וְאַתָּ֗ה תְּדַבֵּר֙ אֶל־כׇּל־חַכְמֵי־לֵ֔ב אֲשֶׁ֥ר מִלֵּאתִ֖יו ר֣וּחַ חׇכְמָ֑ה וְעָשׂ֞וּ אֶת־בִּגְדֵ֧י אַהֲרֹ֛ן לְקַדְּשׁ֖וֹ לְכַהֲנוֹ־לִֽי׃

Next you shall instruct all who are wise of heart, whom I have endowed with the spirit of wisdom, to make Aharon’s vestments, for consecrating him to serve Me as priest. (Shemot/Exodus 28:3)

וּבְלֵ֥ב כׇּל־חֲכַם־לֵ֖ב נָתַ֣תִּי חׇכְמָ֑ה וְעָשׂ֕וּ אֵ֖ת כׇּל־אֲשֶׁ֥ר צִוִּיתִֽךָ׃

I have also granted skill to every wise of heart, that they may make everything that I have commanded you: (31:6  – parshat Ki Tisa)

In last week’s Torah reading, Parshat Terumah, we have the doubly astonishing phenomenon of there being  – among the recently liberated, itinerant Israelites – men who not only possessed an entire host of precious metals and materials, rare gems, and exotic lumber, but who were willing to voluntarily donate these toward the crafting of the Mishkan/Tabernacle with no expectation of honor or recognition of any kind. The catalogue of materials included gold, silver, copper, tanned rams skins, dolphin skins, acacia wood, oil, spices, lapis lazuli  and other precious stones.

It is likewise astonishing that we never question how recently emancipated slaves  – now wandering the desert – came into possession of such precious, and in some cases highly unportable, goods. Nor do we question where they developed the nobility and character to voluntarily part from their priceless cargo while remaining an anonymous collective, eschewing all glory – no guests of honor, no plaques above the portals, to founder’s  tree in the lobby,  nothing.

We dealt with the second aspect last week, pointing out that these donors were all איש ,real men, which the Torah (in Parshat Bamidbar) defines as any male over 20 years who has served in the military.  Only such men are counted in the Torah’s census, and only such men can be counted on to give generously,  as part of a group. Because it is only those who have served in the military who understand and appreciate the interdependence that makes victory achievable.  Men of wealth who have not had this experience  are not inclined to subsume themselves in a collective effort.  They will give, but expect recognition and honor in return. Such men are not even counted in the Israelite census. They might, for example, own El Al, but they are not counted as men, nor can they be counted on to behave as such.

In this week’s parsha, Tetzaveh, and next week in Ki Tisa, the Torah deals with the next challenge, namely how to fashion all of those donated raw materials into  a magnificent portable sanctuary and its exquisite furnishings.

Because even rarer than nomadic donors of acacia wood and lapis lazuli are the gifted artists who can turn raw matter into works of art.  How could Torah presume the presence of such men and women among the Israelites? Indeed, if such a call were to made today among the communities of religious Jews the response would likely be deafening silence.

Artists? Did someone call for artists?  Did anyone raise a child who became a serious artist, musician, poet, writer, choreographer, filmmaker?  Anyone? Anyone?

When we look at the dour, lugubrious visages of Israel’s haredi sages, can we imagine even a single one of their acolytes being encouraged – allowed even – to pursue a life of artistic creativity?

The antihero of the wonderful television series Shtisel, is an artistically gifted young man who  is expected to stifle his talent and become just another melamed (teacher) in a haredi heder. The character of Akiva Stisel is fictitious but very convincing.   In haredi society, a gift like his is a liability, a flaw that must be hidden – like a skin condition or an eating disorder – so as not to harm his chances of finding a shidduch. Talent, other than a talent for what passes as Torah, is extirpated, having no useful spiritual purpose, and certainly no practical one.

But the picture is no less bleak in so called modern Orthodox society, certainly in the diaspora. If in haredi circles there is no space for artists for, ostensibly, spiritual reasons, among the modern Orthodox artistic talent is cauterized for material ones.  The cost of being an orthodox Jew in America is so prohibitive, that children must be herded into professional pursuits that would lead to the lucre necessary to maintain an Orthodox lifestyle.

Indeed, a modern Orthodox American family of five would have be in the top 2% of household incomes in order to keep their heads above water. The cost of day school tuition, summer camps, synagogue membership and a basic level of tzedakah generosity requires a pre-tax income of some $200,000. And we haven’t yet factored in such necessities as housing, food, clothing and Passover at an exotic five star resort.

Clearly, any hint of artistic interest is anathema, and the primacy of material success is imbibed with a mother’s milk.

And yet the Torah doesn’t merely express a need for artists, it recognizes them as חכמי לב wise of heart. Such rare men and women are presumed to exist in every society; people who possess extraordinary gifts, the ability to see beyond the obvious, and who can, like God Himself, create virtually ex nihilo the masterpieces that elevate all of human society.

The Torah makes it manifestly clear that the “wise of heart” are society’s oxygen. They are, quite literally, our spiritual and emotional photosynthesis. Without them we are dead.  Because a society that does not allow its artists to flourish is a dead society.

To the best of my knowledge, there has been no society in history that did not have its artists, its musicians, its story tellers and poets. No society that is, until haredi/Orthodox society came along and extinguished the fires of creativity with the ashes of  “learning”, which stifled the creative impulse with the need for excessive funding.

Indeed, how can we expect a Messianic era when we lack the artists to fashion the sanctuary, the musicians to accompany the Temple service, the poets to breathe life into our prayers, the dancers who can become our King Davids? Ours is not the dead poets society, it is the society that is dead of poets.

On a more positive note, there are some rays of creative sunshine to be found here in Israel.  Among functioning religious Israelis we do find a cellist here, a painter there, a filmmaker, a dancer, a photographer.  Thank God, Israel produces young people who are more intrepid, less risk averse, prepared to bet on a questionable but more challenging horse. In part, no doubt, this is possible because Israeli society does not bankrupt religious parents for the education of their children. More likely it is because young Israelis, having served and fought in the military, are less intimidated about failure as artists (and more likely to be generous as איש/man who partner with others is giving anonymously for the greater good.)

As for the beleaguered modern Orthodox in America and the benighted haredim of Israel, one’s heart goes out to the stillborn artists suffocating as failures in the yeshivahs of Bnei Brak or suffering endless hours drowning under contracts and disputes in American law firms.

But until such time as we experience a full creative renaissance, the Messiah does well to keep his distance.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)