T orah P ortion
Carving Out Sacred Space
BY RABBI SHOSHANAH TORNBERG
Parshat Terumah
IN PREPARATION FOR this
Shabbat of Terumah, I have
worked with a young student
who celebrates his becoming a
bar mitzvah this week. We have
been exploring the meaning of
the mishkan — that dwelling
place for God that the Israelites
created in the wilderness —
the precursor to the Temple in
Jerusalem. Terumah outlines the
specific instructions for how the
Israelites are to build this cultic
centerpiece, right down to its
measurements, materials and
implements. For contemporary Jews, it
is hard to make much of the
specificity of this blueprint/
instruction manual. For the
creative building type, the
lushness and artfulness of the
design compels. But how can
it compel the rest of us? After
all, Torah was not written for
our ancestors alone: We were
at Sinai, too. So there must be
some meaning in the passages
that describe the building of
the Tabernacle for us, in this
moment? Abrams
Continued from Page 4
So, the rabbi asked the
developer if he could buy about
five acres in the middle of the
property. Siegel was amenable, but
the zoning got too complicated.

“We were taking over land
right in the middle of his land,”
Budow said. “I really gave up
on it.”
But on the morning after
Thanksgiving, Budow was
driving to Baltimore to visit his
granddaughters when he got a
call from Siegel. The developer
asked if the rabbi was in Yardley;
he wanted to show the Abrams
head his new idea for the land.

When they met the following
JEWISHEXPONENT.COM CAN DL E L IGHTIN G
Feb. 4
Feb. 11
5:06 p.m.

5:14 p.m.

In these last two years, our
sense of “space” has changed.

The pandemic has kept us
away from our mishkans. Our
classrooms, chapels and build-
ings have not been where we
gather. More and more we are
continuing our communal activ-
ities and sharing our spiritual
lives in the virtual world. We
have switched from in-building
learning and worship to lives-
treams and Zoom meetings.

And though many of us were
hoping that our coming trajec-
tory would move us back into
our physical spaces — would let
us come home — we likely will
switch between the virtual and
the physical to some extent and
for some time to come. So, now
we ask: If we cannot rely on our
buildings as the places we gather
in order to let God in, what do
we do?
One answer to our current
conundrum lies in our
embracing a new understanding
of space, though one that is, in
reality, very old.

The Midrash collection,
Bereishit Rabbah, teaches that
God does not dwell in the
universe; but rather the universe
dwells within God (68). The
midrash reminds us that God is
often called “HaMakom” — the
place. We hear in this reference
an intimation of God as encom-
passing all other senses of place.

God is not in space — God is
outside of space, and space is
in God.

Further, God is not in time
— God is outside of time, and
time is in God. So if God doesn’t
dwell in the universe, or does
so in a way that is not “of” the
universe, then in creating the
world, what does God do?
First, God created the world
with laws we need — gravity,
polarity, relativity, cause and
effect, to name a few. God
created the world in such a
way as to make our existence
possible. God designates and
builds a space for us — for living
things and the elements of our
universe. God creates this world
“like an apartment” [1] within
existence — complete with the
laws of physics, time and mind
that render this a world in which
we can thrive.

So, too, when we created a
mishkan in ancient times, or
when we create another kind
of sacred place today, that
space becomes designated in
our world for God to be in our
world — it is God’s apartment
in our corporeal world. And just
as the created universe follows
laws that make our existence
possible, so must our holy spaces
follow patterns and intentions
that can make God’s presence in
our midst a reality.

Yes our buildings still exist
and, yes, we still long to return to
them in full force. One day, I pray
we will. But in recognizing that,
for now, they will not be the only
or even primary place where we
meet God and each other, now,
here, in this moment. What do
we need to do to make room
for God without the building?
What are the God-inviting laws
and kavannot (intentions) that
we can bring to our changing
sense of space? What will God’s
apartment look like now?
God is kadosh — holy;
separate; source of, but not of,
this realm. What are the ways
that we can honor that separate-
ness in our prayer, learning and
celebration modes? Some of the
ways we can sanctify online
“spaces” — perhaps even in the
emerging metaverse — have not
yet been invented.

So we need to begin inventing
them. If we participate in remote
Jewish life, our tradition invites
us to think carefully about how
we carve out these spaces? Can
we designate a sacred, separate
space for our bodies when
engaging in these gatherings?
Can we control our surround-
ings so that they can be crafted
for holiness? Can we give
ourselves the gift of pause from
all the other tasks that call to us?
Where is God?
Paraphrasing the Kotzker
Rebbe, we answer — wherever
we invite God in. l
week, Siegel told Budow that he
wanted to offer the piece of his
property that was adjacent to
the school. It was empty. The
school would just have to flatten
a slope and do some other work
to prepare the fields.

The rabbi thought the land
“looked pretty good,” he said.

“Kids don’t have to walk
three minutes to get to the other
property,” he added. “It’s right
there.” So then, the rabbi asked Siegel
how much it would cost.

The developer answered, “It’s
not going to cost anything.”
“That was the first time I met
the guy,” Budow said.

As Siegel explained it, he
came to understand the school’s
need through his conversations
with the rabbi.

He also knew that, since the
property was so big, its outdoor
space got a lot of recreational use
from tenants and the township
community for events. Siegel
wanted Abrams’ students to
have the same opportunity.

Siegel grew up attending a
Conservative synagogue in
Trenton, New Jersey. He is a
member at another Conservative
synagogue in New York. The
owner views this act of goodwill
as a chance to help the next
generation of Jews.

“I don’t think we did anything
special,” he said. “We just did
our part.”
Now, the Abrams commu-
nity will handle the rest.

The rabbi mentioned the
project to school parents on
a December Zoom call and
started working with an archi-
tect. Budow is figuring out how
much it will cost to cut down
some trees and level the land.

Brooke Rosenthal,
a landscape architect whose
daughter is a second-grader at
Abrams, is offering her exper-
tise to Budow in an advisory
capacity. She is not the primary
architect, but she wants to help.

Rosenthal, who has designed
parks and plazas, including
many in New York, believes it’s
important for everyone to spend
time outside, especially kids.

Throughout the day, the architect
explained, students are in school
and looking at books or screens.

“To foster relationships
through play — being outside
helps you do that,” she said.

“Being surrounded by trees and
nature is a wonderful way for
their brains and bodies to be in
a different place.”
Rosenthal’s daughter is a
first-year student at Abrams. The
mother said she already felt like
she made the right decision, as
Abrams’ teachers all “seem to
know my daughter.” But she also
said she was excited about what the
addition would add to an already
healthy school community.

“It’s great that the school
is continuing to create more
opportunities for the students,”
she concluded. l
JEWISH EXPONENT
Rabbi Shoshanah Tornberg is the
rabbi and educator at Old York Road
Temple - Beth Am and a graduate
of Hebrew Union College-Jewish
Institute of Religion in New York
and of its Rhea Hirsch School of
Education in Los Angeles. The Board
of Rabbis of Greater Philadelphia
is proud to provide diverse
perspectives on Torah commentary
for the Jewish Exponent. The
opinions expressed in this column are
the author’s own and do not reflect
the view of the Board of Rabbis.

jsaffren@jewishexponent.com; 215-832-0740
FEBRUARY 3, 2022
17