Parashat Terumah begins a sequence of Torah portions (with an interruption in the middle for the episode of the Golden Calf) that describe the great communal endeavor of building the Tabernacle.
All the sons and daughters of Israel take part in organizing materials, preparing the various parts, constructing, planning, and designing the sacred and mobile space of the Israelites in the desert, which will eventually become the Temple in Jerusalem.
(א) וַיְדַבֵּ֥ר יהוה אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֥ה לֵּאמֹֽר׃ (ב) דַּבֵּר֙ אֶל־בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל וְיִקְחוּ־לִ֖י תְּרוּמָ֑ה מֵאֵ֤ת כׇּל־אִישׁ֙ אֲשֶׁ֣ר יִדְּבֶ֣נּוּ לִבּ֔וֹ תִּקְח֖וּ אֶת־תְּרוּמָתִֽי׃ (ג) וְזֹאת֙ הַתְּרוּמָ֔ה אֲשֶׁ֥ר תִּקְח֖וּ מֵאִתָּ֑ם זָהָ֥ב וָכֶ֖סֶף וּנְחֹֽשֶׁת׃ (ד) וּתְכֵ֧לֶת וְאַרְגָּמָ֛ן וְתוֹלַ֥עַת שָׁנִ֖י וְשֵׁ֥שׁ וְעִזִּֽים׃ (ה) וְעֹרֹ֨ת אֵילִ֧ם מְאׇדָּמִ֛ים וְעֹרֹ֥ת תְּחָשִׁ֖ים וַעֲצֵ֥י שִׁטִּֽים׃ (ו) שֶׁ֖מֶן לַמָּאֹ֑ר בְּשָׂמִים֙ לְשֶׁ֣מֶן הַמִּשְׁחָ֔ה וְלִקְטֹ֖רֶת הַסַּמִּֽים׃ (ז) אַבְנֵי־שֹׁ֕הַם וְאַבְנֵ֖י מִלֻּאִ֑ים לָאֵפֹ֖ד וְלַחֹֽשֶׁן׃ (ח) וְעָ֥שׂוּ לִ֖י מִקְדָּ֑שׁ וְשָׁכַנְתִּ֖י בְּתוֹכָֽם׃ (ט) כְּכֹ֗ל אֲשֶׁ֤ר אֲנִי֙ מַרְאֶ֣ה אוֹתְךָ֔ אֵ֚ת תַּבְנִ֣ית הַמִּשְׁכָּ֔ן וְאֵ֖ת תַּבְנִ֣ית כׇּל־כֵּלָ֑יו וְכֵ֖ן תַּעֲשֽׂוּ׃ {ס}
(2) Speak to the children of Israel, and have them take an offering for Me; from every person whose heart moves them, you shall take My offering.
(3) And this is the offering that you shall take from them: gold, silver, and copper;
(4) blue, purple, and crimson yarns, fine linen, goat hair;
(5) ram skins dyed red, tachash skins, and acacia wood;
(6) oil for lighting, spices for the anointing oil and for the fragrant incense;
(7) onyx stones and stones for setting, for the ephod and the breastplate.
(8) And they shall make Me a sanctuary, and I shall dwell among them.
(9) Exactly as I show you—the design of the Tabernacle and the design of all its vessels—so shall you make it.
The first shared act of the Israelites takes place in the desert. They do not wait until they enter their permanent home, the Promised Land, to embark on a communal project. They arrive at their homeland with a tangible expression of their spiritual faith already in place.
I cannot help but read the construction of the Tabernacle as an act of healing.
What did the Israelites want to give to one another after their long journey, after 400 years of suffering?
The building of the Tabernacle was a healing act—occupational therapy for 600,000 men and women who had endured hardship and trauma and now needed help rebuilding their lives.
On the one hand, we are explicitly commanded to remember the days of slavery and oppression in Egypt, particularly so that we recall that we, too, were once slaves. On the other hand, we were given something to do. Just as, in Israeli society, after the horrific attack of October 7th, many found solace in action.
It is no coincidence that the person chosen to lead the construction of the Tabernacle is someone whose defining trait is wisdom of the heart.
Midrash teaches that it was not actually God who requested a Tabernacle (contrary to the plain meaning of the biblical text), but rather the Israelites who came before Him and asked to build Him a home. Their reasoning? They wished to give God a house of honor, just as other nations had temples for their gods.
(א) וְעָשִׂ֥יתָ אֶת־הַמִּזְבֵּ֖חַ עֲצֵ֣י שִׁטִּ֑ים
(1) You shall make the altar of acacia wood
Why were the Menorah, the Table, the Altar, the beams, the Tent, the curtains, and all the vessels of the Tabernacle necessary?
The Israelites said to God:
"Master of the Universe, the kings of the nations have tents, tables, lamps, and incense burners. Such are the trappings of royalty, for every king requires them. But You—our King, our Redeemer, our Savior—should You not have the symbols of kingship so that all the world will recognize that You are the King?"
And God replied:
"Me? I do not need a Tabernacle at all.
'My children, mortal beings require all these things, but I do not. For I do not eat or drink, nor do I require light. My servants can attest to this, for the sun and the moon provide light for the entire world, and I give them their radiance. I shall watch over you for good, in the merit of your ancestors.'"
In the end, God agrees but asks for a house that suits His needs.
I would like to suggest that the Israelites asked to build the Tabernacle because they knew they needed the act of building.
A way to create a shared project in which each person had a place and a role.
A meaningful and unifying communal endeavor.
And what do they build?
A sacred home that will serve future generations. While the priests will take the lead in the Tabernacle’s service, every woman will be able to say to her friend, "Do you see this fabric? I wove it." Every man will be able to point to a part of the Tabernacle and say, "Do you see this curtain? I stitched it together."
This is why I believe the construction of the Tabernacle is so important. Not because God needs a house. This is even hinted at in the verses: "And they shall make Me a sanctuary, and I shall dwell among them."
Make Me a sanctuary, and I will dwell within you—meaning, the Tabernacle, the sacred space, exists within each and every one of us.
As I reflect on the act of building the Tabernacle as a mass therapeutic project for a nation struck by disaster, I recall the tens and hundreds of thousands who stood at intersections and along Israel’s highways to express their deep sorrow and pain over the abduction and brutal murder of Shiri, Ariel, and Kfir Bibas. Along dozens and even hundreds of kilometers, citizens—men, women, and children—stood holding Israeli flags, orange and yellow banners, tears in their eyes. Even at intersections in the north, they stood, fully aware that the family was far from them.
I thought about the connection to Parashat Terumah, which this year I read not only as an impressive communal effort but also as an expression of grief. Behind every man and woman who donated, built, strengthened, and created, there was immense sorrow and pain.
And what can we do with our overwhelming desire to do something for the Bibas family and the other families mourning our shared tragedy?
Sometimes, the only thing we can offer is the donation of an earring, or a thread of gold, or a piece of silver.
The heart wants to give so much, but it cannot.
How much we wished we could have given the Bibas family a different ending.
How much we long to offer them comfort, solace, and hope.
All we could do was transform the edges of the roads into a sanctuary, to stand there, to weep together with them, and to shield them like the cherubim in the Holy Temple.
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Rabbi Liora Ezrachi-Vered was born in Jerusalem and is a graduate of the Reform Movement’s rabbinical seminary in Israel. She leads the initiative for interfaith leadership development, "Ruach Galilit," and is an activist for a just and shared society. She serves on the executive board of Tag Meir and the audit committee of "Rabbis for Human Rights." She believes in the power of dialogue, music, and shared study to repair the world. She lives in Ramat Yishai in the Jezreel Valley with her family.