Terumah: Meet the New Neighbor
Building a Home for the Divine
“They shall make Me a sanctuary, and I will dwell among them.”
It’s one of the most famous lines in the Torah, and also one of the most misunderstood. We imagine it means building a place for God — like a Temple, a synagogue, or maybe a well-appointed spiritual retreat center. But the Hebrew says bitocham — not “in it,” but “in them.” Among them. Within them.
God is moving in next door. Or more accurately, into your living room. Into your kitchen. Into your thoughts and habits and conversations and the way you give, cook, forgive, and pay attention. The Mishkan isn’t about building a place for God. It’s about becoming a neighbourhood where God wants to be. A nice shechuna for the Shechina.
The Mishkan as Continuation of Sinai
Ramban writes that the Mishkan was meant to continue the experience of Sinai. There, the people heard the voice of God — “I am the Lord your God.” That moment was not just revelation — it was relationship. It was God saying, “You know Me. I’ve taken you out of Egypt. I’ve carried you on eagle’s wings. I’m not an abstraction. I am your God.”
The purpose of the Mishkan is to keep that reality alive. But are we really ready for that? To live with God’s Presence in our midst, not just on occasion, but all the time? We think our mother-in-law is tough — try hosting the Shechina.
Mishkan/Ohel Mo'ed = God's Home/Office
The word Shechina means Divine Presence. Its root, shachain, means neighbour. Add a mem, and you get Mishkan — the place that causes God to “dwell” among us. That’s why R. Hirsch links the Mishkan with the sanctified home — a space where we live in alignment with higher values.
And while God is always present — HaMakom, the Place — the Mishkan makes that Presence known. It creates context. It builds a relationship. Like any healthy household, it has boundaries, roles, rhythms. The Shechina reveals itself uniquely to each individual — as the Chizkuni notes, even “I am the Lord your God” is written in the singular. It’s personal.
Healing the Golden Calf
According to some views, the command to build the Mishkan came before the Golden Calf — a remedy before the disease. Why? Because the sin of the Calf was about mistaking God for a thing. A substitute. A projection. The Mishkan corrects this. But how? Doesn't instead... just perpetuate the same thing, substituting synagogues and Rabbi's in place of a living relationship with the Source, our Father in Heaven?
Astonishingly, the very centerpiece of the Mishkan — the Ark — is topped with images: the golden Keruvim, two childlike figures with wings spread upward.
How could the same Torah that bans idolatry command the creation of golden images?
Because these Keruvim are not objects of worship. They are the frame. They face each other, but incline downward toward the space between them — the nothingness above the Ark-cover. That is where God speaks from.
God in the Middle
The Keruvim teach us that God is not in the figure. Not in the form. God is found in the relationship. In the dynamic between two beings who make space for each other. Between chavrusas. Between husband and wife. Between God and Israel.
And because of that, the Keruvim are made of one piece with the Ark-cover. Not glued on. Not attached. One with the cover — symbolizing the unity of divine communication and human listening.
As Chazal note, when Israel turned away from God, the Keruvim also turned away from each other. When they loved, they faced each other. Love creates presence. Turning away creates absence.
The Ark: Inside, Outside, and In Between
The Ark was made of wood, but covered inside and out with gold. The Talmud teaches: any Torah scholar whose inside does not match his outside is no Torah scholar. Why? Because Torah is about integrity — the alignment of our inner and outer worlds.
But what about the wood? That living, growing, organic core? That’s us. We’re the tree inside the gold. We are always growing, maturing, bending, rooting deeper. The Torah doesn’t change — but we do. And if we grow within it, we become vessels of presence.
The Poles That Never Leave
The Ark had long poles used for carrying it — but the Torah says they must never be removed. Even when the Ark rested.
Why? The Meshech Chochmah says it’s because those who support Torah must remain connected to it. The poles are the givers, the supporters, the enablers. Even if they’re not inside the Ark, they hold it up.
R. Hirsch adds: Torah is portable. It’s never bound to one time or place. It goes where we go. Through exile, through joy, through confusion. Torah travels.
And when we internalize that, we realize: the Torah is not just in the Ark. It’s in us. The poles are there to remind us that the journey never ends. The Torah must be carried. And we’re the ones to carry it.
Giving Is Owning: Terumah and the Generous Heart
“Take for Me a Terumah — an offering.”
Shouldn’t it say “give”? Why “take”?
The Beis HaLevi explains: When we give, we truly take — we acquire something eternal. The money we spend on ourselves disappears. But what we give with a generous heart becomes a part of us forever.
That’s why the Mishkan could only be built with donations from the heart. God doesn’t want a home built by obligation. He wants one built by desire. Love. Longing.
R. Moshe Feinstein says this is why only donations from willing hearts were accepted. Because God wants us to choose Him. Not out of pressure, but out of purpose.
Half a Shekel: The Puzzle of Wholeness
There were two types of Terumah collections. One was voluntary. The other was the mandatory half-shekel — the census tax.
Why only a half?
To teach that none of us is whole on our own. That we need each other. That God completes us. That humility is the essence of unity. It is what enables us to love even those we disagree with, even those who anger us. As Rebbetzin Bruria admonished Rebbe Meir, her husband.... "Hate the sin, not the sinner."
The half-shekel supported the adanim — the sockets that held up the walls of the Mishkan. The foundation of the House of God was built on the awareness that no one stands alone.
And this is why Amalek — whom we recall in this parsha and on Shabbat Zachor — attacks when we are scattered, when we are cold, when we doubt our worth. Amalek is the voice that says, “You’re just a half. You’ll never be whole.”
But when we unite — through generosity, through Torah, through humility — we make space for the Shechina to return.
Knowing and Being Known
At the heart of all of this is the desire to be known. The more we feel loved, the more we feel real. The more we are seen, the more we can see. That’s the secret of the Keruvim. That’s why God speaks from between them. Because God is found not in isolation, but in relationship.
And that relationship — that space between — is what the Mishkan was always meant to hold.
God is not an object.
God is not a person.
God is not a concept nor a belief or belief-system.
God is the infinite reality that knows you, loves you, and longs to dwell in you. For you to be divine and eternal... just like Him, enjoying Paradise.
So build Him a sanctuary.
And He will dwell there. V’asu li mikdash, v’shachanti bitocham.
It’s one of the most famous lines in the Torah, and also one of the most misunderstood. We imagine it means building a place for God — like a Temple, a synagogue, or maybe a well-appointed spiritual retreat center. But the Hebrew says bitocham — not “in it,” but “in them.” Among them. Within them.
God is moving in next door. Or more accurately, into your living room. Into your kitchen. Into your thoughts and habits and conversations and the way you give, cook, forgive, and pay attention. The Mishkan isn’t about building a place for God. It’s about becoming a neighbourhood where God wants to be. A nice shechuna for the Shechina.
The Mishkan as Continuation of Sinai
Ramban writes that the Mishkan was meant to continue the experience of Sinai. There, the people heard the voice of God — “I am the Lord your God.” That moment was not just revelation — it was relationship. It was God saying, “You know Me. I’ve taken you out of Egypt. I’ve carried you on eagle’s wings. I’m not an abstraction. I am your God.”
The purpose of the Mishkan is to keep that reality alive. But are we really ready for that? To live with God’s Presence in our midst, not just on occasion, but all the time? We think our mother-in-law is tough — try hosting the Shechina.
Mishkan/Ohel Mo'ed = God's Home/Office
The word Shechina means Divine Presence. Its root, shachain, means neighbour. Add a mem, and you get Mishkan — the place that causes God to “dwell” among us. That’s why R. Hirsch links the Mishkan with the sanctified home — a space where we live in alignment with higher values.
And while God is always present — HaMakom, the Place — the Mishkan makes that Presence known. It creates context. It builds a relationship. Like any healthy household, it has boundaries, roles, rhythms. The Shechina reveals itself uniquely to each individual — as the Chizkuni notes, even “I am the Lord your God” is written in the singular. It’s personal.
Healing the Golden Calf
According to some views, the command to build the Mishkan came before the Golden Calf — a remedy before the disease. Why? Because the sin of the Calf was about mistaking God for a thing. A substitute. A projection. The Mishkan corrects this. But how? Doesn't instead... just perpetuate the same thing, substituting synagogues and Rabbi's in place of a living relationship with the Source, our Father in Heaven?
Astonishingly, the very centerpiece of the Mishkan — the Ark — is topped with images: the golden Keruvim, two childlike figures with wings spread upward.
How could the same Torah that bans idolatry command the creation of golden images?
Because these Keruvim are not objects of worship. They are the frame. They face each other, but incline downward toward the space between them — the nothingness above the Ark-cover. That is where God speaks from.
God in the Middle
The Keruvim teach us that God is not in the figure. Not in the form. God is found in the relationship. In the dynamic between two beings who make space for each other. Between chavrusas. Between husband and wife. Between God and Israel.
And because of that, the Keruvim are made of one piece with the Ark-cover. Not glued on. Not attached. One with the cover — symbolizing the unity of divine communication and human listening.
As Chazal note, when Israel turned away from God, the Keruvim also turned away from each other. When they loved, they faced each other. Love creates presence. Turning away creates absence.
The Ark: Inside, Outside, and In Between
The Ark was made of wood, but covered inside and out with gold. The Talmud teaches: any Torah scholar whose inside does not match his outside is no Torah scholar. Why? Because Torah is about integrity — the alignment of our inner and outer worlds.
But what about the wood? That living, growing, organic core? That’s us. We’re the tree inside the gold. We are always growing, maturing, bending, rooting deeper. The Torah doesn’t change — but we do. And if we grow within it, we become vessels of presence.
The Poles That Never Leave
The Ark had long poles used for carrying it — but the Torah says they must never be removed. Even when the Ark rested.
Why? The Meshech Chochmah says it’s because those who support Torah must remain connected to it. The poles are the givers, the supporters, the enablers. Even if they’re not inside the Ark, they hold it up.
R. Hirsch adds: Torah is portable. It’s never bound to one time or place. It goes where we go. Through exile, through joy, through confusion. Torah travels.
And when we internalize that, we realize: the Torah is not just in the Ark. It’s in us. The poles are there to remind us that the journey never ends. The Torah must be carried. And we’re the ones to carry it.
Giving Is Owning: Terumah and the Generous Heart
“Take for Me a Terumah — an offering.”
Shouldn’t it say “give”? Why “take”?
The Beis HaLevi explains: When we give, we truly take — we acquire something eternal. The money we spend on ourselves disappears. But what we give with a generous heart becomes a part of us forever.
That’s why the Mishkan could only be built with donations from the heart. God doesn’t want a home built by obligation. He wants one built by desire. Love. Longing.
R. Moshe Feinstein says this is why only donations from willing hearts were accepted. Because God wants us to choose Him. Not out of pressure, but out of purpose.
Half a Shekel: The Puzzle of Wholeness
There were two types of Terumah collections. One was voluntary. The other was the mandatory half-shekel — the census tax.
Why only a half?
To teach that none of us is whole on our own. That we need each other. That God completes us. That humility is the essence of unity. It is what enables us to love even those we disagree with, even those who anger us. As Rebbetzin Bruria admonished Rebbe Meir, her husband.... "Hate the sin, not the sinner."
The half-shekel supported the adanim — the sockets that held up the walls of the Mishkan. The foundation of the House of God was built on the awareness that no one stands alone.
And this is why Amalek — whom we recall in this parsha and on Shabbat Zachor — attacks when we are scattered, when we are cold, when we doubt our worth. Amalek is the voice that says, “You’re just a half. You’ll never be whole.”
But when we unite — through generosity, through Torah, through humility — we make space for the Shechina to return.
Knowing and Being Known
At the heart of all of this is the desire to be known. The more we feel loved, the more we feel real. The more we are seen, the more we can see. That’s the secret of the Keruvim. That’s why God speaks from between them. Because God is found not in isolation, but in relationship.
And that relationship — that space between — is what the Mishkan was always meant to hold.
God is not an object.
God is not a person.
God is not a concept nor a belief or belief-system.
God is the infinite reality that knows you, loves you, and longs to dwell in you. For you to be divine and eternal... just like Him, enjoying Paradise.
So build Him a sanctuary.
And He will dwell there. V’asu li mikdash, v’shachanti bitocham.