TORAH SPARKS
Parshat Terumah
February 25, 2023 | 4 Adar 5783
Torah: Exodus 25:1-27:19 Triennial: Exodus 25:1-40
Haftarah: I Kings 5:26-6:13
Where There Be Cherubs
Bex Stern-Rosenblatt
Parashah
In a parashah of tremendous attention to detail, we are missing a very important one. The cover of the ark is to be framed by two cherubim, two cherubs. We are told that they have wings and that they have faces, or, at least, are facing each other. Beyond that, there is no indication in the parashah as to what these cherubs are. Presumably, the biblical audience knew. Presumably, Betzalel understood what they were and built them correctly. But we cannot know for certain what these cherubs were.
God will speak to Moses from between these cherubs and give him information to pass along to the Israelites. Indeed, elsewhere in the Tanakh, God is referred to with the descriptor the one who sits on cherubs. So what are these mysterious beings and why does God need them here?
One of the first attempts to identify the cherubs comes from the Talmud, Bavli Sukkah 5b. There, Rabbi Abahu plays with the root of cherub, reading it as ke – ravya, like – a child. From this reading, we get the tradition of cherubs as chubby babies. It’s not quite a fair suggestion based purely on the etymology of the word. Furthermore, we have to ask why Rabbi Abahu bothers deciding the cherubs are children. What sort of image is created by having God sit on winged children when talking to Moses? What do these children add?
Another place we find cherubs in the Tanakh is guarding the Garden of Eden. We read, And God drove out the human and set up east of the garden of Eden the cherubim and the flame of the whirling sword to guard the way to the tree of life. Imagining these cherubs as children is a little scary. I would not trust my one year old with a flaming sword just yet. However, the idea of children is central to the idea of the Garden of Eden. We imagine Eden as a place of innocence, representing a time when we did not understand consequences or the reality of death. We imagine Eden as the place where we were children. To have cherubs, winged children with fiery swords, guarding the entrance to Eden is to enter back into the make believe world of children. These children are playing a game, making the pretend world into reality in a way that we are no longer capable of even imagining.
Bringing these children back into the context of cherubs on the ark allows us to see the ark as another Eden. Moreover, we can read that the cherubs are guarding the ark, guarding even God, as God hands down judgment to Moses. Of course, God does not need protection from Moses. Moses cannot harm God. But perhaps the idea of an embodied God, of God dwelling somewhere, can only exist in the realm of the imaginary, the realm in which children play. God is guarded from having to exist in the material world by our recollection of how to be children.
Of course, Rabbi Abahu was not the final word on what cherubs are. Some hold that these are birds, or a havruta in a beit midrash, or sphinxes. Judah HaLevi reads the root of cherub as meaning mixture, explaining that cherubs are combinations of different creatures, without specifying what those creatures were. Similarly, Ibn Ezra writes that the word simply means forms, meaning that these cherubs assumed different forms. This powerful way of defining the cherubs centers individual experience. If the cherubs are forms that are not fixed, depending on the viewer, perhaps the form changes. I might perceive a centaur where you perceived a mermaid (both, of course, with wings.) The next day, I might perceive something else entirely. This idea of mixture, of changing forms, speaks to the awesome generative power of God. Blossoming forth from the place where God dwells are the creatures God never made. By beholding the cherubs, we become aware of the immensity of possibility in creation and the tiny portion of the world that we experience. We stand in awe of God and God s creation.
A Big Building with Little Space
Vered Hollander-Goldfarb
Haftarah
Some years ago, a new minyan began in the basement of a school in a neighborhood near me. Volunteers would set up and clean up every week, and if there was a kiddush, it was set up on rickety tables in the school yard. Nonetheless, people came happily to participate in this makeshift minyan, to schlepp the tables and chairs, to set up and to clean up, and the minyan attracted more and more people. As the community grew, it became clear that it had reached a more established phase, and it was time to build a proper synagogue building. They raised the funds and after a while happily inaugurated a beautiful building that left enough space for all community needs. The community continued to flourish, but some people left.
Building a Mikdash (temple) or a synagogue is not merely a religious project, it is a national/communal event. In the haftarah we learn about Shlomo (Solomon) s work towards building the first Mikdash, temple. It is an organized and well-funded endeavor, as can be expected in a national project directed by a central government. Unlike the parashah that opens with an invitation to the people to donate and participate as their hearts desire in the building of the Mishkan (Tabernacle), in Shlomo s building project people had assigned tasks, and professionals were brought in to do the work in the best way possible.
Shlomo created an impressive building, using the best materials and crafts workers. The opening pronouncement towards this building is not an invitation to get involved, but rather a declaration of a major mile-stone in the history of the Israelite people. Its establishment is counted by the time that has passed since the Children of Israel had left Egypt, the birth of the nation. The building of a large, expensive, and impressive Mikdash was a sign of the people of Israel finally reaching the end of the settling down process.
Now the people felt fully settled. They had a king and a capital city symbolizing sovereignty. In this city the official Mikdash was to be built. No longer a portable structure reflecting the people s newly acquired status as dwellers in the land. Much like a synagogue being a communal institution, the Mikdash was not merely a religious symbol, but a national one as well. The building or destruction of the Mikdash would come to symbolize the state of the nation.
Four hundred and eighty years after the Tabernacle was constructed using the enthusiasm of the people, Shlomo s Mikdash was being built. There was little space for people s voluntary involvement. Just as something of the spirit of the rickety tables and folding chairs in the school basement could not be transferred to the new place, so the spirit of Moshe s invitation to get involved as their hearts wished became irrelevant in Shlomo s Mikdash. And so, some people did not feel that they belonged, and left. Merely a generation later the kingdom split, and the people of the north ceased coming to the Mikdash in Jerusalem.
No Lollipops Outside
Ilana Kurshan
Adventures in the Mishnah with My Kids
Matan and I are finishing the third chapter of tractate Pesachim, about what constitutes hametz and how to get rid of it. The final mishnah describes the case of a person who leaves home just before Pesach and only then remembers that he left hametz in his possession back at home.. By way of analogy, the mishnah also speaks about the case of a person who leaves Jerusalem and only then discovers that she has sanctified sacrificial meat in her hand which she had intended to eat. As I start to explain, such meat becomes disqualified the moment it is brought out of Jerusalem; it may only be eaten within the city. But Matan stops me with a question.
I don t get it, Ima. How does someone forget that she is carrying meat in her hand? That makes no sense. It s in her hand. It s not like they had cell phones back then to distract them. If you re carrying a piece of meat, don t you know you re carrying it?
I understand Matan s point it does seem like an unlikely situation. But who knows maybe the person had such a spiritual experience while bringing her sacrifice to the Temple that she completely forgot about the goat meat sandwich she d packed to eat on the way out of town. I remind Matan of how often he brings back his lunch box untouched and insists that he wasn t hungry and forgot to eat his sandwich. It happens.
The mishnah is referring to the laws that restrict how, where, and when sacrifices were allowed to be consumed. Some sacrifices were burned entirely on the altar; other sacrifices could be eaten only by the priests; and still other sacrifices could be eaten by the individuals who brought the sacrifice. In the case of certain offerings, such as the Korban Todah the thanksgiving offering the meat could be eaten anywhere in Jerusalem, but could not be eaten outside the city. If the individual left the city carrying such meat, she would have to return to Jerusalem to burn it.
Matan wants to make sure he understands. OK, so let s say a person could forget about the meat she is carrying. What if she remembers it only hours after leaving Jerusalem, when she finally got hungry? Does she have to go all the way back?
I read on in the mishnah, where we learn that it actually depends on how far the person has traveled. If she has already passed Mount Scopus, then she can burn the meat then and there. But if she hasn t made it that far, she has to go back and burn it on the altar.
Why Har HaTzofim? Matan asks, using the Hebrew name for Mount Scopus. He knows about Mount Scopus because it s now the site of the Hebrew University campus, which we always point out to the kids when driving past on our way out of town. I explain that Mount Scopus overlooks the Temple Mount the rabbis teach elsewhere that a person who sees Jerusalem in ruins from the vantage point of Mount Scopus must rip his clothes as a sign of mourning (Semachot 9:19), and the Talmud tells a famous story about Rabbi Akiva and several other second-century sages who ascended Mount Scopus and looked out on the ruined city of Jerusalem and upon the foxes scampering in and out of the Holy of Holies (Makkot 24a). Presumably by the time a person passed Mount Scopus on the way into the city, he realized that he was getting close to the Temple; and by the time a person passed Mount Scopus on the way out, it was a sign of having fully left. Beyond that point there was no turning back, even to burn disqualified sacrificial meat.
But why can you eat that meat only in Jerusalem? Matan asks. I explain that the Torah specifies that certain sacred food items must be consumed within the city. This is true not just of sacrificial meat, but also of the second tithe. The Torah teaches about the obligation to bring a tenth of one s produce to Jerusalem and consume it there. Such produce, too, becomes disqualified if it s brought outside the city.
I know about that, Matan says. It s what you always tell us about eating lollipops in shul.
Exactly! I tell him. As a way of encouraging my children to stay in shul and as a way of keeping them quiet while they re inside I allow them to eat lollipops while sitting through the prayer service. If they want to run outside and play with their friends, they have to give me their lollipop. (I try to save the wrappers, but often I find myself davening with a prayer book in one hand and a sticky half-eaten lollipop in the other.) I encourage them to come back before the end of shul, but if they don t, I throw the lollipop away.
The mishnah teaches that the person who remembers the sacrificial meat in her hand before passing Mount Scopus has to return to burn it if there is at least an olive-bulk s worth of meat, or perhaps a bit more; another rabbi says you need at least an egg-bulk s worth. (Both the egg and the olive are standard Talmudic units of volume.) In the case of hametz, too, there is a disagreement about whether you need to go back home if you remember that you left an olive-bulk s worth of hametz, or only a full egg bulk s worth. In any case, if it s only a few bits of sacrificial meat or a few bread crumbs, one need not worry.
But wait, says Matan. The lollipops you get us are not bigger than an egg. Not the candy part, I mean. I don t even think they re the size of an olive. They re really small. So why can t I leave shul with my lollipop?
Oh dear. How am I supposed to answer that one? I remind Matan of the famous verse from Psalms (137:5): If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, may I forget my right hand. May my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth. Maybe it s possible to forget what s in our hands every so often. And if you eat too many lollipops, your tongue might very well cleave to the roof of your sticky mouth. That s reason enough, I think, to insist that my kids hand over their lollipops before leaving shul.