✨🔍 Vayakhel; Parshas Parah 2025
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Neli
Hammered Work
3 minute read | Straightforward
In our modern world, daily living feels fragmented and filled with fleeting connections and constant distractions. Despite being hyperconnected, we experience profound loneliness. The overstimulation from constant connectivity paradoxically leaves us feeling numb.
Notifications, requests, and endless scrolling aim to stave off boredom but leave us feeling scattered. Work, technology, and social obligations often pull us in multiple directions, leading to superficial interactions and transient connections. This constant barrage of information and pressure to multitask erodes depth and continuity, making us acutely aware of a loss of coherence and stability in our lives.
Amidst this disorientation, the Torah offers a profound counterpoint to the notion of fragmentation and disconnection, highlighting how some things require an approach of integrity and wholeness.
וְעָשִׂיתָ שְׁנַיִם כְּרֻבִים זָהָב מִקְשָׁה תַּעֲשֶׂה אֹתָם מִשְּׁנֵי קְצוֹת הַכַּפֹּרֶת – Make two cherubim of gold, made of hammered work, at the two ends of the cover. (25:18)
וְעָשִׂיתָ מְנֹרַת זָהָב טָהוֹר מִקְשָׁה תֵּעָשֶׂה הַמְּנוֹרָה יְרֵכָהּ וְקָנָהּ גְּבִיעֶיהָ כַּפְתֹּרֶיהָ וּפְרָחֶיהָ מִמֶּנָּה יִהְיוּ – Make a Menorah of pure gold made of hammered work; its base and its branches, its lamps, flowers, and petals shall be of one piece. (25:31)
עֲשֵׂה לְךָ שְׁתֵּי חֲצוֹצְרֹת כֶּסֶף מִקְשָׁה תַּעֲשֶׂה אֹתָם וְהָיוּ לְךָ לְמִקְרָא הָעֵדָה וּלְמַסַּע אֶת־הַמַּחֲנוֹת – Make two silver trumpets made of hammered work, and use them to call the community together and for having the camps set out. (10:2)
Then, as now, metallurgy was a highly valued and rare skill. Today, however, we might miss the powerful teaching embedded in these instructions if we aren’t paying close attention.
Typical metallurgical work involves fusing parts through welding or soldering using heat, pressure, or both. However, as Rashi points out, the Torah’s requirement of hammered work from a single piece of metal explicitly rules out the method of shaping components separately and then fusing them together.
Some things should not be crafted in a fragmented manner.
These sacred artifacts had to be shaped from a single piece of material, symbolizing unity, consistency, and completeness, reflecting the timeless ideas they represent.
The cherubim above the Ark symbolize the Divine Presence and the relationship and dialogue between Creator and creation, reminding us of the importance of maintaining a coherent spiritual connection.
The Menorah represents the Torah and the wisdom that enlightens the world, encouraging us to seek depth and continuity in our learning and personal growth.
The trumpets were tools used by the government to lead, gather, communicate, organize, and mobilize the Jewish people, symbolizing unity and purpose and highlighting the need for purposeful and unified action in our communities.
By requiring that key symbols for the Jewish People, the Torah, and our relationship with the Creator be crafted from a single block of metal, the Torah emphasizes the importance of wholeness and integrity in the things that matter most. These objects must be complete and undivided, and the ideas they represent must be whole and unfragmented, reflecting our commitment to our beliefs, practices, and each other – ישראל ואורייתא וקדשא בריך הוא חד הוא.
These symbols are powerful and timeless. You can do some things sporadically, and they are valuable and worthwhile; most people can’t volunteer in soup kitchens every day. However, the fundamentals require a comprehensive commitment and a showing of steadiness and reliability, as reflected in the consistency of the design of a single hammered work. This teaching stands in contrast to the Torah’s sharp criticism of casual practice – וְאִם־תֵּלְכוּ עִמִּי קֶרִי – And if you are with me sporadically… ( 26:21).
The Lubavitcher Rebbe explains that the Menorah symbolizes the Jewish people, branching out from one end of the spectrum to the other, encompassing all diversity. Despite our different ways of shining, we are fundamentally one, made from a single block. The Shelah profoundly notes that any distinction between the left and right branches is an illusion; there is just one beautiful Menorah.
Some things are self-contained and possess everything they need without requiring anything additional or external. As R’ Judah Mischel notes, there are moments we find ourselves somewhat alienated from each other, a little less in tune with ourselves, and our practices falling short of our aspirations; but we’re still fundamentally whole, as we affirm daily, recognizing the sufficiency of who we are – שעשה לי כל צרכי.
In an age of overload, where our attention is constantly divided, we are saturated with short-term commitments, and the boundaries between work and personal life are increasingly blurred, especially with remote work, the Torah reminds us about the importance of unity and integrity.
These single, unbroken things are a timeless reminder of the wholeness we seek. As we navigate the complexities of modern life, they remind us to hammer away, encouraging us to slowly cultivate, shape, and form a consistent and steady practice grounded in the belief that we are complete and equipped with all we need, in harmonious and unbroken connection with the Torah, the sacred, ourselves, and each other.
Creative Corrective
3 minute read | Straightforward
Shabbos is one of the defining features of observant Judaism. With its community prayers, family meals, and adherence to intricate laws, Shabbos is a foundational pillar of observant Judaism. These practices define the day of rest and embody a complex system of values and teachings that guide ethical and spiritual life.
The Torah itself is pretty sparse in terms of the laws of Shabbos. Don’t light fires, don’t gather firewood. Yet the Torah consistently associates the Mishkan’s construction with Shabbos and emphasizes that Shabbos has priority. Our sages take this to mean that any creative work or activity that demonstrates mastery over one’s environment that was part of the construction project constitutes a primary category of activity forbidden on Shabbos – מלאכה.
One of these is the category of erasing.
The Mishkan walls were made of wooden boards that had to be assembled in a particular order – that’s why building is a primary category of forbidden activity. Much like how you’d put together flat-pack shelving, they were labeled: A connects to B, connects to C, and so on. It won’t click together when you build it in the wrong order!
So, the designers marked the boards with letters, which is why writing is a primary forbidden activity.
And if someone on the design team wrote the wrong letter, smudged it, duplicated a letter, inscribed it in the wrong spot, or it wasn’t legible enough, they would erase it, the source of erasing as a primary category of forbidden activity.
However, erasing is very different from the other primary categories. One of the fundamental principles of Shabbos is that only creative work is forbidden.
Building and assembling are creative. Writing is creative. Even demolition and deconstruction are creative; the Mishkan was portable and part of its design was taking it apart and reassembling it. But erasing is corrective; at no point in the construction or design process did anyone have to erase anything for the purpose of making anything!
So why is erasing a primary category of creative activity?
There is a fundamental lesson to orient ourselves around.
While it’s true that you only erase something when you make a mistake, making mistakes is part of building; you cannot build something and not expect mistakes, in which case undoing mistakes is an integral part of the creative process.
In categorizing erasing as an independent primary creative activity, our sages acknowledge the inevitability of errors and the necessity of correcting them Erasing is not an after-the-fact error remedy; it is a crucial phase of the creative process. All forms of building are inherently accompanied by missteps, and correcting these errors is inseparable from the act of building.
Our sages teach that, apart from seven exceptions, every righteous person has made mistakes since the dawn of time; this means that the capacity for mistakes is fully compatible with the category of righteousness, and mistakes are intrinsic to life.
Creators deepen their understanding of their work by recognizing and rectifying errors, gaining insights that guide them toward a more refined and effective creation.
Erasing is far from a simple act of correction; it is a fundamental component of creation. It is part of the essential process and interplay of making and remaking that defines our human experience and spiritual endeavors.
Our sages were wise to understand that the journey towards any form of creation is inherently paved with trial and error and that each misstep is itself a crucial step forward.
Our sages’ categorization of labor is not legal scholasticism; it prompts us to consider our approach to life’s inevitable errors and how we correct them.
Next time you find yourself reaching for the metaphorical eraser, remember that each mistake and each act of correction is a conscious and creative step towards something greater, a constructive act of masterful refinement.
Look beyond the surface of your mistakes.
Embrace the beauty in the process of correcting mistakes; in our mistakes lies our growth and creativity.
Erasing is building.
Can you embrace your missteps as much as your milestones?
This Is The Law
3 minute read | Straightforward
The Red Heifer, or Parah Adumah, is a profound symbol in the Jewish tradition. Our sages consider it the archetype of laws that demand faithful obedience, even when they defy rational sense or intuition, as captured by the opening phrase the section is named for: this is the law – זֹאת חֻקַּת הַתּוֹרָה / חֹק.
The Red Heifer ritual restores people from a state of corpse impurity, having been contaminated from coming in contact with death – זֹאת הַתּוֹרָה אָדָם כִּי־יָמוּת בְּאֹהֶל. Although no longer practiced in our day, our sages interpreted every element of the law to embody spiritual and ethical principles that remain relevant to contemporary life.
Despite being out of practice today, our sages understood every element of the law to embody principles relevant to contemporary living.
Rashi, citing R’ Moshe HaDarshan, teaches that just as a mother cleans up after her child, the Red Heifer ritual atones for the sin of the Golden Calf; R’ Yitzchak Vorki suggests that if the Golden Calf represented a lack of faith, the Red Heifer serves as its antithesis, which is the mechanism for restoring spiritual balance and the return to faith and purity.
A Red Heifer eligible for the ritual must be without blemish and having never borne a yoke – אֵין־בָּהּ מוּם אֲשֶׁר לֹא־עָלָה עָלֶיהָ עֹל. The Chozeh of Lublin interprets this as a metaphor for spiritual humility; if a person believes themselves to be without fault or mistakes, it suggests a lack of submission to the yoke of Heaven, underscoring the necessity of humility in spiritual practice.
R’ Simcha Bunim of Peshischa, on his deathbed, stoically confronted his impending death while his wife wept. He reminded her of the teaching that the essence of life and the whole Torah is about preparing oneself for death – זֹאת הַתּוֹרָה אָדָם כִּי־יָמוּת בְּאֹהֶל.
The Chafetz Chaim taught that people should be willing to make sacrifices to learn Torah, challenging the notion of prioritizing material and worldly living over spirituality – זֹאת הַתּוֹרָה אָדָם כִּי־יָמוּת בְּאֹהֶל. Do not forsake Torah study to be preoccupied with mere living; instead, occupy yourself with and live by the Torah in full awareness of life’s fleeting transience and consciousness of our mortality – זֹאת הַתּוֹרָה. This is the law; this is what it’s all about.
The Kohen would add cedar wood and hyssop grass to the fire and burn them with the Red Heifer. Cedar trees are used throughout the Torah and our prayers to symbolize might and pride; hyssop grass symbolizes humility. R’ Simcha Bunim taught that individuals must balance pride and humility, carrying a note in one pocket stating, “The world is mine” in one and “I am dust and ashes” in the other, illustrating the balance between humility and recognizing one’s potential.
The ashes of the burnt Red Heifer are ineffective on their own. To complete the purification process, they had to be mixed with living water, that is, fresh, flowing water – מַיִם חַיִּים. Alone or mixed with anything else, even stagnant or prepared water, the ritual is incomplete and ineffective.
R’ Meir Schapiro emphasized that water, the fundamental life force, is powerful only when it flows. Flowing water can break mountains, make deserts bloom, and carve rock, while stagnant or frozen water is inert.
R’ Leibele Eiger adds that flowing water’s natural descent down the drainage basin represents the virtue of humility, suggesting that we should aspire to be humble and flexible, allowing ourselves to be shaped by the divine. You put water into a bottle; it becomes the bottle. You put it in a teapot; it becomes the teapot. Be more fluid.
Ultimately, R’ Yitzchak Vorki highlights how the heart of the law of the Red Heifer is loving one’s neighbor; the Kohen who performs the ritual purifies everyone else but defiles himself in the process, symbolizing the self-sacrifice inherent in a life of genuine love and service to others, even at the cost of one’s own comfort.
We may not currently practice the laws of ritual purity, and the Red Heifer may just be something we read and talk about today, but its profound lessons in humility, faith, and selflessness are eternal. These values inspire us to purify our intentions and actions, reminding us of our potential to make a difference, not only for ourselves but for all the lives we touch as well.
I really appreciate this. Thank you, very much.