Parashat Naso: What is the Connection Between External Order and Fulfilling our Inner Mission?

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Parashat Naso
What is the Connection Between External Order and Fulfilling our Inner Mission?  

What is Preferable: External Order and Stability or Inner Warmth and Care?

I grew up in a highly functioning, law-abiding country where all the external frameworks operated like clockwork. The streets and sidewalks were clean, green, and beautifully maintained; the public systems – from libraries to healthcare – were well-funded and reliable. In fact, I recently noticed that according to U.S. News & World Report, Denmark ranks #1 in the world for quality of life, based on education, healthcare, political transparency, economic security, and general societal well-being. Growing up in such an efficient and stable environment should have brought a deep sense of contentment. Yet, I never felt truly fulfilled in what might be called ‘The Dreamland of Denmark.’

Despite its polished exterior and near-perfect punctuality – where trains always arrive precisely as announced – something essential was missing. I find myself far more at home in a land of constant challenge and unpredictable rhythms. Even during times of conflict and uncertainty, I choose to live in Israel – a place bursting with soul. While Israel may lack the external order of Denmark, it overflows with purpose, connection, and vibrancy. Yes, I may have to stoop to pick up stray candy wrappers on the sidewalk – a sight unimaginable in suburban Denmark – but I do so with joy, knowing I walk streets rich with meaning, history, and heart. A society may be perfectly orderly on the outside yet lacking in inner meaning and mission. In Israel, it’s not about appearances – it’s about essence. The laughter of children, the warmth of strangers, and the shared sense of mission here speak to something far deeper than surface-level perfection ever could.

Why Does Parashat Naso Mention the Suspected Adulteress, the Nazarite, and the Thief?

Parashat Naso seems to continue the national themes introduced in Parashat Bamidbar: the census of the tribes, the inauguration of the Mishkan, and the offerings of the tribal leaders. While reading HaRav Aharon Lichtenstein’s article, The Embedded Message, on Parashat Naso, I was struck by his observation that even within the structured and clearly defined national order of the wilderness journey – with its census, banners, and division of Levitical roles – the Torah does not lose sight of the moral and spiritual development of the individual. Interwoven in this narrative are seemingly personal and unrelated topics – the thief who confesses and repays (Bamidbar 5:5-10), the suspected adulteress (5:11-31), and the Nazir who abstains from wine and seeks higher holiness (6:1-21). Why are these inserted here, interrupting the flow of collective preparation for the sanctification of the Mishkan and entry into Eretz Yisrael?

Precisely because the Torah is teaching us that a nation’s spiritual destiny is only as strong as its individuals. In the midst of grand national missions – the revelation of the Shechinah in the Mishkan, and the historical march into the Land – the Torah zooms in on personal struggles: betrayal, longing, inner restraint, and restitution. The message is clear. The sanctity of the Mishkan depends not only on the proper placement of tribes or ritual service, but on the moral integrity of each individual. Without a foundation of personal fidelity, integrity, and spiritual yearning, the collective cannot sustain its calling.

The Torah thus ensures that no soul is forgotten. The lonely convert, the wayward woman, the aspiring ascetic – each has a place in the unfolding destiny of Am Yisrael. A society striving for holiness must care not only for its national structure but also for its moral fiber, woven one soul at a time.

What is the Ideal Relationship between Outer Details and Inner Refinement?

The ultimate goal is a radiant soul in a healthy body on both an individual and a national dimension. We don’t have to sell ourselves short, we can aspire toward the highest spiritual content encased in the most organized external parameters. For any community to thrive, we need law and order. Role divisions need to be clearly defined, and all community members must carry out their responsibilities and know who to turn to for questions and directions. Parashat Naso highlights the meticulous arrangements needed for the Israelites’ journey on their way to settling in the land.  It provides details about preparations for entering the Land of Israel, particularly focusing on the organization of the camp and the Levites’ responsibilities in carrying the holy vessels. When it comes to the G-d given mitzvot, even physical structures and external order become spiritual and infused with inner meaning and mission. The many details and even repetitions of the sacrifices of the princes of each tribe become infused with meaning, as they are intended not only to provide the external particulars but to teach us an inner lesson about character development.

Parashat Naso is the longest parasha in the entire Chumash because it repeats word for word the offering of each of the tribes instead of just paraphrasing that all the tribes offered the exact same such and such. This demonstrates that although the princes brought the same precise offering, none of them copied their friend. Each had his own personal relationship with his offering. Because of each tribe’s original intention, excitement, and awareness, the Torah described each of their offerings in its own section. Another reason for the repetition of the tribal sacrifices word by word is due to Hashem’s great pleasure with their identical offering of unity that rectified the sibling jealousy of Kain and Hevel. When external details are infused with inner refinement, then even otherwise tedious repetition becomes meaningful.

How Do We Carry the Sanctuary Within Our Unique Spiritual Mission?

The census in Parashat Naso, which continues the census begun in Parashat Bamidbar, moreover alludes to the inner spiritual intention within the exterior positions and roles. The designated roles of the families within the tribe of Levi in carrying and assembling the Mishkan hint at how each family had a unique portion of the holy structure to bear upon their shoulders, not just physically, but also spiritually.

במדבר פרק ד פסוק מז

מִבֶּן שְׁלֹשִׁים שָׁנָה וָמַעְלָה וְעַד בֶּן חֲמִשִּׁים שָׁנָה כֹּל הַבָּא לַעֲבֹד עֲבֹדַת עֲבֹדָה וַעֲבֹדַת מַשָּׂא בְּאֹהֶל מוֹעֵד:

“From thirty years old and up to fifty years old, all who come to serve the service of service and the service of carrying in the Tent of Meeting” (Bamidbar 4:47).

While Ha’amek Davar emphasizes the transition from supernatural guidance in the wilderness to a more hidden Divine providence in the Land, Parashat Naso moreover suggests that the service of carrying the Mishkan was not merely a physical duty – it was a spiritual apprenticeship. This desert service trained each individual to become a vessel for the Shechinah – a sacred preparation for dwelling with Divine presence in Eretz Yisrael. Each person had their role, their burden, and their sacred responsibility, just as each soul in Eretz Yisrael today has a unique spiritual mission to carry.
The Sefat Emet explains that just as each angel has a unique root and mission, so too each member of Am Yisrael longed to know their soul’s root and place of rectification. Though we cannot see this with our physical eyes, through the Torah, each person can find their spiritual origin. Some rare individuals may ascend entirely through their deeds, but even those who are not on that level can leap beyond their natural rung through longing and will alone. “Each man by his camp and under his banner” represents this dual path of fixed service and spiritual aspiration. In this way, every individual’s unique role in the camp mirrors their deeper mission in the Divine structure of the nation, especially as it manifests in the holiness of Eretz Yisrael (Sefat Emet, Bamidbar, year 5639).

Carrying Our Sacred Responsibility in the Land
The Levites carried the Mishkan in the desert. Today, we carry the sanctity of the Land in our own way. Living in Eretz Yisrael is not always easy – there are physical challenges, bureaucratic obstacles, and moments of loneliness. But just as each Levi had to bear his assigned portion – whether it was the heavy planks, the shimmering curtains, or the sacred vessels – each of us carries our piece of the collective inheritance.
Living in Bat Ayin, we can perceive how every soul brings a different panel, a different curtain, a different vessel to the collective sanctuary of our people. Each student who comes to learn Torah, plant a garden, raise children, or simply breathe in the holiness of the Land is carrying their part of the Mishkan – their avodat hakodesh. Each of us, with our unique contribution and role in the community, reflects our deeper spiritual mission, aligned with our soul’s root and place of rectification within the Divine structure of the nation.

Parashat Pekudei: How Does Moshe’s Blessing Bring About the Rebuilding of the Beit Hamikdash?

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Parashat Pekudei
How Does Moshe’s Blessing Bring About the Rebuilding of the Beit Hamikdash?

Why Would Our Four-Year-Old Granddaughter Want to Visit the Kotel?

Last week, we took our four-year-old granddaughter, Agam, to the Kotel. Her father – our son – could hardly believe she actually wanted to go there. What could possibly draw a young child to an ancient stone wall filled with people praying and swaying, rather than to an amusement park, the zoo, or go-karts? Yet, after her first visit with us, she asked to return. Yes, she did complain that I – her grandmother – prayed too long, but still, she wanted to go back. As we descended the many steps leading to the holiest place in the world, the excitement in the air seemed to build with each step. It was dusk, and the illuminated Western Wall radiated a quiet energy that drew us in. People from all walks of life milled about the plaza. A man wrapped in a flowing tallit blew the shofar loud and strong – its sound echoing through the stones and heart of heaven. I had given Agam a crocheted pouch filled with coins for tzedakah, and she eagerly looked around for beggars. Near the women’s section, an elderly woman reached out her hand, and Agam happily reached into her pouch and dropped a coin into the woman’s metal box with a loud “cling” that delighted her. We separated from my husband, and Agam chose a small siddur from among the many spread out on a large table. I had hoped we would pray together – she knows Tehillim 121 by heart, but it didn’t quite work out. Instead, we looked at the doves together, especially one beautiful white dove nestled between the stones of the Kotel, partly hidden by the greenery growing from the cracks. We approached the wall itself, towering above us, touched its soft, timeworn ridges, and marveled at all the tiny rolled-up notes tucked into its crevices. Agam followed me as I closed my eyes and kissed the cool stone. I was reminded of the poignant words from the song HaKotel by Yossi Gamzu, made famous by Naomi Shemer: יש אנשים עם לב של אבן, יש אבנים עם לב אדם/Yesh anashim im lev shel even, yesh avanim im lev adam… “There are people with a heart of stone, and there are stones with a human heart…” Agam and I were both touched. I encouraged her to say a little prayer for a family member, and she whispered a name. As we left, Agam delighted in walking backward – as I explained is the custom – to avoid turning our back on the Shechinah (Divine Presence) that rests at the Kotel. I was happy she agreed to respect the custom passed down for generations, honoring the holiness she somehow sensed even at her tender age. And that, perhaps, is the answer to why a four-year-old would choose to visit the Kotel: because even a child can feel the heart within the stones. 

                                                                                      

Why is the Kotel the Holiest Place in the World?

The destruction of the Second Temple by the Romans in 70 C.E. left the Western Wall standing. For centuries, Jews have come to this remnant – once known as the ‘Wailing Wall’ – to mourn the Temple’s loss and to pray, just as we still do today. It is no coincidence that it was at this very Wall that I found my way home to the Torah world in 1980. Even then – with barely any knowledge of Judaism and unaware of the structure of formal prayer – my heart was opened to the holiness that permeated the place. In my own way, I prayed to Hashem. He answered that prayer in a remarkable way by sending Chava, who invited me to the women’s yeshiva where I kept my first Shabbat. The rest, as they say, is history. The sanctity of the Temple and Jerusalem stems from the presence of the Shechinah that permeated the Temple Mount when King Solomon first built the Beit Hamikdash. That holiness, once established, can never be nullified. The holiest place in the world is the site of the Holy of Holies on the Temple Mount itself. Yet, despite the Temple’s destruction, the Western Wall remains sacred due to its proximity to the Holy of Holies and its enduring connection to the Divine Presence. As Rabbi Acha teaches: The Divine Presence never leaves the Western Wall, as it is written: “Behold, He is standing behind our wall” (Song of Songs 2:9); (Midrash Shemot Rabbah 2:2). During the Roman destruction of Jerusalem, Vespasian divided the city among his four generals to be demolished. The general assigned to destroy the western section left it intact. When Vespasian asked why, the general replied that he wanted to leave it standing as a testimony to the greatness of the city he had conquered.  But beyond military strategy, the Midrash teaches that it had been decreed in Heaven that the Western Wall never be destroyed – because the Shechinah rests on the western side of the Temple, where the Holy of Holies once stood (Midrash Eichah Rabbah 1:31). This concept has halachic implications as well. Many agricultural mitzvot of the Land of Israel – such as those concerning Shemittah and tithes – are currently observed at a Rabbinic level. In contrast, these laws retain a higher level of sanctity in Jerusalem. As the Rambam writes: “The original sanctification sanctified the Temple and Jerusalem for eternity” (Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Beit HaBechira 6:16). The Kotel remains not merely a historical remnant, but a living testimony to Hashem’s eternal covenant with His people – a place where hearts awaken and prayers rise, and even the youngest of souls can sense the holiness of the Shechinah that still rests between its stones.

What was Moshe’s Blessing of Israel Upon the Completion of the Sanctuary?

The sanctity radiating from the Temple Mount and the Kotel origins in the very first Mishkan (Sanctuary) that the Israelites built in the desert on their journey to the Land of Israel. Parashat Pekudei concludes the construction of the Mishkan, offering a detailed accounting of the materials used and describing the final assembly of the sacred structure. The themes of this parasha resonate deeply with the Mishkan’s ultimate purpose – serving as a forerunner to the Beit Hamikdash in Jerusalem, the eternal dwelling place of the Shechinah in Eretz Yisrael.

ספר שמות פרק לט פסוק מג וַיַּרְא משֶׁה אֶת כָּל הַמְּלָאכָה וְהִנֵּה עָשׂוּ אֹתָהּ כַּאֲשֶׁר צִוָּה הַשֵׁם כֵּן עָשׂוּ וַיְבָרֶךְ אֹתָם משֶׁה:

“Moshe saw all the work, and behold, they had done it as Hashem had commanded, so they had done it; and Moshe blessed them” (Shemot 39:43).

This moment of completion parallels the dedication of the Beit Hamikdash, where King Shlomo blessed the nation after the construction of the Temple: “Then the king turned his face about and blessed all the congregation of Israel, and all the congregation of Israel stood” (I Melachim 8:14). The Midrash depicts a direct link from the Mishkan to the Beit Hamikdash, teaching that the sanctity first introduced through the portable sanctuary found its ultimate expression in the permanent Temple in Jerusalem (Midrash Tanchuma, Pekudei 11). The Mishkan was not meant to remain a temporary sanctuary in the desert – it was to pave the way for a legacy that would culminate in a permanent home for the Divine Presence in the Holy Land. Blessings are most potent when uttered in the presence of the Shechinah – the Source of all blessings. Many commentators sought to clarify the meaning of Moshe’s words of blessing uttered at this opportune moment. According to Rabbi Meir of Rothenburg, Moshe’s blessing was: “May Hashem, the G-d of your forefathers, bless you…” Just as you dedicated yourselves to the building of the Mishkan and the Shechinah rested upon the work of your hands, so may you merit to build before Him the Beit HaBechirah – the Temple – and may the Shechinah again rest upon the work of your hands. Building upon this, Ha’amek Davar explains that because the Mishkan was completed with evident Divine assistance and extraordinary success, Moshe blessed them that the same would be true of the Beit Hamikdash (Ha’amek Davar, Shemot 39:43). The blessing Moshe gave upon the completion of the Mishkan was therefore not only a moment of gratitude – it was a prophetic hope for the future. A hope that the holiness established in the wilderness would one day find its eternal home in the heart of Jerusalem, in the Land where the Shechinah would dwell forever.

What is the Ultimate Connection between the Mishkan, Kotel, and Beit Hamikdash?

A striking Midrash reveals a profound parallel between the Mishkan and the human body. Rabbi Shemuel bar Nacḥman, in the name of Rabbi Natan, teaches that there are eighteen commands related to the Mishkan – corresponding to the eighteen vertebrae in the human spine. These also parallel the eighteen blessings of the daily Amidah, the eighteen times G-d’s name appears in the Shema, and the eighteen mentions of G-d’s name in Tehillim 29 (Midrash Vayikra Rabbah 1:8). Just as the spine connects the upper and lower parts of the body and allows us to stand upright, the Mishkan served as the spiritual backbone of Israel – joining heaven and earth, body and soul. When the Beit Hamikdash was built, it was as though the full body of Divine service was completed, with the Mishkan as its core. Its structural and spiritual continuity bound the holiness of the desert sanctuary to the eternal holiness of Jerusalem. Another Midrash offers an even deeper insight into this enduring connection: “Then Moshe blessed them.” – He said to them: “May it be Hashem’s will that the Shechinah dwell in the work of your hands.” Alternatively – He said to them: “May it be Hashem’s will that no enemy gain control over the work of your hands, for the Mishkan was hidden away in the underground chambers of the Temple” (Pesikta Zutarta, Shemot 39:43). This remarkable teaching implies that the Mishkan was not merely a spiritual forerunner of the Beit Hamikdash – it actually became part of it. The original sanctuary, built with devotion and infused with Moshe’s blessing, was hidden deep within the Temple structure itself, continuing to infuse it with holiness even during times of destruction. Perhaps it was precisely Moshe’s blessing that ensured the enemies could never fully destroy the work of Israel’s hands. Thus, the Western Wall of the Temple would remain, preserving the presence of the Shechinah at the Kotel. His blessing continues to pulse through that last remaining wall. The Kotel may be seen not just as a relic of the past, but as the living spine of the Jewish people – still standing, still supporting, and still drawing the Shechinah into our world. Perhaps the continued existence of the Kotel – the last vestige of the Beit Hamikdash – will become the catalyst for the rebuilding of the Temple. The Kotel may be compared to the seed from which the ultimate tree of the entire Beit Hamikdash will spring forth. May we soon witness the fulfillment of that very blessing – when the Mishkan, the Kotel, and the Beit Hamikdash will be united in the rebuilt Temple, radiating holiness to all creation.

Parashat Teruma: How Can We Create a Sacred Space in our Lives and Land?

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Parashat Teruma
How Can We Create a Sacred Space in our Lives and Land?

How did My Childhood Quest for Sacred Space Lead Me to True Holiness?

Since childhood, I have always sought to create sacred spaces around me. As a young girl scout, I would adorn the entrance to our tent with magnificent rocks and other intriguing objects I found in nature. I wasn’t just decorating; I was marking the threshold with beauty and meaning as if to invite a deeper presence into that space. Even then, without fully understanding the concept, I was trying to create a sacred space – infused with intention and reverence. As I grew older, my yearning for sacred space deepened. When I became a teenager, I claimed the basement of our family villa as my own – a privilege I was granted as the eldest of three sisters. With wall hangings, psychedelic colors, crystals, and the ethereal sound of Pink Floyd, I transformed an ordinary upper-middle-class suburban basement into a mystical, kaleidoscopic refuge for spiritual seekers. It was more than a teenage hangout – it became my sanctuary. I created an atmosphere where the mundane dissolved into something transcendent, a space where I could explore my spiritual yearnings. Even as I traveled, whether for a day or longer, I would leave my mark on the spaces I temporarily inhabited. Draping scarves and hanging necklaces – was my attempt to infuse each temporary dwelling with an atmosphere of sacredness, however imperfect. It was the best I could do with my limited understanding of true holiness. Yet, I got a glimpse – perhaps more accurately, a scent – of something deeper. When I visited my grandparents in Israel, I was welcomed by the fragrance of citrus groves, a sacred scent that imprinted itself upon my soul. It was as if my heart was being prepared, softened, and opened to receive something greater. And then, when I stood before the Western Wall for the first time, I knew – without scarves or necklaces or any adornment that this was kedusha – true holiness. My childhood instinct to sanctify space had found its source.

The Eternal Repercussions of the Mitzvah to Create Sacred Space
In Parashat Teruma, Hashem commands the Children of Israel:

ספר שמות פרק כה פסוק ח וְעָשׂוּ לִי מִקְדָּשׁ וְשָׁכַנְתִּי בְּתוֹכָם:

“They shall make for Me a Mikdash (Sanctuary), and I will dwell among them” (Shemot 25:8).

This verse encapsulates a profound spiritual truth – our mission to create sacred spaces where the Shechinah (Divine Presence), can reside. The command to build the Mishkan (Tabernacle) in the wilderness was not merely a physical task; it was a spiritual act – a calling to transform the physical space into a dwelling for the Divine. A fascinating passage from Pesikta Zutarta offers deep insight into our verse attributing the Shechinah dwelling among Israel with eternal significance: This refers to both the present world and the world to come. It refers to the eternal dwelling, for all time. The Holy One, Blessed be He, expresses extraordinary affection for the people of Israel by constricting His Presence within them. Happy is the nation for whom this is true. Happy is the nation that Hashem is his G-d (Pesikta Zutarta, Shemot 25:8). The sanctuary is not only a physical structure in this world but primarily imbues us with a profound and everlasting relationship – our eternal bond with the Divine that transcends into the world to come. Hashem’s special love for Israel is manifested in the choice to have His Presence contained within us, making Israel a vessel for the Divine. While the Mishkan served a critical role in the wilderness as a portable sanctuary – a place where Heaven and Earth converge, and the Israelites could experience the presence of Hashem in their midst – its true fulfillment was always intended to be in the Land of Israel. There, the Beit HaMikdash (Holy Temple) would be built, a permanent home for the Shechinah. The connection between these sacred spaces highlights a deeper truth: our mission to create a sacred space extends beyond the temporary buildings we construct or the lands we inhabit during exile.

What is the Connection Between The Mishkan and the Land of Israel?

The holiness of the Mishkan extends into the Land of Israel by serving as a place of Divine guidance – just as Hashem spoke to Moshe from the Kodesh HaKodashim (Holy of Holies), prophecy flourished only in the Land of Israel. It is the land where the voice of Hashem is most clearly heard. The Beit HaMikdash became the central point from which divine wisdom and guidance were transmitted to the people of Israel. Moreover, the Mishkan was a place of service to Hashem; similarly, the Land of Israel is a place of service, where mitzvot such as terumot, ma’aserot, and shemitah sanctify the very acts of eating, working, and living on the land. The daily lives of the Israelites are infused with sanctity, as the land itself reflects the holiness of the Mishkan. Thus, the portable Mishkan in the desert was only a temporary construction, whereas our permanent sanctuary can exist only in the Holy Land. As Ralbag explains, the ultimate mitzvah of building a Mikdash is not to be carried out in just any location, but in the specific place that Hashem will choose when the people cross the Jordan and settle in the land. The Mishkan in the desert was merely a temporary dwelling, designed to train the Israelites in divine service and prepare them for their inheritance of the land. They did not stray from this path, as they did not have a permanent sanctuary until Hashem revealed to them the location of the eternal Temple on Mount Moriah (Rabbi Levi ben Gershon, Shemot 25:8). The Promised Land is so much more than just a geographical location. Only in the Land of Israel do the spiritual and physical meet in perfect harmony. Just as the Mishkan was fashioned from earthly materials to house the Divine, the Land of Israel is the soil where Hashem’s Presence can take root among His people. The very earth of Israel holds the potential to become a dwelling place for the Divine. This connection reinforces the deep sanctity of both the Mishkan and the Land, highlighting that Israel is not only a place for the Jewish people to live but the place where Hashem’s glory is to be revealed (Based on Yoel Yakoby, Parashat Teruma: The Encounter Between Two Types of Sanctity).

To Build or Not to Build the Beit Hamikdash?

We all pray and yearn for the rebuilding of the permanent Beit HaMikdash on the Temple Mount. But why don’t we begin the construction already? One reason often cited is the belief that the Temple is meant to descend from Heaven. However, this view is not as clear-cut as it may seem. It is based on one interpretation of Rashi’s commentary on the Babylonian Talmud (Sukkah 41a). Yet that interpretation of Rashi is disputed among our Sages (see, for example, the Me’iri on that Talmudic passage). Rabbi Jacob Ettlinger succinctly reconciles these differing perspectives: “Certainly, the future Beit HaMikdash will be built literally by humans. That which is written, ‘The Mikdash, Hashem, Your hands established’ (Shemot 15:17), as expounded in the Midrash Tanchuma – that it will descend from above—refers to the spiritual Beit HaMikdash, which will enter the physical, already-built Beit HaMikdash, like a soul within a body” (Aruch LaNer on Sukkah 41a). Another widely held assumption is that the mitzvah of building the Beit HaMikdash is contingent on the majority of Am Yisrael (Jewish People) residing in Eretz Yisrael. Yet this claim is also unclear. In contrast, the Minchat Chinuch asserts: “Even today, it is possible that if the nations were to grant permission to build the Beit HaMikdash, there would be a mitzvah to do so, as is evident from the Midrash, which recounts that in the days of Rabbi Yehoshua ben Chananya, permission was granted, and they began construction” (Minchat Chinuch, Mitzvah 95). Similarly, Rav Teichtal states that the Beit HaMikdash can be built whenever the opportunity presents itself: “If permission were given to Am Yisrael to build the Beit HaBechirah (Chosen House). …it is a mitzvah for all generations, as we are commanded to build the Beit HaMikdash. Therefore, Chazal said, ‘A generation in which the Beit HaMikdash is not built in its time is as if it were destroyed in its time.’ (Em Habanim Semecha). The reason is that whenever Bnei Yisrael contribute wholeheartedly, yearning to build Him a house, they will be able to attain their aspirations” (Sefat Emet, Parashat Teruma, Year 1850). Based on these authoritative Torah scholars, I venture to ask: So what are we waiting for?!

How Can We Bring the Mishkan into Our Lives Today?

Although our final Beit HaMikdash has not yet been rebuilt, the message of Parashat Teruma remains deeply relevant. Every home in the Land of Israel – and every Jewish heart –  can serve as a mini-Mikdash. By filling our lives with Torah, kindness, and devotion to Hashem, we continue the legacy of Parashat Teruma, creating a space where the Divine Presence can dwell.

The connection between creating sacred space and our role as partners with Hashem in building a dwelling place for the Shechinah is profound. The Land itself is holy, as it is the place where the Shechinah dwells most intimately. Every act of sanctifying the space around us – whether through physical action or spiritual devotion—brings us closer to fulfilling the mitzvah of Parashat Teruma: “They shall make for Me a Sanctuary, and I will dwell among them.” This call is not just for the Israelites of the past but for us today, as we continue to build sacred spaces where the Divine can reside among us. May we merit seeing the rebuilding of the Beit HaMikdash speedily in our days, when its holiness will once again shine in its full glory. The lesson of creating sacred spaces – whether in our homes, our communities, or our land – continues to guide us toward a deeper connection with Hashem, inviting His Presence to dwell among us. Just as I instinctively sought to transform my surroundings into sacred spaces, the Torah calls on all of us to recognize that every space, every moment, and every act can become an opportunity to invite holiness into our lives. The Land of Israel, in particular, is where this sacred work is most fully realized. It is not merely a home for the Jewish people but the very foundation of our relationship with Hashem.