Rabbi Janet Burden

I wasn’t surprised to see a blank spot next to this portion on the rabbinic sign-up list for Parashat HaShavua, even a couple of weeks ago. After all, we have just had the dramatic Golden Calf episode followed by Moses’s outrageous plea to see what makes God…well, God. Great material, all of it. Then we transition to a repeat of the instructions for the construction of the Tabernacle and its accoutrements?! If it seems like we have been talking about this for weeks, it is because we have. These chapters of Exodus are essentially rehearsing many of the details supposedly given to Moses in the revelation. Even given the possible symbolic meanings of the various items, why were these instructions laid out in such detail?

Rabbi Sidney Greenberg (z’l) speculated that all of this is important because it describes the first attempts to “organise” religion. In a sense, our ancestors were creating a pattern for us, defining for us what it means to worship Jewishly. As he explained, for more than 3,000 years, our people have been builders of sanctuaries. In our wilderness days, that meant the portable tabernacle. For a time, it meant the Temple in Jerusalem. Now it means our synagogues, thousands of them, all over the world.

Now it is true that in our own times, “organised religion” has acquired somewhat of a bad name. How many times have you heard someone say, “I am spiritual but not religious”? I felt that way myself for many years. Greenberg pointed out the essential problem in the position, however:

These same people would not say, “I believe in medicine but I do not believe in medical schools, hospitals, and clinics.

Nor would they say, “I believe in law and justice, but I do not believe in law schools, courts, and police.”

Nor, “I love art and beauty but do not believe in art schools or museums.”

If medicine, justice and art are worth fostering, there must be institutions devoted to those purposes. And so it is with religion.

Words to Live By”, p. 219

Although I didn’t articulate it this way, Greenberg is describing something akin to my own dawning awareness of the importance of formal religious institutions – admittedly, a long time

ago now. After years of struggling to find meaning and purpose in my life, I realised that if I wanted to develop my own spirituality seriously, I needed to engage with organised religion. Within the Jewish framework, that meant becoming involved in synagogue life. So gradually, over time, that is what I did – and you can see where it led me! But it was long before I decided to become a rabbi that I realised just how much I had gained in the process. I’d like to share with you today some of the things that being involved in a synagogue, engaging in “organised religion,” has given to me:

First of all, being part of a synagogue gave me the opportunity to explore my relationship with God and prayer. Frankly, for a long time, I wasn’t sure what I believed, and was grateful for the common liturgy that sparked my imagination and challenged my assumptions. I learned that my integrity need not be compromised by understanding the words poetically rather than literally.

Being part of a synagogue gave me a place to take my questions, and brought into my life people with whom I could share them. I rarely received answers, by the way – but my friends helped me to ask better questions.

Being part of a synagogue gave me a framework for observing the rhythms of Shabbat and the festivals. I planted trees at Tu Bishvat, shared Seder with others in at Pesach, stayed up late into the night studying at Shavuot, and visited sukkot at harvest time. The sounds and smells and tastes of the holidays filled my spirit and brought me joy.

Being part of a synagogue gave me the privilege of witnessing important lifecycle events for people, some of whom I hardly knew. I saw babies blessed, couples married, and both children and adults becoming b’nei mitzvah. Sharing in these occasions even in a small way helped me to form a bond with others, and to feel part of something bigger than myself. Many of these people I now consider my friends.

Being part of a synagogue meant that when it was my turn to share a happy event, my wedding, I could do so in the midst of a community where the love and support felt almost tangible to me. It also meant that when sorrow touched my life, as it did when my mother died, I found myself surrounded with people who came both to honour her and simply to be with me. That, perhaps, has been the greatest gift I have received. And none of this would have been possible in the absence of “organised religion.”

I don’t expect for a minute that my comments here will suddenly make the whole of this section of the Torah deeply meaningful for you. However fun it may be to try to imagine what some of the these objects, like k’ruvim on the ark cover, might have looked like, one cannot escape the fact that the text is absolutely obsessed with forms and structures, and seems rather to fail in the spiritual inspiration department. Yet we would do well to remember that the spirit needs something to contain it – to give it form and to make it accessible to us. That’s what Tabernacle did for our ancestors, and it was to change the nature of human existence forever. I truly believe that is what synagogues, what “organised religion,” can still do. Now all we have to do is to convince some of the countless spiritual seekers out there of this basic truth!

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