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Welcome to Kolot, the podcast of The Ark Synagogue, a bold, experiential and caring Progressive Jewish community in Northwood, London.
Through sermons, reflections and conversations from across our community, Kolot explores Jewish life, learning and values in the world we live in today. Rooted in tradition and open to new perspectives, these episodes bring together voices that inspire thought, connection and belonging.
Whether you are Jewish, exploring Judaism, or simply looking for meaningful reflection, you are warmly welcome.
To learn more about The Ark Synagogue, visit arksynagogue.org.
And let them make Me a Sanctuary that I may dwell among them.
ועשו לי מקדש, ושכנתי בתוכם
(Exodus 25:8)
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From the larger poem Please With Gentleness, written by Haviva Pedaya and inspired by those words:
One thing have I asked, and it I seek:
Your dwelling in me, Your giving me a spirit.
One thing I cried when I remembered myself,
for then, when I prayed, I lacked nothing.
And now that I desire nothing,
everything is trampled in me.
Please be gracious to me and pity.
Bless my days. Purify them.
Raise them like a daughter crying over the apple of her eye.
Please, if You can.
Both the verse from the Torah and Haviva Pedaya’s poetic interpretation inspire a myriad of thoughts. Immediately, she draws our attention to the phrase: “Your dwelling in me.”
Rabbi Sharon L. Sobel, in The Women’s Torah Commentary, writes that some feminists have been troubled by the perception that the God of the Torah is primarily transcendent — a model perpetuated by many male commentators and rabbis. Yet this description of God in our parashah as an indwelling Presence offers another perspective. God wants to live among us, and God wants us to experience that Divine love in an intimate way.
Isaac Abravanel reinforces this idea when he explains that the Divine intention behind the construction of the Tabernacle was to counter the belief that God had forsaken the earth, that God’s throne was in heaven and remote from humankind. To disabuse the people of this erroneous notion, God commanded the building of the Tabernacle — as if to say that God lives in their minds, in order to implant God’s Presence in their hearts.
Rabbi Sobel continues that Parashat Terumah helps us understand that the traditional notion of God as only transcendent is limited. For God truly to dwell among us, both women and men must embrace immanent images of God as well.
If you would like a few moments to ponder theology, I leave you with that thought — not uncritically, but as a prompt, even a challenge.
There is validity and value in the idea of God dwelling among us — or even, dare we say it, within us. And if that thought, that reasoning or that feeling prompts us to act in ways that better the world around us and improve the lives of others, then its potential begins to be realised.
This, perhaps, is what we infer from Haviva Pedaya’s poem: a generous spirit.
The other standout verse in Terumah is the second verse:
דבר אל בני ישראל ויקחו לי תרומה מאת כל איש אשר ידבנו לבו תקחו את תרומתי
Tell the Israelite people to bring Me gifts; you shall accept gifts for Me from every person whose heart is so moved.
(Exodus 25:2)
Alan Morinis, in his book Everyday Holiness: The Spiritual Path of Mussar, suggests that Jewish tradition distinguishes between two types of generosity.
The first is giving that comes because your heart is so moved that, without even the flicker of a thought, your hand reaches into your pocket to give. In the Torah, this generosity is called terumah — a gift. It arises neither from obligation, nor rational calculation, nor guilt, but from an irresistible stirring deep within. It is a movement of the soul, generating an open-handed response.
The second kind of generosity is called tzedakah. This is obligated giving — tithing, taxation, and other commitments fulfilled whether or not the heart is moved in that moment.
A leading light of the contemporary Mussar movement, Morinis writes that the overall goal of Mussar practice is to help us fulfil our potential to live as the holy souls we are. It is impossible to imagine that we will shine in holiness if we act only from obligation. The passion and flowering of the heart must be greater still. To move toward holiness, one must yearn for it. One must be propelled by a spiritual willingness — nedivut ha’lev — generosity of the heart.
Those who seek to bring their spirit — or the spirit within them — into their everyday behaviour begin to draw these two forms of giving closer together. Tzedakah, rooted in justice and righteousness, becomes no less holy than nedivut ha’lev. Even obligated giving serves a greater good.
Nedivut ha’lev — the volunteering of the heart.
And yet, generosity of spirit is not always easy. We live in a complex world, one in which we hear daily of corruption, fraud, dishonesty and appalling behaviour. We cannot always effect change on a global scale. But we can affect change for those around us — our neighbours, our friends, our families — good people, honest people, flawed people, as we all are.
May that generosity of spirit not be only financial — though that too matters — but reflected in the way we conduct ourselves with everyone around us.
As the Hasidic master Rebbe Nachman of Breslov taught:
Architect of the world,
Author of her story,
Grant us the courage to participate in the world’s design,
To join in the unfolding of her story.
How we long to share responsibility for this world,
To pray for her welfare, to care for her needs,
To safeguard her treasures and to work for her repair.
May it be God’s will — and the will of the spirit within us — to give, and to live, generously.
Amen.
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