The Holiest Reality is Relational (Vayakhel Pekudei)
What was the Mishkan?
Earlier in Exodus we hear the command: “Make for Me a mikdash, a holy place, and I will dwell (“veshachanti”) among them. (Ex. 25:8)” The word “Mishkan” shares the same root as “veshachanti, and I will dwell.” The sanctuary is not magic. It does not contains God. It is a structure that increases the capacity in the community for God’s presence to be encountered.
In these two portions (and two previous ones as well) we give generously of our wealth to build the Mishkan. But only weeks earlier we also gave generously to build the golden calf. Two acts of giving. Two radically different spiritual postures.
When Moses remained unseeable, surrounded by Divine Clouds atop Sinai, the people panicked, demanding something visible, immediate, reassuring. “Make us something,” they cried to Aaron. They surrendered their gold in a frenzy of anxiety. Their giving was real, but it was driven by fear. They needed an object to stabilize them. The calf became a false answer encased in precious metal.
Then comes the Mishkan. Again we give. But this time the giving is purposeful. It is disciplined, oriented toward a shared vision of holiness rather than in reaction to fear.
Anxiety can generate generosity. But righteous giving is not about building an object that promises us that everything will be fine. It is about building a tool, a structuring agent that acknowledges the fragility of the world and still insists on holiness.
At the center of the Mishkan are the kruvim, the cherubim, wings spread toward one another. From the space between them, the Divine voice emerges. Not from the gold itself. Not from the object, nor from the structure alone. From the space between.
This teaches us something essential: The holiest reality is relational.
The Mishkan does not eliminate vulnerability. It sanctifies it. It does not promise that the world will stop shaking. It creates a place where trembling human beings can encounter God and one another with honesty.
We will always be in the business of rebuilding. That is not a failure of faith. It is the condition of human history.
Our task is not to produce the final, eternal answer. No object, no leader, no institution can claim that role. Our task is to build convening points of dignity. To become amplifiers of good. To create neighborhoods, communities, and institutions that allow God’s presence to dwell among us, meaning within the way we see and treat one another.
Anxiety is natural. It can prompt extraordinary action. But the goal is not to live in perpetual panic.
Let us make space for the Divine to emerge between us. Let us build Torah that is strong but not brittle, confident but not closed. Let us refuse the seduction of golden calves that promise certainty. Let us build a Mishkan, a dwelling place for the One who cannot be contained, revealed in the sacred space we create together.
