We live in an age of technical expertise and calm deliberation. Civilization has now moved to such smooth functioning that there are forms for every occasion and dispassionate experts who keep the system moving along. What we seem to be a little short of is passion—caring deeply about an ideal, an individual, or a cause, and a willingness to devote our talents, energy, and minds to the service of that cause.
If anything, passion is often disparaged in our culture. Someone who is primarily motivated by a dream is derided as an “idealist” as opposed to a “realist.” Someone devoted to a cause is accused of “having an agenda” and someone devoted to an individual is a “groupie.” We carry a whole pack of insulting terms to let us disregard passionate people and to seek advise and leadership from the bland, the opportunistic, and the practical. Then, in the final irony, we resent our leaders for their indifference and their inability to get worked up. We seek the very passion we flee.
Having safely removed idealism and passion from public life, having separated caring from professionalism, we turn to fiction to fill the void. There we confront the opposite extreme: Instead of purpose without passion, we have passion with no greater purpose. People blow each other up, murder each other, and have sexual escapades without any sense of a larger meaning to their lives or their deeds. Thrill becomes an end in itself, when no other goal seems imminent. Thrillers are for those who have nothing to thrill about. Then the only way to know we are alive is to watch actors pretend to be torn apart.
This ersatz living, releasing our passions in the darkened, anonymous space of the movie theater or the video, helps distract us from the emptiness of our own political and cultural life. There is no passion, there is no purpose, and there is no belonging in the world we have made, so we retreat to our bloody and barren fantasies. Like the gladiator fights of Rome, they may be barbaric, but at least they quicken the pulse.
Passion is precisely what streams just under the surface of today’s Torah portion. In speaking about the artisans who will fashion the Mishkan (the Tabernacle) and its implements, God “proclaimed by name Bezalel, son of Uri son of Hur, of the tribe of Judah.… [God] gave him the ability to teach, him and Oholiav son of Ahisamah of the tribe of Dan”; they and “every wise-hearted man within whom God has put wisdom and understanding to know, to do all the work for the labor of the Sanctuary.” This host of artisans were to build God’s Mishkan, a place where Israel and God could meet, a way for God to dwell in Israel’s midst.
So why is it, if all these craftsmen are at work on the Mishkan, is Bezalel given the credit. Why does the Torah state, for instance, “Bezalel made the Ark of Shittim wood”? Why not give credit to each participant?
According to Midrash Tanhuma, and also recorded by Rashi in his famous Torah commentary, it was “because Bezalel devoted himself to the work more than the other sages, so it is called by his name.” We have no indication that Bezalel was more talented than was Oholiav or the other artists. We have no sense that Bezalel was in charge and the others were merely staffing the project. But according to this medieval Midrash, Bezalel was unique in the degree of his devotion and his passion for the Mishkan.
Bezalel, you see, wasn’t motivated by his wages, nor was he considering this effort a good career move. Instead, his motivation was to serve God and to serve his people at the same time. Bezalel hoped that his art would serve a purpose beyond aesthetics, that his skill would bring a measure of holiness and peace to the world. Inspired by a sense of mission, he was willing to devote endless hours to the many technical details that such fine artistry requires. While others might have wearied of the tedium, or slacked off because no one would notice anyway, Bezalel pressed himself for nothing less than excellence. He insisted that he give his all, since he was serving a higher cause than his own promotion or simply getting the job done.
It might have been true that no one would notice. But, after all, the One would notice. And being noticed by God and singled out by Torah was more than enough reward.
We need to rekindle that sense of purpose, passion, and service in the details of our own lives and jobs. Instead of seeing each assignment as a task to finish and cross off a list, instead of evaluating each option for what it can do for our own advancement, if we trained ourselves to see an opportunity for service in each new challenge, if we learned to speak the word “mitzvah” anytime helping another human being was a possibility, think what a world we could fashion.
It’s almost enough to get excited about.
Shabbat shalom.