March 10, 2024|ל' אדר א' ה' אלפים תשפ"ד From the Mishkan to Neo-Chassidism and Women's Roles: The New Ideal By Rabbi Jonathan Muskat

We greatly admire those who learn to adapt, and a prime example is Michael Jordan, widely regarded as the greatest basketball player of all time. Yet, Jordan's journey to greatness was paved with challenges that demanded adaptation. In high school, he was initially cut from the varsity basketball team. Even in college, he faced criticism for his defensive skills. Early in his professional career, he was doubted for his ability to lead his team to championships. But Michael Jordan didn't falter; instead, he adapted. Each setback fueled his determination to improve. He honed his skills, strengthened his mental toughness, and adjusted his playing style to benefit his team. His ability to adapt was key to his success.

 

Adaptation isn't a sign of weakness; rather, it's a recognition of the ever-changing nature of life. We constantly face new challenges, and our willingness to adapt is a testament to our resilience and strength.

Yet, when it comes to religious observance, the concept of adaptation can be met with apprehension. We often associate adaptation with reform, which may conflict with longstanding traditions and customs. We are apprehensive to challenge our longstanding adherence to minhag, to custom and many of us find a lot of comfort and strength from following traditions that have nurtured our community for thousands of years. What role, then, should adaptation play in the realm of religious observance?

 

The idea of forgiveness from sin is so entrenched in our Jewish consciousness with the halachic institution of “teshuva,” or repentance, and with the holiest day of the year being Yom Kippur. We believe that we can sin and then we can repent and be forgiven. Therefore, when we read the story of the sin of the golden calf and the aftermath, our initial inclination is that this is a story of sin and forgiveness. Bnei Yisrael worshipped idols, Moshe broke the luchot, but ultimately God forgave the people. In fact, last week we read about the thirteen midot of rachamim, the thirteen attributes of mercy that God used to forgive us.

 

But the truth is, this week’s parsha is a story that is much larger than forgiveness. It is a story of adaptation. According to Rashi and other commentaries, the original plan was that we would live in the desert without a mishkan, but God commanded us to build the mishkan in response to the sin of the golden calf. Even though God’s command to build the mishkan is recorded before the sin of the golden calf, these commentaries assume that it took place after the sin of the golden calf. Rabbi Leibtag lists a number of pieces of evidence to support Rashi’s contention. Bnei Yisrael must collectively donate their gold to build the mishkan, just as they used gold to build the calf. Betzalel, Chur’s grandson, is chosen to build the mishkan, and the midrash claims that Chur was killed because he refused to allow the Bnei Yisrael to build the calf. The opening pasuk concerning the mishkan in Parshat Terumah of “v’asu li mikdash v’shachanti b’tocham” – that Bnei Yisrael should build a mishkan so that God shall dwell in their midst, appears to rectify Bnei Yisrael’s situation in the aftermath of the sin of the golden calf, when Moshe must move his tent far away, outside the camp. Finally, Aaron must bring a bull as a sin offering during the mishkan’s dedication ceremony and an egel, a calf, is a baby bull.

 

If the mishkan is a response to the sin of the golden calf, then what we are dealing with here is more than forgiveness. We are dealing with adaptation. God adapted religious practice in a very significant manner after the sin of the golden calf. He instructed the Bnei Yisrael to build a mishkan, a physical structure of “kedusha,”  a sanctity of space, where we could sense God’s presence. And I guess this commandment leave me a bit puzzled.

 

How should we view the institution of the mishkan? Does the mishkan represent failure? That we didn’t live up to the ideal so we need to deal with this “bdieved,” this acceptable but less than ideal, situation to compensate for our frailties?

 

The truth is that when we read the Torah, we don’t seem to get the feeling that the mishkan is some kind of compensation for our frailties. When we read the Torah, it seems that the mishkan was an ideal institution. In fact, even though Rashi is of the view that God commanded the Bnei Yisrael to build the mishkan in response to the sin of the golden calf, the fact that the Torah records this commandment before the sin indicates that the Torah’s view of the mishkan is that it seems like an ideal, even though in reality it wasn’t. It looks like God would have commanded us to build the mishkan anyway, even though in reality He only did that because we sinned and there was a recognition that we needed a sanctified space.

 

It's almost as if the Torah is telling us that there is an ideal aspiration of how things should be, but sometimes we must adapt and transform this idealism into a different reality and that’s okay. We shouldn’t walk around feeling bad about ourselves if we don’t follow the seemingly expected path because of new circumstances. Adaptation in religious observance within parameters is not only acceptable, but sometimes it is desirable and it can become the new ideal. The ideal before the sin of the golden calf was sensing God’s presence without a sanctified space. But that ideal was adapted and transformed after the sin of the golden calf into another ideal for another reality, the mishkan. And that’s okay. And it’s more than okay. It’s like Michael Jordan adapting his game so that he can become the greatest basketball player of all time.

 

Indeed, throughout Jewish history, we find numerous instances of robust adaptation in religious observance. Take, for instance, the anshei Knesset hagedola, the Men of the Great Assembly, who lived during the inception of the second Beit Hamikdash. In response to the shortcomings of the era, they spearheaded radical adaptations in religious practices. Prior to and during the first Beit Hamikdash, daily prayer wasn't as formalized, and the only bracha that we recited was after eating a bread meal. The Kohanim handled most ritualistic duties, leaving individual spiritual engagement somewhat passive. However, this lax approach proved unsustainable as the community veered into sin, including idolatry, leading to the destruction of the first Beit Hamikdash.

 

In response to these failings, the religious leadership recognized the need for a paradigm shift. They initiated widespread changes, emphasizing personal responsibility for spiritual growth. This included instituting regular prayers and blessings, fostering a deeper connection to God in daily life. Rather than wallowing in a sense of inadequacy, these adaptations were embraced as necessary steps toward a renewed spiritual vitality.

 

Similarly, in the realm of Jewish education, we witness another impactful adaptation. When Rabban Gamliel was deposed as the nasi during the Yavneh post-second Beit Hamikdash era, Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah assumed leadership and implemented significant reforms. Recognizing the importance of inclusivity in learning, he expanded access to Torah study, welcoming individuals of varying ethical and moral standings. The gemara in Brachot states that he added hundreds of benches to the beit midrash because he invited even individuals who weren’t “tocho k’boro” – morally consistent, to learn in his beit midrash. This inclusive approach, though unconventional, ensured that all seekers of knowledge had a place in the beit midrash.

 

Critically, the distinction between acceptable adaptation and irresponsible reform lies in adherence to halacha and halachic values. Desirable adaptation seeks to strengthen the connection to God and uphold the sacred traditions of Judaism. Leaders play a pivotal role in guiding these adaptations, drawing from the wisdom of historical figures like the anshei Knesset hagedola and Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah.

 

Modern examples of this adaptation include the evolution of ritual practices and educational opportunities for women, as well as the emergence of neo-Chassidic practices whose focus is on the heart and mystical teachings as opposed to the mind and rationalist thought. While personal preferences may vary, the key lies in recognizing the value of responsible adaptation in fostering spiritual growth and deepening our connection to God.

 

Rather than lamenting perceived weaknesses in religious observance, we should celebrate our capacity to adapt responsibly, echoing the divine example of the mishkan set forth in this week's parsha. As we navigate the ever-changing landscape of Jewish life, let us embrace adaptation as a cornerstone of our enduring tradition.