The only two certainties of life are death and taxes. That American proverb accurately reveals our obsession with death. Throughout human history, great thinkers, spiritual giants, poets, and doctors have devoted their best energy and strongest talents to defeating death. Occasionally we celebrate minor victories in the skirmish against mortality – we find the cure for a once-fatal illness, a new diet allows people to live a little longer or a little better. But we win those battles knowing that the war will ultimately be lost forever. Each of us has to die.
Across the millennia, Judaism has attempted to straddle the difficulty of death with the hope borne of faith. Without claiming a definitive knowledge of what happens after death, Judaism has always asserted that something – we don't know precisely what – does continue beyond the grave. Each generation of Jews has struggled anew with the stark reality of our finitude as individuals, each seeking succor and courage from our heritage and our God.
One unlikely source of comfort emerges from the rabbinic discussion of this parashah. The main focus of Pekudei is the establishment of the Mishkan (the Tabernacle). After a detailed description of all the component parts of the edifice, the Torah then turns to discuss the cost and accounting system used to finance its erection. The parashah opens by explaining: "These are the records of the Tabernacle, the Tabernacle of the Pact, which were drawn up at Moses' bidding..."
The rabbis focus on the very first word of the sentence eleh (these). Rather than understanding that word in its context, the rabbis choose to read beyond its superficial meaning and look at it as something independent of what follows. For them, the word "these" points to something more significant than finances. For the rabbis, it signifies precisely what price it was that the Israelites had paid in the wilderness, and what know was coming to them as a result.
As their first stop in the wilderness, the Jews rested at the foot of Mt. Sinai, where they received the Torah and all its teachings. According to Midrash Sh’mot Rabbah, "when God gave the Torah to Israel, they became exempt from the sway of the Angel of Death.... For as soon as Israel accepted the Torah, God adorned them with His own glorious splendor.... Rabbi Shimon bar Yohai said: God gave them weapons on which was engraved the Ineffable Name of God, and as long as this sword was in their possession, the Angel of Death could exercise no power over them."
Along with the Revelation of Torah, the Jews received immortality at Mt. Sinai!
But then, according to the Midrash, they blew it when the built the Golden Calf: "When they sinned, God deprived them of all these good things." With their rebellion against God, the Israelites once again fell under the sway of death.
Even without taking this story as literally true, as though it were conveying a piece of history, it is possible to understand it as speaking metaphorically about an insight of great worth: we live eternally to the extent that we can tap into something eternal, something that connects our most distant ancestors, ourselves, and our most distant descendants.
Judaism is that eternal something. In the stirring words of Rabbi Jacob Kohn (20th Century USA), a life of Torah provides "the unbroken faith that links our generations one to another."
When we study the words of the sages, read the calls of the Prophets, or chant the words of the Torah, we link ourselves to their lives. In the words of the Mishnah, "their lips move from the grave." We grant them posthumous life through our study. And we connect ourselves to those of our descendants who will also pour their souls into those same insights.
When we translate the mitzvot from objects of study into living realities, we link ourselves to an aspect of kedushah (holiness) that stretches throughout, and above, time. Observing the mitzvot allows us to soar beyond the tyranny of linear time, to enter the realm of the sacred and the timeless.
And, finally, when we study our sacred writings, make the mitzvot the cornerstone of our lives, and let the values of Judaism shine through our deeds, we make of our souls tabernacles in which God can dwell. By placing ourselves in the Eternal One's line of vision, we join the panoply of tzaddikim and sages who live eternally in God's eternity.
The truth is, in some significant ways, the Torah still conveys eternal life. In values that pass from one generation to another, in deeds that transform our communities and the world, and – most precious of all – in making ourselves fit to be cherished by God – we live on as members of Beit Yisrael, the Household of Israel.
Shabbat Shalom!