A few years ago I took part in a life coaching group.  We met for a number of weeks to talk about our goals in life, how we might achieve them, and the broader scope of what they really meant to us.  Our first assignment was to come up with a list of 100 goals.  There were no rules, so no goal was left off.  From writing one letter to a friend to finding a job, anything was fair game.  As we met, we looked at our goals and decided which ones were attainable in a reasonable time and which ones would need either more time or different circumstances.  One of my goals was to say “thank you” every day.  It wasn’t about thanking a person specifically; rather, it was about remembering to have gratitude even during an unlucky streak or a grey period. 

The origin of this goal was really to find meaning when reciting modeh Ani every morning when I woke up.  Our daily liturgy begins before we even get out of bed.  We are to recite the words “Modeh ani l’fanecha melech chai v’kayam, she’hechezarta bi nishmati b’chemla rabbah emunatecha.”  I am grateful to You, living, enduring King, for restoring my soul to me in compassion.  You are faithful beyond measure.  In stating my “thank you” goal, I wanted to know what it means to say thank you, and why I should even do it. 

Our parshah this week, parshat Tzav, gives us the specific instructions for the priests as they offer sacrifices.  We also receive the prohibition on mixing milk and meat and the details of how priests go about sanctification.  Specifically, we learn about the offering for thanks-giving.  Chapter 7 teaches us that a person is to provide a thanksgiving offering in response to having survived a disaster.  Later, in tractate Berachot, the Talmud teaches that we are also to give this offering after returning from a long trip or recovering from illness, childbirth, and similar events.  We now see this play out in modern Jewish life when we go to synagogue after going through one of these events and reciting the Gomel prayer on a Torah reading day. 

What strikes me about this obligation is that it really isn’t an obligation at all.  The text does not tell us that we are obligated, chayav, to bring a thanksgiving offering; the wording is tzrichim, we needto bring the offering.  This implies that we are saying thank you not because it is demanded of us, but rather because we need to do it for our own psychological wellbeing. 

Saying the words “thank you” can become a rote action, something that we say out of habit and not necessarily with a lot of meaning.  This week the Torah reminds us of the gifts we take for granted in our everyday lives.  We aren’t commanded to say thank you in the way we are commanded to honor our mother and father or commanded not to steal.  Rather, the text chooses the word “need” as though gratitude is something without which human beings are not complete.  As we are about to enter the week in which we celebrate Purim, the holiday commemorating Queen Esther and Mordechai foiling Haman’s plot, we remember what could have been and move forward with gratitude for the lives that we live today.   When you’re feeling down or having “bad luck,” perhaps all you need to do is say your daily gratitudes and really be conscious of them.  Revisit why you are thankful, and maybe even follow up on some goals of your own.  Occasionally I’ll go back and look at my list, and every time I do, I am stunned by how far I’ve come.

In the beginning, God created the world and set us with light and darkness, day and night, Or v’Choshech.  We see the transition between literal light and darkness every twenty-four hours, but we also use these extremes metaphorically.  We might refer to a change in a person’s behavior or an experience by saying “the difference was like night and day.”  Sometimes we talk about the “light at the end of the tunnel,” that beam that gives us hope, a sign that “brighter” days are ahead. 

Our parshah this week, parshat P’kudei, is the last portion in the book of Shemot, which began with Moses in Egypt.  Described as “good” in his very simple beginning, Moses moves on to tackle the challenge of leading the Israelite people from slavery to freedom, from darkness to light.  The journey isn’t always easy.  Along the way Moses is timid and shy, insisting that perhaps he is not the right person for the job.  The Israelite people are also afraid to move forward.  Throughout this book they fear that life was better in Egypt, where the people were always taken care of with food, water, shelter.  In the desert they aren’t so sure where their next meal would come from.  The Israelite people are a people in need of constant reassurance and reminders that they are o.k.

Having to struggle with both light and dark times on their journey doesn’t help matters.  A great moment of light when the Israelites are let free from Egypt, singing at the sea, is followed by the darkness of an enormous loss of life as the Pharaoh’s army is crushed by the waters.  We have light when we receive the Ten Commandments at Sinai, only to be followed by darkness when the Israelites disobey the commandments and build the golden calf. 

Along the way, the people are informed that they are to be led by a pillar of fire by night and a cloud by day.  The pillar of fire provides light in the midst of the darkness of night, and the cloud provides a spot of dark comfort against the harsh brightness of the day.  The Israelites are a people who need tangible evidence in their world.  Throughout this book they have been asked to build theMishkan, the tabernacle in which God’s presence rests, and the Ohel Moed, the meeting place between the divine spirit and the human. 

These two structures are built so that the Israelites will understand the power of encountering God and better understand the presence of God.  While a cloudy day might feel dark and dreary, that is a sign of God’s presence.  And, living in Texas, the sun and light of the summer might feel oppressive, but that too is a moment of Godly encounter.  Our parshah ends with the cloud settling upon the Ohel Moed, the Tent of Meeting, and God’s presence filling the Tabernacle. 

The book opened with a narrative of oppression, misery and confusion, and ends with a sign of hope.  The cloud will lift up from the Tabernacle, allowing the Israelites to steadily move forward.  The struggle in these pages is evident: relying on pure faith alone isn’t easy.  When we are able to look at the cloud and see the light that shines forth around it or when we see the bright sun in the summer and do not focus on the heat, that is when we can truly bask in the presence of God.

Perkei Avot teaches us in the second mishnah of the first chapter that the world stands on three things:  Torah (learning), Avodah (service) and G’milut Hasadim (acts of kindness).  Shimon the Righteous taught his own set of three: that the world is held up by people who learn, by people who give and work, and by people who give of their hearts to one another.  The Christian community has the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, three different identities that make up the Divine being.  These are just a sampling of the many conceptual trilogies in community thought and practice.  Our school even has our own trio of attributes, “inspiration, knowledge, character.”  Those three words sum up our school, our teachers, our students and our families.

The question we must ask ourselves is how we use each of these pieces of our being.  What are we inspired to do?  What do we do with our knowledge?  What kind of character are we building? 

The parshah this week, parshat Vayakhel, details the building of the mishkan, the artistry involved, the outpouring of gifts the Israelite people bring, and the artists who fashion the piece together.  For the construction of this precious piece, God has singled out Be’tzalel to be the builder.  Chapter 35, verse 31 teaches that God has “endowed him with a divine spirit of skill, ability and knowledge in every kind of craft.”  Chochmah, T’vunah, Da’at:  these are the words used to describe Be’tzalel.  This is the combination needed for a person to construct a holy vessel, the types of attributes a rounded person must possess. 

These words – wisdom, understanding and knowledge – are oddly similar in their meaning.  Elsewhere they are translated as skill, ability and knowledge.  Rashi, the great 10th century commentator, sought to understand the difference between each of these traits.  He taught first onChochmah, skill.  “Skill is what a person learns from other.”  That is to say that skill is not something that we are born with, but rather something we learn from working with others, from acting in the world.  Be’tzalel’s ability was not just working with his hands, but also listening to others, sharing opinions, working together on a team.

Rashi defines T’vunah, ability, as the result of one’s own insight and experience.  In order to be a great leader, a person must be able to listen to one’s self.  This is a reflective practice that involves looking at experiences and searching for learning, searching for what could be done differently next time, what “I” did well.  A leader must not only work well with and listen to others, but also listen to their conscience, their inner monologue that guides them through right and wrong.

Finally, Rashi teaches that Da’at, knowledge, is divine inspiration, ideas that suddenly come to a person from an unknown source.  Knowledge is knowing that there is something bigger than us out there, being open to new ideas, being open to the divine.

Parshat Vayakhel is about Moses bringing the people together as a community so that they can each learn from Be’tzalel to be engaged in chochmah, t’vunah and da’at, to learn from one another, to find their own voice, and to allow God’s inspiration to flow through their hands as they create themishkan. 

A chair with only 2 legs cannot stand.  The world rests on 3 things, whether it is on learning, service and acts of kindness, or on working together, listening to ourselves and finding God, or on inspiration, knowledge and character.  The challenge is to find the balance in the three, find the balance in our own needs, those of the community and in our relationship to God so that the works of our hands bring us closer to our community.