could not make the Mishkan stand…”
It sounds like Moshe, Gd’s Best Friend Forever, wanted to move the two-by-fours and apply the drywall because he believed in the redemptive power of physical labor. As Gordon said 150 years ago regarding establishing pioneer villages in Israel, “We must do with our own hands all the things that make up the sum total of life. We must ourselves do all the work, from the least strenuous, cleanest, and most sophisticated, to the dirtiest and most difficult.”

But late Thursday night Caren pointed out to me that this is not an honest read – after all, where else do we find Moshe going out of his way to look for physical work?
• While the Jews are slaves in Egypt, Moshe is in the palace.
• Moshe does become a shepherd after he runs away from Egypt, but everyone did that.
• Moshe returns to Egypt and he doesn’t pick up straw to make bricks; rather, he spends his time shuttling back and forth between Gd and Paroh.
• The Jews come out into the wilderness, and we never find Moshe looking for menial tasks.
• The Jews defend themselves against Amalek and Moshe davens while Yehoshua leads the army.
If Moshe were truly committed to labor as an ideal, wouldn’t we have found one additional example, somewhere?
So on Friday morning I had to drop the explanation of physical-exertion-makes-us-holy, but that left me without a derashah and with an open question: What is Moshe trying to do here, by insisting on taking over construction of the Mishkan?

I think the key is to see this event in its greater context. Last week we read about Moshe’s return to the Jews, after they built the Golden Calf. We saw Moshe as Punisher, ordering the execution of thousands of people who had worshipped the Calf as an idol. We saw Moshe turn to Gd as supplicant on behalf of the Jewish people. And, most crucially, we saw Moshe fail to re-integrate into the nation. Moshe must remain outside the camp, a leper of sorts, in order to communicate with Gd. As the midrash explains, he separated from Tziporah. He had to wear a veil when teaching, obscuring the radiance of his face. Moshe has become a pariah among the people he led out of Egypt and saved from Divine wrath!

Moshe understands this need to be apart, to be spiritually elevated and close to Gd, and he complies with the demands of this lifestyle – but he also insists on being part of the tzibbur, the community.
We have already seen Moshe’s insistence on joining the community:
• When Moshe could have escaped to Paroh’s palace, he instead went out to see his brethren, and he endangered his own life in saving the life of another Jew.
• When Gd wanted to destroy the Jews after the Eigel, Moshe said, “You’ll have to kill me first.”
• When Moshe offered his description of the ideal Jewish leader, he described someone who would go out to war as part of the nation and come back from battle with the nation, who would lead as part of am yisrael.
Moshe wishes to be part of the nation – and this is particularly relevant in performing mitzvos. As the Rambam writes, one must always perform his mitzvos along with the community, not on his own. So when the Jews are engaged in the great communal mitzvah of building the Mishkan, Moshe longs to be a part of the process.

Later Jewish leaders would do the same. Dovid haMelech, King David, stood apart from the people as monarch. For all his humble beginnings, he was a fearsome king, executing and exiling those who rebelled against his throne. And yet, when the Aron of HaShem was returned, he came out to celebrate and danced with complete abandon, earning him the scorn of his wife Michal – but Dovid, like Moshe, sought to fulfill the nation’s mitzvos along with the nation.

If we move ahead in Jewish history, we find the Prushim, the Pharisees. “Prushim” means “separatists,” and this is what they were – a group of Jews who adhered to laws of purity in their contact and in their food, and who were therefore forced to remain separate, to an extent, from the rest of the Jewish people.
The Talmud Yerushalmi records several leniencies the Prushim observed, such as around the times of Yamim Tovim as well as on Shabbat, in order to be able to function as part of the nation, along with everyone else.

Moshe’s message, Dovid haMelech’s message, and the message of the Prushim, should resonate for us today. Our practices as Torah-observant Jews necessarily set us apart from others. We only eat in kosher restaurants and kosher homes. We only enjoy certain kinds of entertainment. Friday night is a night to celebrate Shabbos, not to go bowling or take in a movie. We dance differently, we sing differently, we learn differently.
At the same time, we must work as Moshe, Dovid haMelech and the Prushim did, and find ways to be משתתף, to partner with, the world around us. Not as people who are “better than,” not as holy people coming to mix with the rabble, but rather as people just like everyone else, whose religious beliefs and practices force us to be separate, but who also belong to the כלל.

Two such opportunities are coming up in the next several months:
On Sunday April 6, we will participate in a Community Service Day along with the greater Jewish and Lehigh Valley communities. Our shul will be involved specifically in a project with the Holocaust Resource Center as well as a pre-Pesach Chametz-collection drive, but there will be many other opportunities to partner with others, too. Even those going with the Youth trip to the Iron Pigs game will still have time in the morning to participate.
And then, in November, the Jewish Federation of the Lehigh Valley will lead a mission to Israel in honor of Israel’s 60th birthday. This, too, is a chance to partner with the broader community. I’ll have to work in times to daven, etc, but I still feel it’s worthwhile, which is why I signed up this past week. I hope others will do so, too.

In last week’s parshah, after the חטא העגל, HaShem performed the ultimate act of separating Moshe from the rest of the nation: HaShem said, “I’m going to destroy the rest of them, and start a new nation with you.” This is it, Moshe – you are going to be the new Avraham, and your descendants will start over and do this right. Just stand back while I eradicate the current version.
But Moshe dramatically rejected this Divine offer, standing his ground and insisting that his fate would lie with the nation.
Moshe performed his mitzvos along with Bnei Yisrael, in building the Mishkan. Dovid did the same, in welcoming the Aron. And we, on April 6 and in the Federation mission to Israel, will do the same.

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Note: There are many ways to take the midrash on Moshe's interest in building the mishkan. I highly recommend reading the whole text, in the Midrash Tanchuma, Pekudei 11.