actual employment as a Divine dwelling.
A sizable portion of the book of Exodus is devoted to the construction of the Sanctuary built by the children of Israel in the desert. The Torah, which is usually so sparing with words that many of its laws are contained within a single word or letter, is uncharacteristically elaborate. The fifteen materials used in the Sanctuary’s construction are listed no less than three times; the components and furnishings of the Sanctuary are listed eight times; and every minute detail of the Sanctuary’s construction, down to the dimensions of every wall panel and pillar and the colors in every tapestry, is spelled out not once, but twice—in the account of G-d’s instructions to Moses, and again in the account of the Sanctuary’s construction.
All in all, thirteen chapters are devoted to describing how certain physical materials were fashioned into an edifice dedicated to the service of G-d, and the training of the kohanim (priests) who were to officiate there. (In contrast, the Torah devotes one chapter to its account of the creation of the universe, three chapters to its description of the revelation at Mount Sinai, and eleven chapters to the story of the Exodus.)
The Sanctuary is the model and prototype for all subsequent homes for G-d constructed on physical earth. So the overwhelming emphasis on its “construction” stage (as opposed to the “implementation” stage) implies that in our lives, too, there is something very special about forging our personal resources into things that have the potential to serve G-d. Making ourselves “vessels” for G-dliness is, in a certain sense, a greater feat than actually bringing G-dliness into our lives.
For this is where the true point of transformation lies—the transformation from a self-oriented object to a thing committed to something greater than itself. If G-d had merely desired a hospitable environment, He need not have bothered with a material world; a spiritual world could just as easily have been enlisted to serve Him. What G-d desired was the transformation itself: the challenge and achievement of selfhood transcended and materiality redefined. This transformation and redefinition occurs in the first stage, when something material is forged into an instrument of the Divine. The second stage is only a matter of actualizing an already established potential, of putting a thing to its now natural use.
Making Vessels
You meet a person who has yet to invite G-d into his or her life. A person whose endeavors and accomplishments—no matter how successful and laudable—have yet to transcend the self and self-oriented goals.
You wish to expand her horizons—to show him a life beyond the strictures of self. You wish to put on tefillin with him, to share with her the Divine wisdom of Torah.
But he’s not ready yet. You know that the concept of serving G-d is still alien to a life trained and conditioned to view everything through the lens of self. You know that before you can introduce her to the world of Torah and mitzvot, you must first make her receptive to G-dliness, receptive to a life of intimacy with the Divine.
So when you meet him on the street, you simply smile and say, “Good morning!” You invite her to your home for a cup of coffee or a Shabbat dinner. You make small talk. You don’t at this point suggest any changes in his lifestyle. You just want her to become open to you and what you represent.
Ostensibly, you haven’t “done” anything. But in essence, a most profound and radical transformation has taken place. The person has become a vessel for G-dliness.
Of course, the purpose of a vessel is that it be filled with content; the purpose of a home is that it be inhabited. The Sanctuary was built to house the presence of G-d. But it is the making of vessels for G-dliness that is life’s greatest challenge and its most revolutionary achievement.
