This week’s double parsha, Vayakhel–Pekudei, addresses two timeless questions that shape every society: how a people builds its purpose and how leaders account for the power entrusted to them.

In the Torah, these questions emerge through the building of the Mishkan, where the talents, resources, and creativity of an entire people were dedicated to creating a dwelling place for God.

Today, these themes feel strikingly relevant. As the world debates the conflict surrounding Israel and Iran, the discussion is often framed only in political or military terms. But beneath the headlines lies a deeper question about responsibility, leadership, and moral clarity.

How societies use power — and how leaders account for it — ultimately shapes the kind of world we build.

My latest reflection connects Vayakhel–Pekudei, the Mishkan, and the moral challenges facing our time.

Why does the world tolerate Iran’s war against Israel?

The world is debating whether Israel’s war with Iran is justified.

But a more troubling question is rarely asked:

Why did the world tolerate Iran’s war against Israel for decades?

Why did the world tolerate Iran’s war against Israel for decades?

Since the Islamic Revolution of 1979, Iran’s regime has openly called for the destruction of the Jewish state while building the military infrastructure to make that goal possible.

It armed Hezbollah in Lebanon. It funded Hamas in Gaza. Rockets, Tunnels, and October 7th !! It financed militias across Syria and Iraq.

It surrounded Israel with tens of thousands of rockets aimed at its cities.

And let’s not forgot the Houthis from Yemen.

And yet when Israel responds, the global conversation often begins with a different question:

Did Israel strike first?

The irony is striking.

For decades, one side has openly declared its intention to eliminate the other. Yet when the threatened state defends itself, the legitimacy of its response becomes the subject of international debate.

It is therefore almost irrelevant who fired the first missile in the latest confrontation. Israel’s actions come after decades of Iranian rhetoric, proxy warfare, and direct attacks.

The historical irony runs deeper. In Jewish history Persia holds a special place — the empire of King Cyrus that allowed the Jews to return to Jerusalem, and the setting of the story of Purim. That ancient Persian land is today the modern state of Iran.

To understand why Israel is judged so uniquely, we must look beyond geopolitics and return to the deeper story of Jewish history.

And that story begins in the desert.

Building a Nation: The Lesson of Vayakhel

In Parashat Vayakhel, the Torah describes the building of the Mishkan, the portable sanctuary that accompanied the Israelites in the wilderness.

The Mishkan was not imposed by rulers or built through forced labor. It emerged from the voluntary contributions of the entire people.

Everyone whose heart was inspired brought something — gold, silver, copper, fabrics, precious stones, and skills. Artisans contributed their craftsmanship.

The Mishkan became the first great collective project of the Jewish people — a society dedicated to a divine purpose, drawing on its talents and resources. Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz explains that the Mishkan represents the moment when human creativity and material life were transformed into a dwelling place for God.

That is why the Torah describes its construction with such precision: when the goal is to create a place for God within the human world, no detail is insignificant.

When something embodies great purpose, every detail matters.

The Mishkan eventually found its permanent expression in the Temple in Jerusalem.

But Jerusalem represents something even deeper.

For thousands of years, it has been understood as the place where heaven and earth meet — where the Divine presence enters human history.

The prophet Isaiah captured this vision:

“For from Zion shall go forth Torah, and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem.”

Jerusalem thus became the spiritual axis of Jewish history — the place from which a moral vision rooted in Torah was meant to radiate outward to the world.

For nearly two thousand years, Jews prayed toward this city while living without sovereignty.

Today, that reality has changed.

Israel has become a dynamic state — economically vibrant, technologically innovative, and militarily strong. For the first time since the ancient world, the Jewish people again possess the power to defend themselves.

In Jewish memory, Persia is also linked to the story of Purim, when the Jews narrowly escaped annihilation.

Many Israelis, Jews, and believers around the world experienced the dramatic events of February 28 as something close to an open miracle. In a single operation, the head of the Iranian terror network and dozens of senior commanders were eliminated. The moment carried powerful symbolism: it occurred on Shabbat, as Jewish communities in Israel and around the world  were reading Parshat Zachor, the portion commanding us to remember those who seek our destruction.

For many, the convergence of events echoed the ancient story of Purim.

Yet it also reflected something else: the extraordinary capabilities of Israel’s intelligence, technology, and military strength, and the determination of Israel and the Jewish people to defend themselves.

And so the deeper question emerges:

Which side are we on — the side that defends life, or the side that glorifies destruction?

The Moral Divide of Our Time

The confrontation with Iran and its network of terror forces reveals something larger than a regional conflict.

It exposes a moral divide.

On one side stand regimes and movements that glorify violence, terror, and destruction.

On the other side stand societies struggling — imperfectly but sincerely — to defend life, freedom, and responsibility.

Israel is not alone in this struggle. The United States and other democratic nations recognise that Iran’s challenge is not directed only at Israel but at regional stability and the broader international order.

For Israel, the justification is tragically clear. Iran’s leaders have repeatedly declared their intention to destroy the Jewish state while building the means to carry out that threat.

For the United States, the justification is different but significant. Iran’s actions threaten international shipping routes, regional stability, American forces in the Middle East, and the broader security framework of the region.

This conflict is therefore becoming a test.

But for the conscience of the world.

Pekudei: Leadership and Accountability

If Vayakhel teaches how a people builds together, Pekudei teaches how leaders must account for the trust placed in them.

Parashat Pekudei opens with a striking phrase:

“These are the accounts of the Mishkan…” (Exodus 38:21)

The Torah then lists the gold, silver, and copper donated by the people.

Every contribution is recorded. Every material is accounted for.

The passage reads almost like an ancient financial report.

Why does the Torah devote so much space to accounting?

Because the Mishkan was built from the resources of the people, and therefore required transparency.

Moshe Rabbeinu does not say “Trust me.”

He provides the numbers.

The Midrash even suggests that some suspected Moshe might have benefited from the donations. Rather than dismiss the concern, he responds with openness and accountability.

The Torah establishes a powerful principle:

Leadership requires accountability.

Those entrusted with communal resources must demonstrate integrity, clarity, and responsibility.

Ethical leadership does not fear scrutiny.

Yet earlier in the Torah, we encounter a different approach to counting.

When the Jewish people are counted, the Torah forbids a direct census. Instead, each person gives a half-shekel, and the coins are counted rather than the individuals.

The contrast is striking.

Gold and silver are counted carefully.

Because materials can be measured. People cannot.

Gold and silver are finite resources.

But human beings carry infinite dignity. Each person is created b’tzelem Elokim, in the image of God.

Reducing people to numbers risks diminishing that sacred value.

The Torah therefore, teaches a moral hierarchy:

Resources must be counted carefully. Human beings must remain beyond calculation.

A Nation Worthy of the Divine Presence

This lesson feels remarkably relevant today.

In many modern systems, the order is reversed: people become statistics, while systems of power lack transparency.

The Torah proposes the opposite.

Money must be accounted for.

Human dignity must remain immeasurable.

Leadership accountability does not apply only to finances.

It applies to decisions.

In Israel today, the trauma of October 7 has led many to ask difficult questions about preparedness and responsibility.

These questions are not merely political.

They reflect a deeply Jewish idea: leaders must account for the trust placed in them.

Moshe models this responsibility.

When the Mishkan is completed, he presents the accounting.

Trust requires transparency.

Moments of national trauma test a society in many ways.

They test resilience.

They test compassion.

They test moral clarity.

But they also test whether a society can pursue truth without tearing itself apart.

Perhaps this is the quiet lesson of Pekudei.

The Mishkan — the dwelling place of the Divine Presence — was built not only from gold and silver but also from trust, responsibility, and ethical leadership.

The Torah ends the story of its construction not with a miracle, but with an accounting.

Holiness is found not only in spiritual moments.

It is found in integrity.

It is found in responsibility.

It is found in leaders who are willing to stand before the people and say:

Here is the accounting.

And perhaps that is the enduring message of these two parshiot together:

Vayakhel teaches us how a nation builds together. Pekudei teaches us how a nation remains worthy of that trust.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)