In this week’s torah portion, Terumah, God provides Moses and the Israelites the literal blueprints for constructing the “mishkan”- the portable sanctuary they will travel with in the desert. The details are very precise: what kinds of fabrics, what sort of woods should be used, even the spices that shall be used as part of the sacrifices.
“In this sanctuary,” God says, “the Israelites are to bring me gifts.”
The gifts can be of any kind from any person whose heart moves them in a giving way. God continues, “And let the people make Me this sanctuary so that I may dwell among them.
This sanctuary in the desert was not just a canvas tent and the ark was not just a wooden box. The mishkan was designed as a place of great beauty and dignity. It was commanded to be a place where the spirit of the Almighty would dwell and the ark was imbued with a sacredness that would contain the “testimony” of God-often presumed to be the Ten Commandments.
I have worshipped and sung in sacred spaces great and small, highly adorned and also quite simple. I’ve sung in cathedrals throughout the world and synagogues on multiple continents. However, the presence of God was not determined by the architecture, the pipe organ, the marble steps, or the gold leaf. Instead, the presence of God was predicated on the community that inhabited the space.
One of the most spiritual environments I can recall both praying in and leading prayer in is the outdoor sanctuary at Camp Hess Kramer in Malibu, California. It is the camp where I worked, where Rabbi Goor worked and where we were married. It was a cathedral of simple wooden benches, an stained glass and redwood ark crafted by campers, and the ceiling of this outdoor space was created by giant boughs of eucalyptus, sycamore, and maple trees.
When I think of this chapel, I hear the voices of hundreds of campers, dressed in white, singing L’cha Dodi as Shabbat begins. I see these same campers with their arms wrapped around each other swaying to the melodies of “Shalom Rav” and “Ose Shalom.”
Last year, fires tore through the Malibu hills and destroyed much of Camp Hess Kramer. The torah scrolls were saved, but much of this beloved sanctuary was reduced to rubble and ashes.
But those voices were not silenced- the camp found a temporary space and once again Shabbat at camp was created. And in the near future the camp will be rebuilt and those voices will echo among the sycamores again.Sanctuaries are spaces—but communities are comprised of people.At Beth Shalom, we often pray in a simple hotel conference room that is temporarily converted for Shabbat worship or our High Holiday prayers and songs. But that doesn’t stop our prayers from ascending to heaven or our love for our community from being real and tangible.
The famous American poet Emily Dickinson wrote:
Some keep the Sabbath going to Church –
I keep it, staying at Home –
With a Bobolink for a Chorister –
And an Orchard, for a Dome –
Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice –
I, just wear my Wings –
And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,
Our little Sexton – sings.
God preaches, a noted Clergyman –
And the sermon is never long,
So instead of getting to Heaven, at last –
I’m going, all along.
Dickinson’s poem reminds us that even a simple orchard can become the cathedral or sanctuary and that the most outstanding music doesn’t need to come from an organ or choir—but can come from nature itself.
This Shabbat- wherever you may be- may you find the presence of God, a sense of community, and a moment of personal renewal.
Shabbat shalom.
Cantor Evan Kent