Build a Tabernacle, so Pixar May Dwell In It
Welcome back to another fantabulous edition of Torah Goes Hollywood, where the Bible takes a trip to a place we must all end up, even if just for a minute filling out our betting pool on Oscar night.
We've been stockpiling some pretty fun posts, from Lin-Manuel Miranda rapping the cry of the Israelites on the banks of Yam Suf to Julia Roberts espousing the communal values of Mishpatim.
So why not check 'em out here and get others to join the fun here? And speaking of fun...
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This week's portion of Terumah gets, shall we say, a little technical. It starts out with God's directive "Vyikchu li terumah," "And you should take for Me a donation" (Exodus 25:2) for the purpose of building a Tabernacle, leading right into the famous "V'asu li mikdash v'shachanti b'tocham" — "And You should make Me a temple and I will dwell among you" — several verses later. From there it's off to the races, with all the acacia wood, anointing oil and reddenned ram skins a book-reader could ever want.
Yeah, it can be hard for us moderns (we'll one day be Medievalists, ponder that with your gefilte fish) to relate to all these details, which seem to contain all the color and story twists of a tax manual.
But allow me to suggest a more subtle text playing out between the cubits and curtain rods.
These instructional passages come right after the disclosure at the end of the previous portion that Moses had ascended to Mount Sinai to get the Tablets, a place he will stay for forty days and, according to various Aggadaic traditions, receive great wisdom from God Himself. The act of going up the mountain is shot through with supernatural imagery. "The specter of the glory of God," the text says, "is burning within a fire at the top of Mount Sinai." (Exodus 24:17). Cormac McCarthy couldn't shade prose that purple.
So this description of the width of wood beams isn't happening in a vacuum. It's happening as Israelites are grappling with what they just saw — and the letdown they must feel. How does one handle witnessing such spectacle?
How does one grapple with divine revelation one minute and the humdrum realities of taking out the garbage and clearing out one's Gmail account the next? Why would you even think God has any interest in this world at that point, tbh? You wouldn’t think in your earthly inferiority you are worthy of anything heavenly — that’s reserved for special people who go up a mountain.
And so the text offers a necessary follow-up: "v'asu li mikdash v'schachanti b’tocham — "make me a temple and I will dwell among you" TOO. This whole divine spirituality thing is not just for up here, it is saying — it is for right down among you.
Indeed, the 13th century French commentator Hezekiah ben Manoach, known as the Chizkuni, notes that these instructional passages come not after the forty-day period Moses was up there but during it, which has the sly effect of intertwining the two events. The man Moses was entering a Holy presence up above — and while it was happening the Israelites were told how a Holy presence can enter among men down here.
The text nicely cues us into this connection too. It uses the root "Shachan," to dwell, in both passages — "Vayishkon k'vod Hashem al har Sinai," "And the glory of God dwelled on Mount Sinai" (Exodus 24:16) and then the famous "V'asu li mikdash v'shachanti b'tocham." This portion isn't just a Bob Villa tutorial — it's a reassuring guide for the way we can find divine presence down here on earth.
But what exactly is 'that way'? By collecting donations from every person, yes; this is a collective effort. But the verse doesn't actually end at "take for Me a donation.” It finishes with "asher yidvenu libo" — “that your heart wants to donate.” This is a key phrase. When you give a donation, you need to be giving it with a kind of generous intent.
Finding God's presence on earth isn't simply a matter of going through the contributive motions, the text is saying — the tabernacle is not an act of hocus pocus heebiejeebie. It happens through an awareness of why these items are being donated, a realization of larger forces that accompany these earthly acts. When that happens, then the earth — and every last person on it, no matter who they are — can feel God's presence. [Incidentally, the donation, takes the form of “zahav va’chesef v’n’choshet” — gold, silver and bronze. Just saying.]
Something troubles, though. This is all a very nice democratic sentiment — God dwells among everyone. But is the text really endorsing that view? After all, even down here on earth, the Tabernacle has a rigid hierarchy, more profane places and more sacred ones, priestly people who can enter and more plebian types who can't.
This dialectic, between elitism and democracy — between competing visions of a world of a holy few and a world of an equal many — has bothered plenty of spiritual commentators throughout the ages. Among them are Brad Bird and the filmmakers of “The Incredibles.”
In the 2004 Pixar smash, a family of unassuming superheroes — Bob and Helen Parr, aka Mr. Incredible and Elastigirl, along with kids Violet, Dash, and baby Jack-Jack — find themselves grappling with the burdens of superhero-hood while living among the suburban ordinaries. (See also under: Billy Joel.)
And then things get really tough, as they're kidnapped by a would-be evildoer named Syndrome.
It turns out the family has been grappling with exactly this question of whether some people really are better and holier than others. In one touchstone scene:
"Elastigirl: Everyone is special.
Dash: That's just another way of saying no one is."
Elastigirl is contending what our portion contends — we all can participate equally in the holiness.
Dash is arguing in effect what the end of the previous portion argues and, for that matter, how the Tabernacle itself will be used — that some people are simply better and holier than others, and we need to get used to that.
They're two contrasting views — either there's instrinsic holiness for some or a great sameness for all — and they are in a constant dialectic throughout the Torah. As they are throughout the film, with the Incredibles wrestling with what it means to be chosen. In fact this even plays out in Syndrome's plot: his scheme is actually to turn everyone "special" with superpowers, thus reducing anything notable about The Incredibles. “When everyone's super, no one will be,” he infamously says.
But the movie offers a kind of resolution to this question, and it's one that I think helps us square the contradiction in the Torah too.
As the film plays out and our heroes try to escape their kidnapped fate and save others too, it turns out that the Incredibles are special. But not because of some genetically or divinely conferred holiness of superpowers. They're special because they've decided to make use of their powers in a humble and altruistic way. It's something they — or anyone — can do, with or without superpowers.
In other words, specialness does exist. But it's conferred by how you use your gifts, not by the gifts themselves.
Or, put another way: Holiness is attained, not given. It may be hard to achieve it. But anyone can.
As prolific Quora user Ralph Hayes (an apparent Rashi of Pixar) notes:
"Syndrome was under the mistaken impression that having powers is what made the Incredibles special. But Mr. Incredible nailed it when he said that Syndrome ‘Killed REAL heroes so the could PRETEND to be one.’ Being a hero isn’t about being a big flashy showboat with big flashy powers and getting applauded for everything you do— it’s about taking whatever it is you’re gifted with, even if it’s nothing but your own two bare hands, and charging into hardship and danger for the sake of others."
They're special, in other words, because of "asher nidvenu libo" — because of the spirit with which they participate in the holiness. That's what makes them — or anyone — special.
Thank you for reading.