Where does God live? It’s a question I hear from time to time from our Foundation School students. We often talk about God being everywhere, which is an abstract concept to the very literal mind of a 3-year-old. If everything has a “home,” then God should too. 

In Parshat Terumah, God instructs the Israelites, “Let them make me a sanctuary, that I may dwell among them.” (Exodus 25:8) This command begins the construction of the Mishkan, the portable sanctuary that traveled with the Israelites in the wilderness. More than just a physical structure, the Mishkan served as a sacred meeting place between God and the people. But what does it mean for God to “dwell” somewhere? Can we truly build a space for the divine?

Interestingly, the Mishkan shares a deep connection with another temporary sacred structure in Jewish tradition—the sukkah. Both the Mishkan and the sukkah are impermanent, yet they serve as places where holiness can be felt. In the blessing for dwelling in the sukkah, we say:

“Baruch atah . . . asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu leishev basukkah.”
(Blessed are you . . . who has sanctified us with commandments and commanded us to dwell in the sukkah.)

The word leishev—”to dwell” or “to sit”—is key. It implies more than just entering a space; it suggests presence, intention, and a sense of belonging. When we dwell in a sukkah, we engage with the space in a meaningful way, just as the Israelites did with the Mishkan.

The parallel between the Mishkan and the sukkah teaches us something powerful: holiness is not about permanence; it’s about intention. The Mishkan was temporary, yet it brought the people closer to God. A sukkah is fragile, yet it’s a space of divine protection. Similarly, in our own lives, we don’t need grand, lasting structures to create sacred moments—we need mindfulness, openness, and a willingness to invite God in.

Here’s the question Parshat Terumah asks us: How do we create sacred space in our own lives? It might be through setting aside time for prayer, making our homes places of kindness and learning, or building relationships infused with holiness. Just as the Mishkan and the sukkah remind us that God’s presence is not confined to a building, so too can we bring holiness into every space we inhabit.

May we approach our own sacred spaces with the same kavanah—the same intentionality—as when we say leishev basukkah, recognizing that wherever we invite God in, holiness can dwell.

It’s no secret that my favorite movie is Dirty Dancing. I remember watching it for the first time and falling in love with the dance moves and the romance of it (without understanding at my young age the more adult themes). When you watch good movies over and over again, they never get old because you tend to find new things to take from them. As many times as I’ve watched Dirty Dancing, I’m still finding little lessons and commentaries on the state of society and more. One of those themes I noticed recently is the notion of setting boundaries.

When the character of Johnny is working on helping Baby improve her dancing, he talks about posture. In the beginning, as they’re getting to know each other, Johnny teaches Baby to lock her arms, declaring “This is my dance space, this is yours.” If you know the movie, you know that the two characters are establishing not just the boundaries for dancing with each other, but the boundaries of their relationship. After they get to know one another and care for one another, Baby later teases a noodle-armed Johnny while dancing, calling out his “spaghetti arms” and throwing his previous line about dance space right back at him.

While I wouldn’t necessarily call Dirty Dancing biblical commentary, I would certainly be willing to say that the relationships and boundaries explored in the story are as old as the Torah itself, and one of those lessons can be seen in our Torah portion this week. This week we read Parshat Terumah, which reminds us of the importance of giving gifts just because we want to. The parshah focuses mainly on the building of the Tabernacle (the Mishkan) and what the ark and decorative pieces will look like. The instructions are specific, including what materials should be used, exactly how big each piece should be, and how the floor plan should look when the building is completed.

While the directions for building the Tabernacle are being given, we read in chapter 27 about a specific kind of enclosure that needs to be made for the more sacred of the spaces. This is when we learn the notion that any sacred area must be clearly separated from the profane space outside of it. In other words, there are multiple levels of boundaries throughout the Tabernacle and Temple plazas to allow for the complexities of relationships and how different roles would interact with each other and with God. 

Sacred spaces can be physical like the Tabernacle or a synagogue, or they can be personal, between two human beings. Parshat Terumah suggests that regardless of where they are, boundaries can have their own inherent holiness, and respecting them allows for more trusting relationships. The most beautiful movements together happen when you have your dance space and I have mine.

This isn’t the first time I’ve written about the chaotic mess that is my house. And I know I’m not the first parent to be overwhelmed by the sheer amount of stuff we have at home. We organize, and we clean, and we recycle, but things still pile up. And while I appreciate the effort my children make to repurpose something rather than throw it out, our house feels like there are items everywhere largely because of their need and desire to take loose parts and found objects like shoe boxes, paper plates, coffee canisters, and countless other objects and create projects with them. These containers could be a train or a drum kit. These empty toilet paper rolls can be binoculars. My children believe that every item has a purpose for which it was originally intended, and a secondary or tertiary purpose only they can envision. I do love their creativity, but sometimes I just wish I could see my floor and countertops again.

Their ability to see potential in the world around them is one that is inherently Jewish and expressed in our Torah portion this week. This week we read Parshat Terumah, which reminds us of the importance of giving gifts just because we want to. The parshah focuses mainly on the building of the Tabernacle, the Mishkan, including what the ark and decorative pieces will look like. The instructions are specific, including what materials should be used, exactly how big each piece should be, and how the floor plan should look when the building is completed.

Specifically, the Israelites are asked to create a wooden surface overlaid with gold to place special breads on, an ark to place the tablets in, and a menorah to light. Each of these items serves a purpose for the rituals God is instructing. On their own, they are simply objects: a table, a closet, and a lamp. However, used for the reasons God describes, they become sacred.

The table, with its beautiful cover, is a sacred space for offering, and for connecting our physical and spiritual needs. The ark is a private space, representing the need for introspection. The menorah stands to remind us of the light we can share when we come together in community. This week’s Torah portion is a wonderful reminder that just because something may serve an ordinary function, doesn’t mean it can’t also have a holy (or artistic) purpose too.

One of the hardest parts of living through the “stay safe at home” orders was the ability to find a sacred space to call my own. Throughout the pandemic, whether it’s just our immediate family of four, or our extended pod “family” of seven, we’ve been constantly in each other’s space. This means that finding a space for privacy, a space to work, a space of peace is exceptionally difficult for all of us.

We each have found little sanctuaries where we can find cozy comfort. For our crate-trained dog Stanley, his crate is actually his safe space, and it’s perched at the top of the stairs in a location that lets him see everything going on, while protecting himself from the often overwhelming energy of the kids.

For Matan, our five-year-old, his new “big kid” bed gives him just enough space underneath to make it a perfect hideout. Our daughter will sometimes create her own fort, hiding under an end table draped with a blanket and stuffed with pillows underneath. Having everyone home more of the time hasn’t been ideal, but having at least one spot we can each call our own has made all the difference in the world.

Where is my holy space? When I’m not in the office for an in-person meeting, whenever I can, I take my sacred space to the road, using my phone and headphones to Zoom while I walk in the outdoors, taking in the sun or rain, and moving my body. When that doesn’t work, I end up in my makeshift office, an ironing board set up in a corner of my bedroom, or at the end of the dining room table. I wouldn’t call either of them sacred, but they’re functional and practical.

Even without a pandemic, having a sacred space to focus, contemplate, and engage with our thoughts is important. It’s so important, in fact, that the Torah teaches us about it in this week’s Torah portion. 

This week we read Parshat Terumah, which reminds us of the importance of giving gifts just because we want to. The parshah focuses mainly on the building of the Tabernacle, the Mishkan, including what the ark and decorative pieces will look like. The instructions are specific, including what materials should be used, exactly how big each piece should be, and how the floor plan should look when the building is completed.

Chapter 25, verse 8 comes after we receive an initial list of gifts required to make a dwelling place for God. Notably, the text tells us that it is both the material items needed to set up the space and the notion of others respecting the space that are necessary for God to dwell among the people. In other words, the building of sacred space requires not just the right materials, but also everyone’s acknowledgement that it is indeed sacred.

While I might not love having pillow forts all around my house, respecting the needs of my children has allowed them to feel safe and find comfort in a troubling time. While Duncan didn’t love me turning our bedroom into my office, we both understood the need for a private space for me to write, connect with our team, and lead our community. Parshat Terumah reminds us to respect the space we set aside, and I hope you’ve been able to both create and appreciate the spaces you need. 

If you could invite God to your Passover seder, what would the invitation look like? If you were expecting God at Shabbat dinner, how would you set the table? If God attended your child’s mitzvah celebration, would you expect a gift?

In our earliest experiences with Judaism, we’re taught that we don’t need to “invite” God because “God is everywhere and God is one.” God isn’t like Elijah, with his saved cup of wine and ceremonial door opening. God is always present.

This idea that God doesn’t need an invitation somewhat contradicts this week’s Torah portion, in which Moses receives a very clear and detailed instruction manual for building the Mishkan, an earthly shelter of sorts for God. In our parshah this week, Terumah, God asks the Israelite nation to build a sanctuary so that God may dwell among us. As a side note, how interesting to read about God wanting to dwell among us at a time when we can’t even dwell together. But this Torah portion isn’t only about a sanctuary building; we are to build holiness among us so that God will be present in those human connections. 

Some time ago, I asked our Foundation School preschoolers what it means to build a holy, safe space, and their answers included lifting each other up, problem solving, kindness, sharing, and having fun. But more importantly, all the answers came in first person plural. “We lift each other.” “We solve problems.” “We are kind.” They answered my question with the word “we” because to the youngest in our community, sanctuary and holiness are created when we include one another in our lives. 

Parshat Terumah teaches us that God dwells among us not because of an ancient Tabernacle or a modern synagogue building, but because of the moments when our actions reflect holiness. Yes, God is everywhere, but the invitation still matters. When we treat each other with dignity, love, and respect for all of our beautiful gifts, we create a world where God dwells among us every single day.