The Eighth Day

This article appears in the Jewish Star

Parshat Emor

“A newborn ox, lamb or goat remains with its mother for seven days. Then, after the eighth day, it shall be acceptable as sacrifice for a fire offering to G-d.” (Vayikra 22:27) A similar verse in Shmot 22:29 says that “on the eighth day, you shall give it to me.”

The difference is that the Shmot passage refers to setting the animal aside for G-d, while our verse refers to the actual offering of the animal. (Chizkuni)

What is the significance of the eighth day that changes the baby animal from being unacceptable to being acceptable to G-d?

Ibn Ezra compares the animal’s eighth day of life (the day of “m’ruba,” when a quarter-month has passed) to that of a human baby – just as the baby may now be circumcised so may an animal be brought as an offering.

In a lengthy exposition of this verse, Targum Yonatan explains the significance of the quarter-month in that a seven day waiting period proves the animal’s viability as it assures us the animal is not a “nefel” – the halakhic category of a stillborn, which would obviously be unfit to be a korban. (Rabbi Shimon Ben Gamliel – Shabbat 135b. For a human, the “nefel” status is removed at thirty days.)

As a mohel, one Torah thought I hear a lot at brisses is that the eighth day is “l’maalah min hateva” – above nature, or supernatural. Through circumcision, we elevate ourselves and our bodies to G-d, by removing something natural to help attain a spiritual level previously unreachable.

But some of the commentaries have different thoughts on the subject.

Chizkuni notes how a Zav, metzora and one who comes in contact with a corpse come out of their tumah (spiritual impurity) on the eighth day – the day after a seven-day waiting period.

Baal Haturim examines how each day of beginning of the animal’s life parallels the days of creation. One who sacrifices an animal on its first day will be viewed as sacrificing to the heavens and earth (created on the first day), on the fourth day as if to the luminaries, etc. The animal must experience its seventh day (parallel to Shabbos) for the one sacrificing it to remember that G-d created the world, and that it is to Him that we are sacrificing on the eighth day.

Whether outside of nature, a new life post-removal from the camp, or a reminder that, first and foremost, G-d created the world in seven days, we can begin to understand how the animal’s status is changed on day eight when it is finally worthy to be a korban – an offering that helps a person come closer to G-d.

In the first mishnah of Avot 4, ben Zoma reminds us of the verse in Tehillim 119:99 which says “Mikol m’lamdai hiskalti.” We can learn from any one who teaches us and should accept the truth from whatever source it may come.

In Thornton Wilder’s novel “The Eighth Day,” a character describes his generation at the turning of the 20th century as the Eighth Day. “Man is not an end, but a beginning. We are at the beginning of the second week. We are children of the eighth day.” In other words, the eighth day represents progress. It is when G-d’s initial input into the world is set, and humans take a stab at what their G-d-given gifts can create, what they can invent, what they can put together to foment advancement in civilization.

We can look at all that is natural and supernatural in the world, and it is very easy for us to fall back on it all and say, “It’s all G-d. It’s always been G-d. It will always be G-d. There is nothing else.”

But we are on this earth for a purpose, and our first job is to discover that purpose. If G-d created the world in six days and rested on the seventh, we are meant to emulate Him through our own creativity for six days, as we too rest on the seventh. But the progress of human development and creativity begins on the eighth day. It is the day when we take action, when we perfect the world under G-d through the actions we take to get closer to him.

When we circumcise our sons, when we take the animal that is now over a week old, we take action and turn a being that has not yet accomplished much to a point of spiritual fullness that could not have been accomplished without our input. This is the turning point of the eighth day, a day of action and a day that looks toward a brighter tomorrow.

Animal Rights - In context

This appears in the Jewish Star

Parshat Achrei Mot-Kedoshim

Media pundits and missionaries are famous for taking quotations out of context in order to promote their messages. Before judging any statement you read or hear, it is important to know in what context it was expressed. Was the writer being sarcastic, rhetorical or straightforward? Was the speaker quoting someone else, or was he being dramatic or provocative to make a point?

Vayikra 17:3-4 has a statement that would make animal rights activists become born-again Bible-thumping religious folks.

“If any member of the family of Israel slaughters an ox, sheep or goat, whether in the camp or outside the camp, and does not bring it to the Communion Tent to be offered as a sacrifice to G-d before His sanctuary, that person is considered a murderer. That person has committed an act of murder, and he shall be cut off [spiritually] from among his people.”

There is no question that the Torah advocates animals being brought as korbanot (sacrificial offerings) and that such behavior is warranted in the context of a religious culture centered on the Temple as described in the Torah.

But the implication of this verse is that any animal that is killed outside of the sacrificial realm is a murder victim.

Maybe the animal rights activists are not converting so quickly, but it still seems to suggest that animals cannot be killed in any other space, or for any other reason.

This is why a quote must be understood in its context, and the context of the Torah is one in which humans and animals are not equal, and the killing of an animal is not equal to that of killing a human being.

To be sure, as we know, the Torah absolutely advocates the ethical treatment of animals when they are alive — tzaar baalei chayim (causing pain to animals) is prohibited. But we believe animals were put on this earth for, among other things, our use.

The Sefer HaChinukh puts it this way: “G-d only allowed humans to use animal flesh/meat for atonement or for human needs such as food, health, or other uses that advance the human condition. But to murder them for no reason is wanton destruction and is considered murder.”

He continues, “And even though it is not comparable to the murder of a human [a human is a more advanced creation], it is nonetheless considered senseless spilling of blood, a.k.a. murder, because the Torah does not permit taking the lives of animals for no purpose.”

In the context of sacrificial offerings, an animal slaughtered outside of the Temple is a wasted sacrifice because it cannot be brought as a korban. If offered to G-d in the wrong place, it is viewed as idolatry or an improper form of serving G-d.

According to Torah sources, humans and animals were never to be viewed as equals. As such, animal advocacy that calls the killing of chickens for human consumption “a holocaust,” is an insult to all of humanity, particularly those who experienced a Holocaust themselves.

Humans are in the right when they demand that animals be treated ethically and fed properly and placed in quarters appropriate for their needs as living creatures, even if they are being raised to be sold as meat. But they are not in the right when they physically attack human beings or destroy property in order to advance their cause.

The Torah leaves no room for useless killing of animals. This is why the hunters in the Torah, Esav and Nimrod, are frowned upon, while shepherds who lovingly cared for their sheep and cattle (though they surely used some of them for their needs, or sold them to be consumed by humans) are the fathers of our people. Think Avraham, Yitzchak, Yaakov and his sons, Moshe, David, etc.

One who reads this verse out of context might advocate that humans are murderers for killing animals in any context. But a Torah and a halakhic system that requires the use of animal skins for Torahs, tefillin and mezuzot, which also declares that a celebratory meal is one which includes meat, is certainly not saying that killing animals, even not for sacrifices, is prohibited.

We should not be wasteful and we are not allowed to be cruel to living animals in any way. When they are killed to be used, the action is meant to be swift to avoid any suffering. But animals are here for our purposes, and they are not our equals.

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p.s. I wonder if this is recorded right after the passages regarding the "se'ir la'azazel" - the goat that was sent off into the desert as one of the main events of the Yom Kippur service. This goat was killed outside of the Temple, and it may have given some reason to believe that such a practice was permitted on their own turf as well. Perhaps this passage comes to teach people that when God commands an aberration, that is one thing. But to come to such conclusions on your own is completely out of line. Animals are to be respected in life and in death, and the way we go about killing them is described clearly and defined explicitly so that we not take advantage of animals any more than God and the Torah dictate our permission to do so.

Never Again? Not Again

This second week after Pesach always carries with it a cycle of emotions. Between the return to post-Pesach reality and the thought that the kids have “only” two months of school until summer, we note the continued passage of time. We are hit with Yom HaShoah, which comes with the realization that as grateful as we are for all the survivors who are still with us, their numbers dwindle with every passing year. And then, this weekend is the preview to the celebrations surrounding the independence of the State of Israel and Yom Ha’atzmaut.

It’s real life, it’s thoughts of future plans, reflection on past tragedies and great moments, with concern for where we are headed, all rolled into one brief time span.

In the echoes of the “never agains,” one merely needs to read a few headlines to see how bad things are in Europe. No, it won’t likely lead to another Holocaust, but what will be the end of the story?

We can be so proud of our people and our resolve, and the wonderful army we have in Israel. But what can we make of how even the United States – which has always supported Israel – is treating Israel and its citizens like pariahs and piranhas?

Perhaps there is an allusion to these questions in our parsha.

In discussing some of the laws of tzara’at, the Torah says (14:34), “When you come to the land of Canaan, which I am giving to you as an inheritance, I will place the mark of tzara’at in houses in the land you inherit.”

On a simple level, this verse seems to imply that houses will become afflicted with the spiritual disease merely upon the arrival of the people. More likely, the verse refers to the idea that once everyone is settled, there will come a time when individuals will notice this strange affliction on the home.

We ought to recall that the Talmud lists a number of causes for the affliction of tzara’at, including l’shon hara (gossip), murder, immorality, illicit oaths, arrogance, theft and stinginess (Erakhin 16a).

Regardless of the cause or effect, and what the outcome will be, before anything is declared by the kohen, before any decisions are rendered, the individual must go home and take action. He must remove everything from the home, lest the items become “tameh” along with the house in the event the house is indeed declared contaminated.

And so, I feel, it is with us. Except that the outside world is playing the role of the kohen, and they have it backwards.

The kohen is supposed to examine, reexamine, and bend over backwards to try his best not to declare the item in question tzara’at.

Please do not misunderstand. The blotch is a divine warning to the person. G-d is saying, “I have my eye on you.” And hopefully the person catches the hint and repairs his ways before he must suffer the degradation and humiliation of real tzara’at.

But the nations of the world that hold Israel to ridiculous standards (only because Israel will actually pay attention, for example, to the president of the United States), typically pass judgment before looking at the reality or the facts on the ground. Boycotts and violent crimes only stem from ignorance – though anti-Semites will claim their victims are guilty of the tzara’at-inducing crimes enumerated by the Talmud.

And it is not too far-fetched to say these things are happening because, “you have come to the land of Canaan,” and “have the audacity to presume you are there to stay forever.”

So what is our task?

I believe it is twofold.

Firstly, the Jewish people must live virtuous lives, because that is what G-d commands of us. A virtuous life could never yield even a warning blotch on a wall, let alone a genuine tzara’at affliction. If we all lived virtuous lives, how could any statements made against us be viewed as anything but pure, unadulterated gossip and slander?

Secondly, the kohen advised to take action, to avoid all of one’s belongings possibly becoming tameh. It is our job to take whatever steps we can to minimize the impact of the tzara’at. Whether this means to call our congressmen or representatives, or to flood the White House with letters and emails, this is a start.

But when we celebrate Israel’s 62nd year and watch the survivors age or disappear, we are the only ones who can assure that, in our lifetime, we continue to say “never again.”

A Time to... Bless (Shmini)

This can be seen in the Jewish Star

A Blessing on Your Head

Most blessings in the Torah are directed from either G-d to man or from man to G-d. There are a few exceptions, of course, when humans bless one another, but they generally follow a similar pattern in which the “blesser” blesses the “blessee” either immediately before one of them departs company, or before said “blesser” dies.

Examples of people parting company include Malkitzedek to Avram (Bereishit 14), Rivkah’s mother and brother to Rivkah (Bereishit 24), Yitzchak to Yaakov (Bereishit 28), Lavan to his daughters and grandchildren (Bereishit 32), the angel to Yaakov (Bereishit 32), Paroh asks for a blessing after he grants freedom (Shmot 12).

Those who give blessings before they die include Yitzchak — who thought he was about to die — to Eisav (Bereishit 27), Yaakov to his grandsons and then sons (Bereishit 48-49), Yosef to his brothers (Bereishit 50), and Moshe to the Israelites in the last chapters of the Torah.

And still there are those who give blessings at the onset of a relationship, or when they will be together for a while. When he arrives in Egypt, Yaakov blesses Paroh in Bereishit 47 before living in his country for 17 years. And there are two times in the Torah when we find the kohanim blessing the children of Israel. The latter instance is in Bamidbar 6; the verses commonly referred to as “birkat kohanim.” The first of these is in our parsha (9:22) after the dedication of the Mishkan.

It seems like such an odd dedication ceremony. Aharon is essentially spending the day on the altar, dividing his time between slaughtering animals and burning them, and when he is finished for the day, he blesses the people. Wouldn’t it be more prudent to bless the people before the day’s work, as opposed to at the end? “You should all be blessed that our work today on your behalf be seen and recognized by G-d.”

The third Mishnah in the last chapter of Brachot (54a) speaks against the prayers of one who wishes for the outcome of events that have already transpired to turn out the way he wants. By extension, perhaps we can suggest that the blessing here is out of place — particularly if it follows the offerings that have just been brought. Who is to say the sacrifices were accepted by G-d?

Targum Yonatan says the blessing of Moshe and Aharon in the following verse (9:23) was meant to counter that very concern. He writes, “Once the offerings were completed and G-d’s presence was not revealed, Aharon was very concerned and expressed his worry that G-d was not accepting his handiwork. So Moshe and Aharon then went to the Tent of Meeting and prayed on behalf of the people, then exited and blessed the people saying ‘May G-d accept the offering and forgive your sins…’”

The Shakh follows this explanation saying the Moshe-Aharon tag-team was more of a prayer than a blessing. Which makes sense, considering that Aharon had already blessed the people.

What blessing did Aharon give the people? Was it a formal blessing, or a personal blessing? Did he follow a text, or was it an ad-lib? Many commentaries follow the reasoning of the Talmud (Megillah 18a) that the blessing Aharon is saying here is, in fact, the birkat kohanim of Bamidbar 6.

The Talmud also asks why the blessing was given at the end of the service, and concludes that blessings and thanksgiving go together, at the end.

Nonetheless, in light of the individual forms of blessing highlighted above, perhaps we can suggest that whether Aharon used the Torah’s “script” for the blessing or created his own, he knew quite well that some blessings take place before a departure, and some take place before the death of the one giving the blessing.

Perhaps Aharon was giving the blessing at the end of the service because everyone was now going to return home. On the opposite extreme, in light of Targum Yonatan’s comment, perhaps Aharon was giving the blessing because he feared the service did not go well and did not know if he’d be around to perform it the next time. This premonition was not far off, because not five verses later, his two older sons die from performing the service incorrectly or inappropriately.

But maybe Aharon wanted to break the mold. Maybe Aharon knew that blessings are good all the time. And he also knew that the kohanim who bless others would be blessed by G-d (Bamidbar 6:27).

We can all appreciate and benefit from the blessings we give to one another. If we can expand our horizons, hopefully the blessings will come not just when we depart on a journey or from this world, but at times when we will continue to live together for many years.

Chametz: The Bread of Freedom

This article appears in the Jewish Star

Parshat Tzav and Pesach

A child looks at the holiday table that always has a plump centerpiece with an ornate cover. The cover is lifted to reveal… three matzos. Bummer. Where is the bread?

The first of the four rhetorical statements in the Mah Nishtanah is, “Tonight we eat only matzo.” One can argue this observation is not motivated simply due to the innocent questions of a child. Rather, there is a real contradiction in that on the evening when we are supposed to be celebrating freedom, we are only eating poor man’s bread. (I think matzo is called poor man’s bread because once you’ve bought matzo made under the strictest conditions, you become a poor man who can’t afford bread anyway.)

Interestingly, there is only one korban (offering) in this week’s parsha that includes a series of breads. Usually the bread used for a korban is matzo. But in chapter 7, we find that the Korban Todah — the thanksgiving offering — includes real bread along with the matzo.

What is the significance of including bread in the offering?

According to Rashi, the reasons one would bring a Korban Todah are the same reasons one should nowadays say Birkat Hagomel (the blessing recited over personal miracles): being saved from the sea, crossing the desert, imprisonment, or a major health decline — all of these are alluded to in Psalms 107.

[A brief aside: Should one recite the blessing when traveling by plane across an ocean? The literalists argue: If you cross the ocean you say the blessing. The realists say the difficult part of the journey is trying to sleep while seated upright in a 1.5 cubic foot area. A plane crash is highly unlikely and physical needs are otherwise met. Surviving a car crash is a bigger personal miracle than stepping off an El-Al flight at Ben Gurion airport — especially if you travel business or first class.]

Following Rashi’s interpretation, it would be appropriate to bring the Korban Todah for events which would cause one to sponsor a Seudat Hoda’ah — (a meal of thanksgiving) for real moments when G-d deliberately intervened to save you.

At such a moment, Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch explains, “[Chametz] represents man in control of all that is his, with nothing to impede him. He was delivered from some difficulty that had inhibited his step. He emerged from dire straits and attained broad independence. This full independence… has no means of expression more fitting than ten chametz loaves… [Ten] is the quantitative expression of qualitative perfection.”

This is a beautiful concept. But Rabbi Hirsch is well aware that the 10 bread loaves are accompanied by thirty matzos. That is a ratio of three to one, matzo to chametz, an offering the individual is comfortable with, says Hirsch, due to how he understands and perceives his state of well-being.

“What appears as chametz from the standpoint of his position in the world appears to him as ‘matzo’ when he stands before G-d… only by G-d’s grace does he regain chametz — independence. Thus, as he regains worldly independence, his sense of dependence on G-d is renewed and he commits himself anew to dedicate his whole life and all his independent powers to the service of G-d. He brings matzo in the same measures in which he brings chametz, and only this law of matzo opposite chametz makes his offering a todah.” (The thirty matzos had the same amount of flour as the ten loaves of bread according to the list of ingredients from Parshat Emor and Korach and the Talmud Menachot 77-78).

Perhaps the first statement in Mah Nishtana is really a question. “We have all the trimmings of a Seudat Hoda’ah. We should really have matzo and bread. Why only matzo?”

And the answer is that we are celebrating a kind of freedom and independence that is not about our physical survival. “Had G-d not taken us out, we’d still be slaves,” we declare in the Haggadah. But we would have survived!

Chametz and matzo are brought together when we celebrate what might have otherwise been our death. But when we celebrate our complete dependence on G-d on the evening of the exodus from slavery, we are not yet at a point when chametz and matzo can be rejoined. Therefore only matzo has a role in the holiday, until complete independence is established at the splitting of the sea on the last day of the holiday. Only then can chametz be reintroduced to our diets, when we are completely free once the holiday comes to an end.

When the Fire is "Divine"

This article can be seen at the Jewish Star

Parshat Vayikra: Musings on Sacrificial Offerings

The first three parashot in Vayikra are always a challenge to read, and even more so to teach. How can we honestly appreciate a system we do not have, which seems so far removed from the society and culture we experience daily? Even yeshivas skip the tractates that deal most primarily with these topics because they are largely irrelevant to our current day-to-day existence.

Most of us are happy to believe that meat, like produce, grows in the supermarket, and is best when purchased on sale and barbecued right away. I am sure that with the exception of zoos (notably petting zoos) and the small pets some have in their homes, the closest most of us ever get to large animals is at the circus or when driving through the Catskills (insert relatively local farm-country road here).

And don’t even talk to me about how the meat really got to the supermarket refrigerator. And I don’t want to know which part of the animal is the source of “tongue,” which I so enjoy.

Nonetheless, once upon a time, sacrifices and offerings were part of our daily rituals, and blood and animal innards were transported around the area of the mizbe’ach (altar) for appropriate pourings, sprinklings, disposal and/or burning. And it is a return to these ways that we pray for whenever we ask G-d to rebuild Jerusalem and His holy house.

With this background and with an eye to a future date of sacrificial offerings, let us turn our attention to the middle of the description of the first offering, when we are told that, post cutting the animal and preparing it to be completely burned, “Aaron’s sons shall place fire on the altar, and arrange wood on the fire.” (1:7)

Which one is put on first? Fire or wood? Are they supposed to bring their own fire? Isn’t G-d supposed to provide the fire? What is this verse coming to teach us?

The Talmud (Eiruvin 63a) teaches us that Nadav and Avihu eventually made a simple calculation from which we learn that a student should not decide halakha when his teacher is available to be asked. They thought “Even though the fire comes down from the heavens, there is still a mitzvah for a kohen to bring fire from an outside source.” When they brought fire on their own initiative in Vayikra chapter 10, their choice proved fatal since they had not asked Moshe how to resolve the divine fire versus human fire contradiction (there are other suggestions, as well, as to why they died at that time).

Let us not misunderstand. The Talmud (Yoma 21b) makes it quite clear that there is fire from G-d and there is fire that humans contribute to the mizbe’ach. As such, their ruling was correct, albeit flawed in that they came to it of their own accord and without consulting with their teacher.

But where does the humanly contributed fire come from? The Talmud Yoma 45a says it was to be kindled on top of the mizbe’ach. It did not come from a different source — they would presumably rub wood together or use whatever other means in order to ignite the fire.

Rav Saadiah Gaon points out that while Nadav and Avihu were correct that they could make their own fire contribution, they erred in thinking that any fire could be used. They brought an “Aish zarah” — a strange fire — as opposed to one that belonged atop the mizbe’ach. In other words, they learned their lesson, but they did not pay attention to the fine details, the nuances in the words of the Torah.

Many of us do this all the time. When we care enough to know a halakha, we too often assume we know what we are doing because we’ve experienced similar situations before. In some cases we may be right. But in some cases, the facts may be different, or the nuances of the rulings may not apply from one case to the other, in which case we are only deceiving ourselves.

While I do not believe we should be turning to rabbis to help us make all the minute decisions of our lives, I do believe that halakhic decisions that are not timely (timely, as in matters of immediate life and death) would generally benefit from an open and real conversation with a rabbi (or otherwise learned person) that includes opening up primary texts and learning from the original sources.

To answer our question with a metaphor, had Aharon’s sons followed the prescription of lighting the “fire” first, they would have been able to use the “wood” to further fuel their curiosity, so they could arrive at appropriate conclusions with greater clarity.

Divinely Inspired

This can also be viewed at the Jewish Star

Vayakhel-Fekudei

With all the talk about the Divine Inspiration given to Betzalel and Oholiab, we almost forget that many more individuals were given similar inspiration by G-d to help their own efforts in the “holy work that God had commanded.” (36:1)

This sentiment is repeated in 36:2 when we are told those who came close to the work, came because “his heart had inspired him to do so.”

“From that which was before Moshe, they took all of the donations the Israelites had brought for the holy work, and they continued to bring more pledges every morning… They told Moshe that the people were bringing too much; much more than was needed for the work G-d had commanded. Moshe commanded and a voice carried through the camp saying ‘Man and woman should work no longer for the holy donations’ – and people stopped bringing. The work was enough for all the work that needed to be done, with extras.”

The image of all these inspired people doing their holy work is one which requires much attention. In their case, G-d gave them the skills to craft the Mishkan. Knowing and understanding their task, they fulfilled their duties to the utmost.

Many of us in the Orthodox Jewish community are similarly inspired. With few exceptions (converts, baalei teshuvah, and some of those who grew up before the 1950’s, come to mind), we have the benefit of a yeshiva education that has given us the fundamental base to know how to live our lives as Jews. The exceptions are differently “divinely inspired,” and they get all the credit in the world for the choices they’ve made.

Like in every choice and life decision, particularly in the land of the free and the home of the brave, we have options. Some are easy, some are more difficult. For some people it is just as easy to take the leap of faith that makes the observant way of life the only option, as it is for others to reject any association with a system that makes “demands” and has “commandments” which take away from personal freedom and responsibility that goes beyond oneself (even though one could always volunteer and be a “good Samaritan” and humanitarian).

In the metaphor of the construction of the Mishkan, there was a set goal. Those who were inspired knew what they needed in order to build what they were looking to build, and they knew when to tell people to stop donating. In some cases, enough really is enough.

But in some cases, enough is not enough. I have met many people who have rejected our lifestyle. When engaged in a conversation they’ll often say “I went to yeshiva twelve years. I know everything. It’s not for me.”

I know they don’t mean or believe that they “know everything.” But they do feel, because they grew up with it, that they know all they need to know to decide a Torah-observant life is not for them.

Sometimes it’s not for them. But they don’t “know everything.” In some cases, the concept of “v’shinantam l’vanekha” (you shall review over and over and over to your children) never really caught on, and in some cases, their search stopped early. One question, one contradiction, one bad experience, and all was over.

In a time when Orthodox Jewish individuals figure prominently and negatively in the press – for all kinds of shenanigans, mind you – it is easy to understand how those on the fringes will opt out. “If this is what Orthodox Judaism stands for, I want no part of it.”

Under those conditions, most of us probably want no part of it either. Except this is not what Orthodox Judaism stands for. And to go out on a limb, those who bring about chillul hashem for any kind of crime are not to be considered Orthodox Jews (though teshuvah is always an option).

For every one bad apple, there are thousands upon thousands of good, wonderful, shining examples of people who are not only Chakhmei Lev (wise hearted), but are truly divinely inspired and who model wonderful behavior every day.
Perhaps there is a point when donations to the Mishkan can stop. But the donations of good deeds, understanding, and shout-outs for what we believe and stand for are never enough. They can never stop.

The Netziv almost likens the training of the Mishkan artisans to a trade school. They went in knowing they wanted to contribute their talent to the cause, but did not know what their specific talent or calling was. With time, they learned and made their mark in the Mishkan.

So it is with our Jewish experience. Everyone needs to find his or her unique voice and form of expression. At the end of the day, however, the goals must be shared by all who experience the divine inspiration that has been guiding our way of life for thousands of years.