By Eric Berk

    This weeks Torah portion, T’rumah, begins with God commanding Moses to tell the Jewish people to bring an offering of the materials necessary for the construction of the Mishkan, the portable sanctuary. The Torah continues with the details for constructing the contents of the Mishkan, including: the Ark, the Menorah, the Tabernacle and its walls, the Cloth partitions, the Altar, and more separating curtains. This is truly the ideal parasha of an architect, or an interior decorator. Unfortunately, I am neither. However, I was taught to appreciate these streams of expression.
    I spent part of my undergraduate junior year studying abroad. Some of the world’s greatest works of art are found in Florence; and I felt it entirely necessary to study there. Little did I know that the history of Italy and Europe would have a far greater impact on me than its extraordinary art.
    I was very lucky to spend months traveling throughout Italy and Europe. While traveling, I encountered, repeatedly, tiny remnants of Jewish communities, or historical markers indicating that a Jewish community had existed, or even thrived there. Typically, I saw their remains – the synagogue or where it stood, the mkveh or where it once was, sites of this nature. Proof that the Jewish people, even long into its Diaspora, carried their traditions, history, and ritual with them, just as our ancestors carried the Ark of the Covenant with them.   
    In this week’s parasha, God tells Moses how one must build that archetypal carrier of Jewish history, ritual, and tradition:                 the Ark. The Ark is the first and most prominent article that Moses is instructed to build. The wording is slightly unusual, in that the command is not given to Moses,               “you shall make,” but rather to the people,                 “they shall make.” Ramban explains that all of the people were instructed to take part in its construction, even the smallest part, because of the Ark’s extremely important function: the housing of the Tablets of the Ten Commandments. Or Ha’Chayim , written in the 18th century by Rabbi Chayim ben Moses Attar of Morocco, goes even further, to say that the Torah was given to the entire people of Israel and no individual can perform all its mitzvot. But the whole of the people can observe all of the mitzvot. Thus,             “they shall make,” as opposed to                  “you shall make.”
    God goes through the description of the Ark to Moses: the Ark must be made of acacia wood, overlayed with gold, gives its various measurements, and then states: “The poles shall remain in the rings of the Ark; they may not be removed from it” (Ex. 25:15). These poles were used to carry the Ark from place to place, defining its portability. The Hebrew people still had another 40 years left to wander the desert, so it is totally appropriate that the Ark would be portable: every aspect of the Mishkan was moveable. It would also seem appropriate that the poles, used to carry the Ark, could be removed once the people came to rest in one place, as is the case with the other transportable elements of the Mishkan. Why must the poles remain attached to the Ark?
    Rashi observes that within this pasuk, “The poles shall remain in the rings of the Ark; they may not be removed from it,” it is the repetitive second half of the verse which clarifies that not only must the poles remain attached, but they must remain attached – l’olam, forever. Thus, even when the Ark came to rest, the poles could not be removed.
    Some commentators, likeSefer Ha-Hinuch, written in the 13th century by Rabbi Aaron Halevi of Barcelona, justified this condition based on its practicality: what if the Ark had to be picked up and moved quickly? What if, in haste, the Ark slipped and fell to the ground? The Ark was a holy vessel whose power was witnessed both on the battlefield and at rest. The Ark’s awesome power guaranteed victory in battle, and it was the seat of God’s presence in the Mishkan. Thus, it was sensible to always keep the poles attached to the Ark: the Ark was supremely holy and very dangerous. It had to be treated with the utmost respect, care, and precaution. All very good reasons.
    But perhaps another reason exists, beyond its practicality, for the permanence of the poles: It embodies the fluidity of the Jewish condition. The wanderings of the desert, the battles in Canaan, the divided monarchy, the Assyrian and Babylonian exiles, the destruction of the second Temple, the Diaspora. The overwhelming majority of our history has not been characterized by stability. In fact, the stability of the united monarchy lasted maybe 70 years. And, we may ask ourselves, “How stable is our condition, as a Jewish people, today?” The Ark, as God commanded it to be built, illustrates and embodies what it is to be a Jew. 
    Take a moment to look at our ark, right behind me. Not exactly portable. But there is an ark, here on campus, that was modeled after the biblical ark in our parashah– it’s in the moadon. If you think about that ark, or take a look at it later today, you’ll see that it has handles on either side – it is portable. But on that ark, in the moadon, the handles are part of the ark itself. If you remember, the poles of our biblical Ark are run through rings, as in the pasuk, “The poles shall remain in the rings of the Ark; they may not be removed from it.” Why couldn’t the poles simply be part of the ark, permanently affixed? Why must they be run through rings?
    Perhaps this represents the permanent instability of the Jewish people. As our history has shown us, instability has been a given, but the potential for stability has always been a goal. Because God commanded the Ark to be built in this specific manner, we are commanded to never give up that hope of stability, of permanence, of one day sliding those poles out from the sides of the ark.
    The poles of the Ark are run through rings, which makes the poles removable – but we are commanded to NEVER remove them. This is the paradox of the Jewish condition: our history, as I saw in the remnants of the European Jewish communities, has been one of impermanence. Yet the hope of permanence always looms. While some may strive for permanence, we must acknowledge the reality of our Jewish existence. The pursuit of a permanence encapsulating the Jewish people is our goal, but impermanence is our unalterable reality.
    The wanderings of the desert and the war for the land of Canaan culminated some 300 years later with the Ark being brought to Jerusalem and placed inside it’s new, seemingly permanent dwelling place, the Temple. And the poles remained in the rings of the Ark.