This Shabbat we read the double portion of Vayakhel–Pekudei as part of the weekly Torah cycle. Because it is also the eve of the month of Nisan, we read an additional section from Exodus 12, known as Parashat HaChodesh, which introduces the annual cycle of Jewish time that begins with the Exodus from Egypt. At first glance, these readings appear unrelated. One deals with the construction of the Mishkan, the Tabernacle in the wilderness; the other establishes the month of Nisan as the beginning of the Jewish calendar. Yet a closer look reveals a profound connection between them.

Parashat HaChodesh teaches that the months of the year are counted from Nisan, the month in which our ancestors were redeemed from Egypt. The portions of Vayakhel–Pekudei tell of the construction of the Mishkan, which was completed on the first day of Nisan in the second year after the Exodus. The question therefore arises: was it merely coincidental that both the Exodus and the completion of the Mishkan are tied to the month of Nisan, or does this convergence reflect a deeper and more meaningful idea?

I believe the Torah is conveying two profound messages by linking these events to the same month.

First, beginning in Nisan of the first year, God revealed Himself as the One who hears the cries of the oppressed, redeems the Israelites from slavery, punishes those responsible for their suffering, and sustains His people through the wilderness. This revelation reached its dramatic climax at Mount Sinai, when God appeared in overwhelming power and glory at the giving of the Torah.

Yet a fundamental challenge could have emerged for the people: what happens after such an overwhelming moment of revelation? How does one return to ordinary life after experiencing such an intense encounter with the divine? How can a nation continue its long and uncertain journey toward the Land of Israel when the moment of Sinai lies behind them?

The answer is the Mishkan.

The Mishkan completed in Nisan of the second year ensured that the divine presence would not remain confined to a single moment of revelation. Through it, the Israelites could continue their journey with the assurance that God’s presence accompanied them—not only in the extraordinary drama of Sinai, but throughout the long and difficult path through the wilderness until they would reach the Land of Israel.

The second message is equally powerful. In Nisan of the first year, during the Exodus and the events leading to Sinai, God was the primary actor. It was God who struck Egypt with plagues, split the sea, and revealed Himself at Sinai. But with the building of the Mishkan in Nisan of the second year, the divine presence emerges from another direction—through the actions of the people themselves.

God commands the Israelites to build a sanctuary by contributing from their own possessions, and this week’s parasha describes their extraordinary response:

“Everyone whose heart moved him and whose spirit inspired him came and brought the Lord’s offering for the work of the Tent of Meeting… Men and women alike, all whose hearts were generous, brought brooches, earrings, rings, and ornaments, every kind of gold… and whoever possessed blue, purple, or crimson yarn, fine linen, goats’ hair, ram skins dyed red, or tachash skins…” (Exodus 35:21-23).

Indeed, their generosity was so great that Moses had to proclaim: “Let no man or woman make any more contributions for the sanctuary!” (Exodus 36:6).

The importance of this moment cannot be overstated. The Israelites had every reason not to give. For centuries they had been slaves—beaten, oppressed, and deprived of their property and dignity. After four hundred years of suffering they finally left Egypt with great wealth. At last, they had the opportunity to enjoy the fruits of freedom: beautiful jewelry, fine clothing, perhaps even a measure of comfort after generations of hardship.

But astonishingly, they continued to give—again and again—until Moses had to command them to stop.

It was precisely this spirit of generosity and collective purpose that enabled the Torah to declare at the completion of the Mishkan: “The cloud covered the Tent of Meeting, and the glory of the Lord filled the Tabernacle” (Exodus 40:35).

Since the trauma of October 7 and the long war that followed, Israeli society has shown remarkable examples of the same spirit described in our parasha. Reservists left their homes and jobs to defend the country. Citizens opened their homes to displaced families. Volunteers donated time, money, and energy to support soldiers and communities in need. For a moment, it seemed as though the extraordinary unity and generosity of spirit described in the building of the Mishkan had come alive once again in our own time.

And yet we have also seen how difficult it is to preserve that unity. Tensions over hostage negotiations, the Haredi draft exemption, judicial reform, and the question of responsibility for the failures of October 7 have repeatedly threatened to fracture the sense of shared purpose that initially emerged.

Now that we once again find ourselves united in the war against Iran and Hezbollah, a profound question remains before us. When the war is over—when the immediate danger has passed and we have resumed our lives and returned to our daily routines—will we be able to preserve the sense of shared responsibility, unity of purpose, and generosity of spirit?

–

For more articles on the parasha and current events, or to sign up for my newsletter, visit my website: https://davidharbater.com/

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)