Parashat Terumah 5784

We live in a big city, full of so many opportunities and experiences that it’s hard to comprehend it all. It would take us each many lifetimes to even glimpse into the worlds that this city offers. For me personally, it may take even more lifetimes, given that these days I hardly ever leave the small radius of my apartment, the Park Slope Food Coop, and Park Slope Jewish Center. 

If it weren’t for my friends dragging me to different experiences, I would hardly leave that little bubble at all. The other day, my friend Tali dragged me to a movement class on the Lower East Side whose description was so vague that it made me both scared and excited to enter. 

“Forget How to Dance,” was the title. The description was written by the teacher, and left me in deeper confusion and trepidation, “​​This class is a playful and provocative step into my recurring dance nightmare: I am put onstage with a dance company in front of hundreds of people, and everyone except me knows the choreography. We will draw from that fear and learn how to use forgetting to our advantage.”

The class started by having us simply walk around the room and notice things we see. Then, the instructor told us, name them outloud. “Clock,” “Pillar,” “Window,” was being whispered/chanted asynchronously as each of us walked by at a brisk pace. Then, things got weird in a beautiful way. “Now,” she said, “name things that they are not,” In a flash, the clock became pizza, the pillars became two fluffy cats, the windows became tables and on and on. The class continued to be an exercise in forgetting as remembering–we danced as if we had eyes on our hips, then our knees, or perhaps we had eyes under our chin and how would that change the way we moved? It opened up an entire world of untapped potential inside the body and mind. What would it be like to approach our bodies with that level of wonder and curiosity on a daily basis?

This week, in Parashat Terumah, the Israelites step into a new stage in their relationship with God by being commanded to build a home for God. The home they are asked to build--the Mishkan--is portable. In this way their sacred home can accompany them as they wander through the desert for many more years. The Netivot Shalom, also known as the Slonimer Rebbe asks, “How is this mitzvah eternal?” 

Since no less than 13 weeks of Torah portions are devoted to the details of building the Mishkan, something that we cannot literally fulfill in the present time and place, The Slonimer’s question is particularly fitting. Outside of that time and place, how can we possibly fulfill this part of the Torah in our lives?

The Slonimer answers his own question in this way, “Every person is an entire world before God, and thus we are commanded to make a Mishkan inside of us, in our bodies. This is why God says, ‘and I will dwell in them,’ meaning in each and every person.” 

It is quite appropriate, then, that the Mishkan is described in such a vibrant, gorgeous, graceful way. Like our bodies, which are made of so many textures and colors, of bones, sinews, muscles and tendons, the Mishkan was to be made of gold, silver and copper; blue, purple and red-dyed wool; flax, goat hair, animal skins, wood, olive oil, spices and gems. 

If we take a step back, our bodies–like the Mishkan– are vibrant, beautiful, and holy. Blue/red blood that flows through us, hair that grows in different textures and colors, breath that flows into us and is transformed, skin that protects us and allows us to feel, and I could go on and on.

I think we take for granted the fact that in Judaism, we praise the creator through experiencing pleasure and joy, by being in our bodies, by making home for the divine in our bodies and in the mundane, physical world. We are lucky to be a part of a people and a tradition whose goal is not to transcend the body, but to live fully and deeply within it.

How can you build a portable place for God to dwell within you, a Mishkan you can take with you as we move through various transitions in life? What might it feel like to have a sacred home within your body? Or, rather, to tap into the fact that you already do?

At the end of the movement class, the teacher told us that this class was in fact born out of a recurring nightmare of hers. She would get on stage and not know anything. But then, she said she realized she could just move in any which way and it would be beautiful. What a powerful tikkun, remedy, for this nightmare.

A participant in the class raised her hand and said, “I know this is a bit on the nose, but I realized that you really do have to forget in order to remember.” 

May we be blessed to keep remembering and coming home to our bodies, making a sacred space for the Divine within us that can take us through all of life’s wanderings. 

Shabbat Shalom