OzTorah

The opening words of the sidra describe the sanctuary as “the tabernacle of testimony – mishkan ha-edut” (Ex. 38:21).

Ibn Ezra and Sforno understand “testimony” as the two tablets of the Torah which were placed within the Ark of the tabernacle. In that sense the Hebrew phrase means “tabernacle containing the testimony”.

Rashi, however, has a quite different approach. He understands the tabernacle as not merely the repository of the tablets of testimony, but as testimony in itself.

Basing himself on midrashic sources, he explains that the tabernacle was evidence to Israel that God had shown Himself merciful in relation to the episode of the Golden Calf. By means of the tabernacle (mishkan, literally “dwelling place”) he allowed His Presence to dwell amongst them despite their sin. They had offended Him, but He found Himself able to pardon them for their lapse.

The sanctuary was called mishkan (“dwelling place”), but it was also called mikdash (“holy place”). Maybe the two names signify the partnership of God and Israel. It was God who made it a dwelling place for the Divine; it was the people who sanctified it and made it holy.

The saying, “clothes make the man”, is not as straightforward as it looks. It suggests that only when you are dressed do you look like a real person.

From this week’s sidra we see that there are various types of “real person”, and any given individual can oscillate between them.

Ex. 39:22 uses the phrase me’il ha-ephod, “robe of the ephod”, which denoted a long flowing robe. It was a formal garment made of pure blue, with the hem decorated with alternating bells and blue “pomegranates”. Blue was always regarded as a rich, important colour.

Men engaged in menial work needed a more practical garment such as a short tunic, presumably with at least one pocket to house their working tools. Some kind of under-garment could have been worn under the tunic.

Garments of all kinds were a mark of identity and rank and in later times there were rabbinical robes which indicated one’s dignity. The sages even said that a talmid chacham with a spot on his clothes deserves to die.

These days rabbinical robes for synagogue wear have largely disappeared but the casual clothing that some modern rabbis adopt can go too far in the direction of informality.

Q. Is it wrong to read the Harry Potter books given that they are about witchcraft and wizardry?

A. Most people would say they are harmless fun and I even hear of Jewish parodies about “Chayyim Po-tter” (“po-tter” could be taken as a Hebrew verb meaning to excuse or acquit).

But anyone who takes the subject too seriously needs to be reminded of Biblical verses (e.g. Ex. 22:17 and Deut. 18:9-12) that categorically forbid becoming involved in witchcraft, divination, sorcery or wizardry.

The problem is with a mindset that seeks to utilise unseen energies and forces in the world to achieve aims that are otherwise beyond the boundaries of what is realistic and rational.

As far as Judaism is concerned, God has placed Adam (i.e. each of us) in a world which we can exploit and control for purposes approved by Him and making use of methods which He has sanctioned. To go outside this agenda is to bring ourselves into psychological and spiritual danger and to shunt God Himself aside.

True, some people, even rabbis, resort to so-called magic tricks, but though the audience gasps in amazement everybody knows that this is not real magic but a harmless game.

So we each have to decide whether to take up the same attitude towards Harry Potter and say it is entertainment and nothing else, or whether to think that there really is something in it. If the latter, we could be putting ourselves at risk.

Q. I am embarrassed by Pitum Hak’toret and its mention of urine. Why is it in the Siddur?

A. This is a rabbinic teaching about incense (K’ritot 6a) which includes the words mei raglayim, “urine”.

Singer’s Siddur used to omit it; others such as Birnbaum left it untranslated. ArtScroll and the RCA Siddur bluntly say the phrase means urine. The Chabad Siddur delicately says “water of raglayim“.

Mei raglayim, “water of the legs”, is a euphemism for urine. Even if the Hebrew means something different (there is a view that there is a grass called Raglayim), the name still puts people off.

The Kol Bo, quoted in Baer’s Seder Avodat Yisra’el, says it is “impossible, God forbid”, that the text means mei raglayim mammash, “actual urine”, and thinks it denotes a place name, Ein Rogel (Josh. 15:7, 18:16; II Sam. 17:17; I Kings 1:9) or Ein Rog’lim (II Sam 17:27, 19:32), “the spring of the washer-man (or fuller)”, where the water contained chemicals that were good for washing laundry. This spring may be the modern Bir Eyyub (“The Well of Job”).

The link with regel, leg or foot, is that garments were trodden by foot to clean them. Feet were also a means of irrigation, e.g. Deut. 11:10, “you watered (it) with your foot” (maybe there was a device operated by the foot). Ragal can thus be “doing the washing”, or, metaphorically, going about as a talebearer.

Instead of mei raglayim, “urine”, the phrase might be mei rog’lim, “water used by the washer-men”, which was too dirty and impure for the incense even if it was not urine. Mishnah B’rachot 3:3 says “bad water or water used for soaking (flax)” is diluted by clean water to remove the unpleasant smell and associations.

Maybe urine was also used for cleaning; stale urine decomposes to form ammonia. The Talmud (Niddah 61b) lists it as a cleaning agent, able to remove blood stains (Zev. 94b-95b). The Romans used it to bleach clothes. Most authorities say that the text meant mei raglayim in the usual sense.

They say that the baraita is not advocating the use of urine but recognises its chemical content.

Congregant:

“Rabbi, I’m sorry to jump on you like this at the Kiddush, but I want you to know why I probably won’t come to shule next week.

“I more or less tolerated all those chapters a few weeks ago when the narrative was about the ‘begats and begones’, the genealogies of our early ancestors. I knew the story had to get better and to move to the dramatic bits about Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.

“Then of course came the exciting stuff about Moses and the slaves, Moses and the plagues, Moses and the Exodus, Moses and Mount Sinai. But from there it has gone steadily downhill.

“I suppose I could handle the laws about how to run a just society, but, for Heaven’s sake, all the chapters about the materials and measurements of the Tabernacle – boredom personified! – and I guess from next week there’s going to be a long section about priests and sacrifices.

“How can I not be bored when there doesn’t seem to be anything spiritual or meaningful in it all?”

Rabbi:

“I see your point. Obviously you don’t blame me for the content of the readings. It wasn’t me that wrote the Torah and it’s clearly not my fault. But give me a minute to put the other side of the argument.

“What we’ve got here is precisely what is needed when anyone has a project in mind. They call Israelis a start-up nation, but we Jews have been a start-up people forever.

“Any time we thought of a project we needed a vision, a plan, a survey, a set of supporters, a sound basis, materials to work with, constant checks and balances.

“Everything in life is like that – you can’t just dream wildly and forget to ask yourself if it is practical and do-able.

“You want a house? You need details. You want a business? Can’t be built without details. You want a marriage and family? Details. You want a better society? Details.

“That’s what the Torah readings are telling us. Theory, dreams, visions, hopes… and practical implementation.

“Boring? Not to me. Every day of my life I look at what I’m doing, and I apply to it the perspective of the Torah readings about the Tabernacle.

“So, please look at the sidra in this light, next week’s sidra too, and let’s see you in shule!”