Advancing in Holiness as We Count the Omer

Week 3 of the Omer

Week Three of Counting the Omer

Parashat Tazria-Metzora, Leviticus 12:1–15:33

Elliot Klayman, Kehilat Ariel, San Diego

Parashat Tazria-Metzora, a double portion, deals with the identification, healing, and cleansing of a contagious skin disease. The priest had the knowledge both of a pharmacist and of a Leviticus scholar who applied the biblical formulas. When the afflicted person was healed, the priest applied two live clean birds, cedar wood, crimson stuff and hyssop to the one to be cleansed: one bird slaughtered over fresh water in an earthen vessel, and the other live bird dipped in the blood of the slaughtered bird over water. Then the priest sprinkles the “patient” seven times. He sets the live bird free. The cleansed one is directed to wash his clothing, shave his hair and bathe in water; then he is clean. He must still remain outside his tent seven days. It is all about purification. On the seventh day he shaves his head, beard, and eyebrows. Then he washes his clothes and bathes in water. He must follow up with an unblemished animal offering at the tabernacle. Now add three tenths of a measure of flour with oil mixed in for a meal offering, and one log of oil. The priest now has 23 more verses to study and apply.  This parasha is a whole semester course for the priests, I am sure. They had to be diligent in their studies of the Word and it made a difference when separating the pure from the impure, the clean from the unclean, the tahor from the tamei.

So, how does this translate for us today, as we count the Omer this season leading up to Shavuot? We do not have a temple, nor do we have a working priesthood. We do have our synagogues with their structure, our rabbis and zakenim (elders). Like the priests, the rabbis and elders are called to be knowledgeable in the prescriptions and formulas contained in the Word of God. As believers in Messiah Yeshua we are part of the holy priesthood and are called to be Kadosh (Holy). He is the High Priest who cleanses us from unrighteousness through the blood offering. It’s all about purity and holiness. “Be holy for I am holy” (Lev 11:44, 20:7). That means we should walk in holiness because he is holy. The Bible does not expressly define holiness—how should we interpret it?

1. Living Compassionately. God has a heart for the sick, the needy, the poor and underprivileged, the disabled, orphans and widows, and leprous ones who are physically afflicted and socially ostracized.  It is here that the pure meets the impure, the clean meets the unclean, and through God’s formula, the tamei’s (unclean) status is changed to tahor (pure). We are called to be less worldly and more godly, to constrict our humanity and expand our spiritual godly compassion. This takes yielding to our better angels — to put others first. In holiness you only see the other in God’s image, and empathy moves you to compassion.  We make up the congregation of Messiah, who are in need of prayer to be compassionate, for God is compassionate. This is the holy sheaf of barley, the Omer, we present. Holiness is being compassionate!

2. Living Self-Sacrificially. This means that we ought to live differently from how the worldly live, because for us the Kingdom breaks in, so that we have something holy to experience and take away. Holiness is progressive. The “Sun of Righteousness” breaks into our hearts so that we are closer to having the heart of God during this time (Malachi 4:2). Holiness is a place where we are penetrated by God’s loveliness and an introspective time of developing self-sacrificial plans. It is a day of living here as if we are kingdom citizens while God bids us to grasp his hand and walk along the self-sacrificial path of righteousness as informed by scripture. The Good Samaritan represents the holiness of sacrifice, where, in Yeshua’s parable, though the religious Jew did not help the Jew in distress, the alien Samaritan extended his neighborhood, sacrificing his space, time, and money to do so. Holiness is living self-sacrificially.

3. Living Pure among the Profane. One classic understanding of holiness is living separate and apart — distancing ourselves from sin and its attractions. If we are prone to anger, then we need to stay out of conversations that make us angry, until we overcome this fault. We cannot offer our “barley” if we are angry. Holiness has everything to do with that which is sacred coming into contact with that which is profane and both, the sacred and the profane, the holy and the unholy, the pure and the impure, emerging in purity and holiness. God comes into contact with the profane anytime he touches this world, through the priesthood, through the Holy Spirit touching the impure. In the parshiot before us, the priest touches the leper — the pure intersects with the impure — and the priest remains holy while the leper is cleansed and transformed from tamei to tahor. From this clean-impure brew, from this this alloyed contact, emerges a holistic holiness. When the spiritual and the material intersect, and confront each other, that is the essence of holiness, not just separation from sin, but interaction with the profane. Holiness is living pure among the profane.

4. Living an Exemplary Life. God is our Mentor. He planted trees in the Garden; and so we ought to plant trees as a Holy environmental endeavor. He clothed the needy after the fall and we are called to clothe the poor, to visit those in prison, because this is holiness by his example. Yeshua died for the unlovely — that person on death row, that slanderer, that mean employer, the professor who flunked us, the cook who poisoned us, that neighbor who sued us. We are called to go the next mile and share our faith and love to those who are doomed without the protection of the blood applied to the doorposts of their hearts. As God is an example, we ought to be the example to others. We are called to come out of conformity to the world, to be peculiar, noteworthy, and different by walking in the pleasantness of God’s paths of rightness, as prescribed by him in the “priestly” BDR — the Bible Desk Reference. We are to walk as one looking for opportunities to make a difference, and not as one who is self-involved in fulfilling our own selfish desires. Should we walk in the spirit and not in the flesh, we will be what God wants us to be, what he entrusted us to be, what he signaled us to be by his example: in a condition where we are ready to enter into the depths of the ugly rancor to redeem the dying. It is time for our congregational community to do now for others as we would do to ourselves.

 Let us literalize holiness and bathe in its reality by living compassionately, sacrificially, in purity and in exemplary fashion. This is Holistic Holiness. May we all walk in the light of Holiness in community so that as a community, we may shine brightly before the Messiah, who has called us in partnership to the Holy High Priesthood.  

Do What Counts

Omer Week Two

Week Two of Counting the Omer

Suzy Linett, Devar Shalom, Ontario, California

We all prepare for the big moments in life. As children, we prepare for the first day of school, for vacation, for play dates with our friends. As we grow, we prepare for school activities, sports, tests, and graduation. We prepare for jobs, college, trade schools, and adulthood in general. We prepare to have our own families and lives as adults. If we don’t prepare, there are consequences.

Our spiritual lives are a lot like that. We are admonished, “Train up a child in the way he should go, when he is old he will not turn from it” (Prov 22:6). We are told to watch and wait. We are told to “Make every effort to present yourself before God as tried and true, as an unashamed worker cutting a straight path with the word of truth” (2 Tim 2:15). Even Yeshua needed to prepare: “If I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and take you to Myself, so that where I am you may also be” (John 14:3). We know the Israelites had to prepare for battle. The woman with the jar of oil anointed and prepared Yeshua for burial (Matt 26:7).

At this season, we are instructed to “Count the Omer.” We are to count a sheaf of barley —an omer—every day from Yom HaBikurim, the day of Firstfruits, to Shavuot, the Festival of Weeks. The offering is to be waved to the Lord. The specifics are found in Leviticus 23:9–22. We are told this is a statute “forever in all your dwellings throughout your generations.” Yet, we are not in the land of Israel. We are not all harvesters of barley. What is the application for us today?

During the time of journeying after leaving Egypt, the Israelites did not harvest crops, but the sages taught that counting each day represented spiritual preparation and anticipation for the giving of Torah at the time of Shavuot. Sefer HaChinuch (published anonymously in 13th century Spain) states that the Hebrew people were only freed from Egypt at Passover in order to receive the Torah at Sinai, an event which is now celebrated on Shavuot, and to fulfill its laws. “Thus, the Counting of the Omer demonstrates how much a Hebrew desires to accept the Torah in his own life” (p. 306).

At the first Passover the Israelites were redeemed, but for what purpose? They were redeemed to become the people of Adonai—the people called by His Name, the people who would take His teaching to the nations, to the world. 

In order to grow from a redeemed slave-nation, the people had to prepare to become the redeemed followers of the Lord God of Israel. In fact, their spiritual renewal during the journey was the foundation of becoming the sons and daughters of God. In the same way, we pray for spiritual renewal for our families to fully live as redeemed followers of Adonai. We see this demonstrated in many synagogues today in which confirmation services are held on Shavuot, at the completion of the Counting of the Omer. I vividly remember my own studies with the rabbi leading up to that service in which my classmates and I recited prayers, read Torah, and gave brief messages. It was the culmination of my Jewish education as a young person. As I think about that event, I am reminded to pray for ongoing spiritual renewal, not only for myself, but for all of the families represented, especially for all of my own family, particularly as they have not yet become believers in the Messiah. 

As the Israelites counted and prepared, so we count and prepare our children. As Israel became a nation, so we draw closer in our families and as part of the greater Messianic family.

The giving of Torah on Mount Sinai brought order and a moral code to the people. Years later, this would lead to the promise in Jeremiah 31:30–32:

“Behold, days are coming”

—it is a declaration of Adonai—

“when I will make a new covenant

with the house of Israel

and with the house of Judah—

not like the covenant

I made with their fathers

in the day I took them by the hand

to bring them out of the land of Egypt.

For they broke My covenant,

though I was a husband to them.”

it is a declaration of Adonai.

“But this is the covenant I will make with the house of Israel after those days”

—it is a declaration of Adonai—

“I will put My Torah within them.

Yes, I will write it on their heart.

I will be their God

and they will be My people.”

The Counting of the Omer marks the days from becoming free to becoming a nation. The counting for Messianic believers today leads from the Written Word to the Living Word in our hearts. The count itself is Messianic, it is prophetic, and its implications and meanings are eternal.  

What do we do while we count? We prepare. We prepare our children. We pray for our families, reminding them of the importance of preparation and readiness. We remember the parables of those who were not ready as in Matthew 25:1–13, when the wise were prepared, but the foolish were not.

On the day the first omer of barley was brought to the Temple, a countdown begins to the next Festival of Adonai, Shavuot. During the time of the count, the wheat crop ripens and becomes ready for harvest. So, Shavuot also is a harvest festival. 

Now let’s jump forward to Messiah’s instructions in Luke 24:49: “And behold, I am sending the promise of My Father upon you; but you are to stay in the city until you are clothed with power from on high.” Acts 1:4: “Now while staying with them, He commanded them not to leave Jerusalem, but to wait for what the Father promised—which, He said, ‘you heard from Me.’” John 14:26: “But the Helper, the Ruach ha-Kodesh whom the Father will send in My name, will teach you everything and remind you of everything that I said to you.”

These verses speak of the events in Acts 2, with the tongues of fire and outpouring of the Ruach HaKodesh. The “Counting of the Omer,” and the empowerment by the Ruach HaKodesh on Shavuot are intertwined. The establishment of Israel as a modern nation in 1948 occurred during this time of Counting of the Omer, waiting for the Ruach, waiting for the Promise of the Father. 

The Counting of the Omer is a time of spiritual preparation. For followers of Yeshua, this time has special significance. It was during this time that the risen Messiah appeared to two disciples while they traveled to Emmaus (Luke 24:13–31). He appeared to the apostles twice (John 20:19–29). He appeared another time to 500 people and then to James (1 Cor 15:6–7). He appeared to seven while they fished (John 21:1–14). On the 40th day of the Omer, paralleling the 40 days Yeshua fasted in the wilderness, the 40 days it rained for the flood, the 40 years of wandering, and more, Yeshua ascended after commanding His followers to wait and continue in prayer and preparation for the “promise of the Father” (Acts 1:4).

When Shavuot arrived, they were gathered together in one place. They were in one accord. They were prepared. They had come together as believers in Yeshua. They had set aside their differences and arguments about who would be the greatest in heaven, or who Yeshua loved the most, and everything else. They had the witness. They were obedient. They were in unity. They were prepared. The message is also for us—prepare, wait for His promises, study, pray, be obedient to His call to take His love into the world.  Keep the feast.

Scripture quotations are from the TLV.

Personal Renewal in the Spirit

Omer Week One

Week One of Counting the Omer

Ben Volman, UMJC Canadian Regional Director

There was a man among the P’rushim, named Nakdimon, who was a ruler of the Judeans. This man came to Yeshua by night and said to him, “Rabbi, we know it is from God that you have come as a teacher; for no one can do these miracles you perform unless God is with him.”  “Yes, indeed,” Yeshua answered him, “I tell you that unless a person is born again from above, he cannot see the Kingdom of God.” (John 3:1–3)

He came by night to Yeshua. Nakdimon was a man of consequence, a Rosh Yeshiva among the Pharisees with a place on Israel’s highest counsel, the Sanhedrin. Was it Yeshua’s words or a miracle that drove him to secretly seek out the rabbi from Galilee? Now it is 2000 years later and, as a Messianic Jew, I understand Nakdimon completely. It’s still hard for a Jewish person with status to speak of Yeshua too positively. I remember sharing the Gospel with a distinguished professor who accosted me about becoming a believer. “Do you know what people would say?”  Yes, we know. We’ve gone through it. That’s why this Pharisee comes by night.

Nakdimon had probably been discussing spiritual matters for a while with the rabbi before Yeshua spoke those words that totally perplexed him: “Unless a person is born again from above, he cannot see the Kingdom of God.” Nakdimon objects that he couldn’t possibly begin his spiritual journey or his earthly journey again. But I think our late brother Dr. David Stern elucidates the situation brilliantly because he notes that Yeshua “deals with him at his point of need, which is to be born again from above.”

That’s never been more true: Yeshua has something we need, whether we are resisting him or have followed him a long distance over many years. In particular, there is something deeply troubling at Pesach this year. We are grappling with a world that has piled uncertainties on sorrows: hostages; endless wars; rampant antisemitism. Our hearts yearn to be spiritually renewed.

Yeshua’s prescription to be “born again” has become known as something completely foreign to Israel’s faith, but in many ways it is extremely Jewish. It’s found in rabbinic literature and used in a similar way by Rav Sha’ul when he describes believers as a new creation. But there is still something of mystery to this spiritual prescription. At times like these, it can be difficult to discern how to let the Spirit take hold of our life.

I think it begins with asking an essential question of ourselves. Why am I here? R. Jonathan Sacks points out that there is a similar question which we don’t ask at the Seder table. He calls it the unasked question: Why did Israel have to go through 400 years of exile from the land of promise and be bound in slavery? The answer he gives is that Israel’s remarkable moral grounding as a people with equal dignity for all is rooted in our experience of slavery in Egypt: “Israel had to lose its freedom before it could cherish it.”

Yeshua has a parable like that: something that is lost is more greatly treasured when it is found. There is an even deeper insight for us as followers of Yeshua when we read Rav Sha’ul’s profound understanding of what Yeshua gave up on our behalf.

Though he was in the form of God,
he did not regard equality with God
something to be possessed by force.
On the contrary, he emptied himself,
in that he took the form of a slave
by becoming like human beings are. (Phil 2:6–7)

The Spirit can begin to work powerfully in us and through us when we follow Yeshua’s  example. Consider how his prayer instructs us to let go of all our other priorities and focus on seeking his Kingdom and his will. We are like Thomas, sitting at the table with Yeshua and  asking, “Lord, we don’t know where you’re going; so how can we know the way?” Yeshua’s timeless answer guides us back to what is essential: “I AM the Way — and the Truth and the Life; no one comes to the Father except through me” (John 14:6). Everything else that we have been doing can be set aside. Knowing and being known by him is all that matters.

Once we have looked deeply into ourselves, we need to do something else. There is an intriguing story from the Mekhilta, a Jewish source that dates back to the second century. As Israel watched Pharaoh’s army rushing toward them at the edge of the Red Sea there seemed only one way forward. While they stood questioning, dawdling, and praying, Nahshon ben Aminadav leapt into the Sea, expecting that God would guide them through in safety. Of course, he began drowning. Immediately, when God saw him, he told Moshe to stop praying, “Lift your staff, reach out with your hand over the sea, and divide it in two. The people of Israel will advance into the sea on dry ground.”

I believe that the next step is remembering that our faith compels us to give ourselves to him completely. Each of us at a certain point knows that the Lord has given us a calling, a vocation, no matter how humble or limited it may seem. We need to recenter ourselves in the calling of the Spirit, knowing that however we’ve messed up or lost our bearings, “his mercies are new every morning” (Lam 3:22  23). Yeshua is the way, and he has also blessed us with a faithful promise of a meaningful life.

As Yeshua told Nakdimon, no one can tell how the Spirit will powerfully move in us, even in the most unexpected ways. That’s not the end of the story, for after Yeshua is crucified, Nakdimon reveals that he, too, with Yosef of Ramatayim, is willing to be identified with the followers of Yeshua. He brings the spices to prepare the body to be entombed, and together they serve as the rabbi’s Chevra Kadisha (John 19:38–42).  Soon, they will know the resurrected Messiah.  And by the way, that professor who asked, “What would people say?” He’s now been serving the Lord for many years.

We did not come this way alone. As Yeshua continued sharing around the Seder table he gave us this promise: “I will ask the Father, and he will give you another comforting Counselor like me, the Spirit of Truth, to be with you forever” (John 14:17). We’ve not only been blessed by the Spirit, but we’ve been pastored, taught, mentored, and loved by those who were responsive to the leading of the Spirit. I am sure that even as you read these words, names and faces will come to mind and more will come later. Renew your life in the Spirit by following their example. As you’re counting the Omer, ask the Spirit to guide you in prayer that you might bring blessing to others and also pray for those who have been a blessing in the Spirit of Messiah to you.

All Scripture references are from Complete Jewish Bible, CJB.

A Season of Anticipation is About to Begin

Shabbat Hagadol

Shabbat Hagadol 5785

Russ Resnik, UMJC Rabbinic Counsel

Cecil B. DeMille’s classic 1956 film about Moses and the Jewish liberation from bondage in Egypt includes some fabulous scenes. It used to be (and maybe still is) rerun in various media during this season but it’s easy to pan as well as to enjoy. For example, I grew up in the burgeoning and diverse Jewish community of Southern California and never met another Jew who looked anything like DeMille’s Moses, aka Charlton Heston (which doesn’t sound very Jewish either). Many details of the film evoke Hollywood more than the Book of Exodus. How about the sultry Yvonne de Carlo as Sephora, the renamed wife of Moses? And what about Cecil B. DeMille himself? That name alone declares he’s not a member of the tribe.

But the movie does get one important thing right: its title, The Ten Commandments.

De Mille creates some great scenes, a couple of which might well have led to a glorious conclusion, like the hordes of liberated Hebrew families joyously departing the magnificent Egyptian cities that they helped build. Or the iconic special-effects parting of the Red Sea and the destruction of Pharaoh’s army as the waters come crashing down. Great endings! But the screenplay rightly takes us to Mount Sinai and the awesome drama of receiving the Torah, represented by the two stone tablets Moses clutches inscribed with the Ten Commandments.

The film goes on a bit after that, but this is the true climax, and it reflects the biblical portrayal of Passover. The culmination of the story that we commemorate each year isn’t our departure from Egypt, but the encounter with the Eternal One at Mount Sinai, fifty days later. To emphasize this point, the Torah commands us to begin counting the Omer, or sheaf of firstfruits, during Passover.

Then you are to count from the morrow after the Shabbat, from the day that you brought the omer of the wave offering, seven complete Shabbatot. Until the morrow after the seventh Shabbat you are to count fifty days, and then present a new grain offering to Adonai. . . . You are to make a proclamation on the same day that there is to be a holy convocation, and you should do no regular work. (Lev 23:15–16, 21 TLV)

This “holy convocation” is Shavuot, or the Festival of Weeks, as in Deuteronomy 16:9–10.

Seven weeks you are to count for yourself—from the time you begin to put the sickle to the standing grain you will begin to count seven weeks. Then you will keep the Feast of Shavuot to Adonai your God. (TLV)

In both these passages the start date for the seven-week period of counting the Omer is unclear. At first glance, “the Shabbat” mentioned in Leviticus 23 would seem to be the weekly Shabbat that occurs during Passover, but rabbinic tradition says “the Shabbat” in this context refers to the first day of Passover, which like the weekly Shabbat is a day of holy convocation and freedom from work (Lev 23:7). The seven “Shabbatot” of 23:15 can be translated simply as seven “weeks” as in CJB. The term is used in exactly that way a little later, in Leviticus 25:8, where it refers to seven “weeks” of years, to equal 49 years.

This traditional interpretation continues to be the subject of friendly debate, but many of us in the Messianic community opt to go with it so that we celebrate Shavuot in solidarity with the rest of the Jewish world. In addition, it would seem out of place for one of the three great annual festivals to have a floating date, as it would if the seven-week count began on the Shabbat of Passover week, which would be a different date each year. So, the sixth of Sivan it is every year!

But if Shavuot always falls on the same date, why do we need to keep count at all? Aha! This question gets to the heart of Sefirat ha-Omer, or counting the Omer. The count is not primarily about calculating a date, but about spiritual anticipation. We count the days until the giving of Torah with eager expectancy as we prepare to receive anew the Word of God.

Passover is the central story of the Hebrew Scriptures. All the rest of the stories flow into it or out from it. It is the story that makes Israel a people, and every year we affirm our status as God’s people by retelling the story in the Passover Seder. The custom of counting the Omer connects the giving of the Torah on Mount Sinai with the grand narrative of Passover redemption. We might say that our central narrative isn't just Passover, but the combined Passover-Shavuot story, the season of our freedom and of the giving of our Torah.

As Messianic Jews we have another, equally compelling narrative that is an organic part of this one; the story of Messiah Yeshua, who walked and taught among us, and died and rose again during the Passover season. Our Jewish identity as followers of Messiah hinges on the truth that this story is not separate, but inextricably intertwined with the grand narrative of Passover-Shavuot. Yeshua presents himself in Jerusalem at the time the Passover lambs are being selected. He eats a final Passover meal with his followers, dies—according to the Besorah of John at the time when the Passover lambs are being slain—and rises from the grave as the firstfruits of the dead, about the time that the firstfruits of new grain are being presented in the Temple. Messiah is our Passover, not replacing the old, but renewing and carrying it forward.

After his resurrection, Messiah appears to his followers and instructs them to remain in Jerusalem and await the promised immersion in the Spirit, Ruach ha-Kodesh, for “you will receive power when the Ruach ha-Kodesh has come upon you; and you will be My witnesses in Jerusalem, and through all Judah, and Samaria, and to the end of the earth” (Acts 1:8 TLV ). Yeshua instructs his followers that his glorious resurrection and ascension to the heavenly court are not the end of the story, but prepare the way for the fullness of the Spirit to come upon them. Accordingly, the followers wait in eager anticipation during the days of Sefirat ha-Omer, until the promise is fulfilled on Shavuot (Acts 2:1–4).

As the Ruach is moving upon the Yeshua-followers in palpable ways, one of them, Kefa or Peter, steps forward to explain what is happening. He tells the crowds gathered in the Temple courts for the festival that what they’re seeing and hearing fulfils the Lord’s promise in the book of Joel:

“And it shall come to pass afterward,

that I will pour out my Spirit on all flesh;

your sons and your daughters shall prophesy,

your old men shall dream dreams,

and your young men shall see visions.

Even on the male and female servants

in those days I will pour out my Spirit.”

(2:28–29 ESV, 3:1–2 in Jewish Bibles)

This is the culmination of the Passover-Shavuot cycle in the days of Messiah Yeshua, and we will reflect it this year in the UMJC community with a unified prayer effort, calling on the Lord to “Renew Us in Your Spirit.” Our focus on spiritual renewal will widen each week, beginning with personal renewal in the Spirit on week 1 and ending on week 7 with prayer for awakening and renewal in the Spirit upon the whole people of Israel.

Just as Passover sets the stage for Shavuot and the giving of Torah, so does the resurrection of Yeshua set the stage for the outpouring of the Spirit. And today we desperately need to not only remember this outpouring, but to experience it again. We need a fresh move of the Spirit to regain the energy and passion that will fuel our devotion to Messiah Yeshua once again.

Unified prayer during Sefirat ha-Omer has been a custom in the Union for years, a custom that both boosts our communal prayer effort and provides a focus for our personal spiritual practice during this intense and uplifting season. So, I invite you to join in this year, beginning Sunday night, April 13, and continuing for seven weeks until Shavuot on the fiftieth day, beginning Sunday evening, June 1. Click here to download your guide to counting the Omer, complete with the traditional blessings.

May you experience a joyous Passover and uplifting days of anticipation this year in Messiah Yeshua, as we pray together for renewal of the Spirit’s presence and work among us.

The Invitation to Moses Is Also to Us

Photo: exploringslovenia.com

Parashat Vayikra

Parashat Vayikra, Leviticus 1:1–5:26

Mary Haller, Tikvat Israel Messianic Synagogue, Richmond VA

A journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. — Lao Tzu

The invitation to draw near that opens the book of Leviticus is often referred to as a call given by the God of Israel. The invitation Moses heard is introduced with one word: Vayikra, “And he called.” This one Hebrew word takes many English words to explain and can be the core of a lifelong journey into a powerful relationship with God.

The God of Israel, the one God whose voice wafted from the tent of meeting and slipped into the heart of Moses, is the initiator of the process. The understanding Moses gained after first hearing and then responding to the call, Vayikra, can be experienced by any of us who decide to accept the invitation to draw near to God.

Let’s take a brief look back to the close of the book of Exodus. The people were at the foot of the mountain God had led them to after leaving Egypt. The tent of meeting was constructed and the presence of a Holy God fully inhabited the tabernacle. The Holy Presence was indeed the fullness of who God was, is, and will always be. At this point the story was about God.

As we turn the page in Scripture, things begin to shift.

Now Adonai called to Moses and spoke to him out of the Tent of Meeting, saying “Speak to Bnei-Israel . . .” (Lev 1:1-2a TLV)

Vayikra, the invitation that Moses heard, is in print for all of us to read. Moses responded and drew closer to God; he shared God’s words with his fellow Israelites as he was instructed. Today, like Moses and Israel, we too have the opportunity to respond to the invitation to draw near. The choice is ours, to say yes, to say no, or to simply not respond.

If we are intrigued and want to get closer it is our imperative to respond. Our response is to take the first step into a journey that may take many years, as in the philosophical quote I mentioned earlier: “A journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.” Unlike a physical journey, our first step in a relationship with the God of the universe may be more like a conversation.

Moses knew God and followed God’s instruction before he clearly heard the call to draw near. Today many of us have read the Scriptures and prayed faithfully. We endeavor to follow the directions in the Torah, the Prophets, and the Good News and we delight in remembering and celebrating the goodness of God with a thankful heart.

I believe Vayikra, the invitation, and Moses’ response provide a profound picture not just for Moses and the people in his day but for every generation. God bids each of us to come closer to him. The distance between humans and God is a distance that we humans cannot possibly comprehend with human intellect alone, as Paul writes to the Corinthians: “in Messiah God was reconciling the world to Himself” (2 Cor 5:19 TLV).

We must rely on the Ruach of God to lead us, as we desire to know him. The more we desire to honestly know this God the clearer our path becomes. After many years and many more cries from the core of my soul I have peace knowing he hears me. I trust God holds me closer than I can imagine. This knowing is what I call relationship. This relationship did not just happen; it grew into being over time.

My relationship with God is best described as a garden of sorts. My physical being is the plot of land and my innermost being, that part of me that I describe as my soul or the heart of my existence, is the soil. My cries and prayers become the place in my garden for God to plant his seedlings. It is his seedlings that grow over time and bear fruit. The fruit is harvested and shared and the process repeats and repeats. Everything God has for me is what grows. God is the light and the water; he is the warmth and the coolness. It is God who encourages the maturation of the plantings. The type and health of the soil I have is known by the one who knows the intent of my very existence. The type and health of an individual’s heart or soil for establishing growth so to speak, is known only by God.

In all honesty gardening is not on my list of favorite things. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the beauty and tranquility of plants and have been known to sit quietly for long periods just contemplating the beauty surrounding me in a forest or a garden. That being said I must share the inspiration for my garden analogy.

Last week I purchased a book entitled Shrouded in Light, by Kevin Williams and Michael Guidi. My purchase was motivated by two factors. First the title, Shrouded in Light, whispered to me that God is our source of life. Second, I know a bit about one of the authors, and these men work with plants and emphasize the growth of wild shrubs in their natural habitat.

Shrubs have their own specific natural beauty; they not only grow but they can thrive in the harshest of climates as long as they are suited for the climate they are planted in. Their beauty can be admired from the dry deserts to rolling green pasture lands to the wettest of the world’s marsh lands.

The God who invited each of us to draw near to him is the God who is responsible for all that lives to take root, to grow, blossom and thrive to the fullest. We humans, like shrubs, can thrive and bring beauty and honor to our God wherever we live in this world. Our part is to respond to God’s invitation. We do this by allowing him to shroud our lives in his life-giving light that will enable us to receive all that he has for us. It is under his holy light that we come to know his peace. It is in his peace that we receive what we need to continue toward him on the path he has carved for our individual lives.

It is my hope that these words will encourage each of you to draw nearer and nearer to God as the days progress.

Shabbat Shalom!

The Oil of Joy

Parashat Pekudei

Parashat Pekudei, Exodus 38:21-40:38

Ensign Jacob Landers, UMJC Endorsed U.S. Navy Chaplain Candidate

Kehilat Ariel Messianic Synagogue, San Diego

Pekudei, the name of this week’s parasha, means “amounts of” and refers to the items donated by the people of Israel to Moshe and Aaron for the building and equipping of the Mishkan, or Tabernacle, culminating in the anointing of the Mishkan with holy oil. “You shall take the anointing oil and anoint the Tabernacle and all that is in it to consecrate it and all its furnishings, so that it shall be holy” (Exod 40:9 JPS).

We don’t much use oil for anointing kings anymore (we haven’t had a king in Israel since Yeshua ascended to the right hand of the Father), but we do still have ceremonies by which we consecrate items like a Sefer Torah, or people–like a new Rabbi. Such ceremonies mark a point in time in which one thing has been completed and a new thing has begun, a new thing devoted to service to Hashem and Yeshua for the benefit of the Kehilah.

I once read a blog about making olive oil, which struck close to home . . . literally! (My family in Sparta, Greece, has owned a large olive orchard for as long as anyone in the village can remember, and the trees still produce oil). The article explained that olives must be pressed in order to get the “liquid gold” from them. They must be pressed and squeezed and crushed and beaten, as the oil oozes out. Inside each olive, however, is an unbreakable seed that contains the essence of what is needed for a new tree to grow. So, after the pressing, the broken skins and the seeds are removed, and the oil is strained multiple times to ensure it is pure and clear (and delicious!). In much the same way, Yeshua was crushed and beaten so that his pure anointing oil could be extracted, yet the seed of his words and his works could not be crushed. They were planted in each of us, growing further orchards.

Even in the word Mashiach, we find further illustration of this rich mystery; Mashiach מָשִׁיחַ – Anointed One, comes from the Hebrew word mashach משׁח – to smear or anoint with oil. When a person is anointed with oil, they shine; not because they become the source of light, but because they reflect the light. As the Ruach enters and indwells the Temple that is our own bodies once we are immersed and anointed with the “oil” of Messiah, we begin to reflect the light of Hashem (Matt 5:14-16). What does that look like? One answer comes from slightly rearranging the letters of mashach to spell samach שָׂמַח– to be joyful!

The Jewish tradition of immersions borrowed, in part, by Christians (Judaism has different kinds of immersions whereas Christianity has just one) is a different form of the kind of ceremony like anointing or laying of hands, but nonetheless just as sacred. In Hebrew we call it Tevilah and in Christianity it is called Baptism, from the Greek word “βαπτίζω” (Baptizo). Its usage outside of the context of the New Testament includes the practice of dying garments.

The garments of the Priesthood in Parashat Pekudei are intended to be pure linen, signifying the pure nature of the service of the priests: “See, I have removed your guilt from you, and you shall be clothed in [priestly] robes” (Zech 3:4). Baptism, however, appears to be almost the opposite – in dyeing cloth, a whole cloth is submerged into a vat of dye, usually multiple times (maybe three times?), so that it now looks different than it did before it was immersed. In a way, the cloth is no different than it was before – it still has the same thread count, the same weaving pattern and style, the same shape for the same purpose of covering the wearer – but, in another way, it is now fundamentally changed. Every fiber of its being has been irreversibly steeped in the dye, making it appear completely different, and yet, somehow still the same. In tevilah, or baptism, this process is almost like having the stains of the dye of guilt or sin removed.

Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow. e

Though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool. (Isa. 1:18)

Just like the process of dyeing cloth, immersion does the same thing to us: we are somehow both changed to our very core and yet still somehow ourselves. Parts of us are precisely the same (our ethnicity, our hair, skin, and eye color, our height, our gender) and yet, we are somehow now different and new. Our minds, our perceptions, our words and actions all reflect this deep change in us. After being immersed in the “dye” of the blood of Messiah, and with the natural outflowing of the Spirit now living in us, we are now like the Mishkan, the Tabernacle in the wilderness, consecrated for the purpose of serving Hashem.

Each of us, Jew and Gentile, anointed and immersed in the oil of the sacrifice of Yeshua Tzidkeinu, when the Spirit has come to dwell in us, reflects the light of Hashem through our joy, simcha. We are who we were before we knew Messiah and yet somehow fundamentally changed, reflecting our God and our Master.

As the Tabernacle was anointed with the sacred oil in Parashat Pekudei, may we walk in the daily anointing of God’s Spirit by loving God and one another, by giving joyfully, and by reflecting the humility of Messiah in all that we do.

Masterpiece in the Desert

Logo of the Bezalel Academy of Arts and Design, Jerusalem

Parashat Vayakhel

Parashat Vayakhel: Exodus 35:1–38:20

Ben Volman, UMJC Canadian Regional Director

When Israel emerged from the desert after 40 years, they were led by one of the most iconic human creations of all time: the ark of the covenant (Josh 3:1–3). According to tradition, Moshe received the original vision of the ark in the presence of God on the heights of Mount Sinai. Though he saw it, Moshe was not called to build it. This parasha gives us some insight into the artistic genius of Israel gifted by God for that purpose: Bezalel, and his equally creative partner in the work, Oholiab. Together, they brilliantly oversaw the design, construction, and numerous artistic talents that fashioned the Mishkan, Israel’s portable setting for worship, known as the Tabernacle, or Tent of Meeting.

We rarely associate Israel’s 40-year trek through the desert with great art, but the biblical text reflects a deep respect for Bezalel and Oholiab’s divinely inspired gifts. Bezalel’s name even has a certain flair. It means, “In the shadow [protection] of God.” The rabbis tell us that when Moshe first shared the vision of the Mishkan, Bezalel immediately grasped certain details that had eluded Moshe. He remarked that Bezalel, in a way, must have been there, “in the shadow of God.”

The Talmud tells us that the people also were required to approve the appointment. This is how Moshe commends Bezalel and his co-worker, Oholiab:

See, Adonai has called by name Bezalel son of Uri son of Hur, of the tribe of Judah. He has filled him with the Ruach of God, with wisdom, understanding and knowledge, in all manner of craftsmanship. . . . He has also placed in his heart the ability to teach—both he and Oholiab son of Ahisamach, of the tribe of Dan. He has filled them with wisdom of heart . . . they can perform every craft and ingenious designs. (Exod 35:30–35)

It’s an impressive seal of approval on their calling, and a midrash gives special attention to their combination of talents. The singular dedication of men from tribes of very different standing in Israel, Bezalel of Judah and Oholiab from Dan, carries an important message about national unity for a great cause.

Indeed, in the barren desert, this uniquely beautiful place of worship fashioned by the Spirit’s gifts of “wisdom, understanding, and knowledge” is nothing less than a renewal of Creation. The Mishkan brings Israel closer to the original relationship we were meant to have with our Creator. The threatening image of angels who guard Gan Eden after the expulsion of Adam and Eve is replaced here by the golden, winged seraphim overseeing “the mercy seat.” This is the spiritual heart of the nation where the children of Abraham can receive absolution from sin and Hashem will be truly present to His people, as he was in the Garden before Adam and Eve sinned.

I have a special sense of connection with Bezalel and Oholiab. My late father, Yossi, a Holocaust survivor from Hungary, grew up in a world which has long since perished. Raised from youth to work in his father’s workshop, he learned the craft of a metalsmith alongside a talented older brother who died in the war. It was a time when much of the industrial world was being constructed in steel, and these skills were highly valued. When Yossi arrived in the concentration camp of Sachsenhausen-Oranienburg, north of Berlin, in 1944, he became a slave laborer, permitted to receive bread with a scraping of butter once a day that allowed him to survive.

Out of the ashes of the past, my father recreated a workshop in the basement of our home. Here he put me and two older brothers through a regimen like the one he had received. I worked alongside him at many jobs, although my own talents would lead in a much different direction. Yet, while we worked in steel, I learned a great deal about art. There was always a striving for excellence in our labor, a love of beauty in the mastery of each skill. The brilliant writer of the apocryphal book Sirach says of the crafters: “they keep stable the fabric of the world, and their prayer is in the practice of their trade” (Sirach 38:34).

Those experiences have in turn shaped me, and I think of myself as a crafter in words. When I consider the past, I not only recall my father, but connect to his beloved brother for whom I am named, and the grandfather murdered in Auschwitz. For some years, I felt some bitterness for toiling at work in which I had no future. And then, I had a thought. My father was giving his sons the only wisdom, understanding, and knowledge that he possessed that he might equip us to survive in circumstances beyond imagining wherever the shadow of God might find us.

In the early years of our Messianic Jewish movement, a sense of freedom in the arts was a wonderful aspect of our unique vision. We recalled that Israel had been famous for its arts, including song, dance, music, and the art of worship, and could be again. That vision was rooted in a spiritual renaissance that was resonating in the rest of the Jewish world.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks reverently recalls how Rav Kook, the first Ashkenazi Chief Rabbi of British Mandatory Palestine, supported the founding of a school for the arts in Israel in 1906. Kook once told a sculptor that he was particularly enamored by Rembrandt’s paintings and even considered him a tzaddik. The painter was one of those who are wonderfully gifted to use light as if he had experienced it on the first day of creation. Rabbi Sacks agrees that in Rembrandt’s pictures, the artist portrays in the faces of his subjects “the transcendental quality of the human, the only thing in the universe on which God set his image.” And this is the name of the school on which Rav Kook gave his blessing and still continues today: the Bezalel Academy of Arts and Design in Jerusalem.

Our gifted brothers, Bezalel and Oholiab, alongside the many artists whose unique talents raised up the Mishkan, were blessed by the Spirit to fulfill an extraordinary vision that unites all of Israel across the ages and ages to come. In the climax of the book of Revelation, when all humanity is united under the reign of Messiah, the ark will also be there: “Then the Temple of God in heaven was opened, and the Ark of His Covenant appeared in His Temple” (Rev. 11:19). The ultimate signature of excellence is in its enduring value. For it is not just a reminder that we have survived. The art of Bezalel and Oholiab has left an indelible imprint on the human imagination and continues to empower the worship of our Creator even long after the ark vanished into mystery.

All Scripture references are taken from the Tree of Life Version.

“Please, Show Me Your Glory!”

Parashat Ki Tisa

Parashat Ki Tisa, Exodus 30:11–34:35

Barri Seif, Congregation Sar Shalom, Dallas

So Moses said to Adonai, “You say to me, ‘Bring up this people,’ but You have not let me know whom You will send with me. Yet You have said, ‘I know you by name, and you have also found grace in My eyes.’ Now then, I pray, if I have found grace in Your eyes, show me Your ways, so that I may know You, so that I might find favor in Your sight. Consider also that this nation is Your people.”

 “My presence will go with you, and I will give you rest,” He answered.

But then he said to Him, “If Your presence does not go with me, don’t let us go up from here!  For how would it be known that I or your people have found favor in Your sight? Isn’t it because You go with us, that distinguishes us from all the people on the face of the earth?”

Adonai answered Moses, “I will also do what you have said, for you have found favor in My sight, and I know you by name.”

Then he said, “Please, show me Your glory!” Exodus 33:12–18 TLV

I love this story of Moses wanting to see God’s glory, waiting to “see” God manifest himself. Rabbi Hertz rightly notes in his commentary, “Emboldened by the success of his plea on behalf of the people, Moses begs the privilege of being acquainted with ‘the glory of God’, i.e. with His eternal qualities” (D.J. Hertz. Pentateuch and Haftorahs, 1973, pg. 363). 

We all want God’s glory. We want to see Him in action. We can all look back at different times of our lives and see how God manifested His presence to us in defined ways. Can I say that I am truly addicted to God’s movement in my life? Yes!  

I would like, however, to take a different perspective on this passage. There are times in our lives when we feel utterly alone. Perhaps we feel misunderstood. The people that we care about seem distant. The heavens are silent; God is quiet. Why do we go through times when we feel like God has placed us in a season of isolation? This is not abandonment. It is not punishment.  

It is a divine process. God isolates you because He has something more extraordinary. 

Before David became king, he was alone in the wilderness, tending sheep. Before Joseph was exalted in Egypt, he was betrayed and sold into slavery. He endured years in prison. Even Yeshua, before his ministry began, spent forty days and forty nights in the wilderness. 

These moments of isolation are not times of despair, but sacred seasons in which God refines, teaches, and prepares us for a greater purpose. Isolation removes the distractions of worldly activities, noise, and opinions. Our vision can get clouded and it’s in these quiet, lonely places that we hear God’s voice more clearly. God’s wisdom speaks to our heart, whispers to our spirit, and molds our character. There are lessons that can only be learned in solitude, waiting, patience, humility, and trust. These are not built in the spotlight and on the mountain top.  

These lessons can only be experienced during times of loneliness and isolation in the dark night of the soul.  

When we are isolated, when everything is stripped away from us and our props are gone, God can put us on the potter’s wheel and mold us for His future purpose. It takes faith to embrace this process.       

Years ago, I was going through a difficult time. I attended a conference, and God made me attentive to the speaker’s words, “get alone with God.” I know that I probably had heard other people speak on the subject of a quiet time, but this time, it was different. God told me to sequester myself and spend time with Him, to quietly sit, read the Bible, then ponder what God had spoken to me through His word. God gave me the strength to persevere through my difficult time, and many more. That dark season prepared me for harder trials, accompanied by greater blessings.  

Times of isolation, solitude, and loneliness are not there to break you, but to make you into something beautiful. They are the chisels in the hand of the Master Sculptor. God has a calling upon our lives, and He uses times of isolation and affliction to get our attention. He wants our focus to be only on Him, and in this pain to call out, “Show me Your glory!” 

This is an opportunity for us to trust God and believe that He is working behind the scenes. He is faithful to bring you through. He who began a good work in you, will be faithful to complete it (Phi 1:6).  

Hebrews 12:11 TLV encourages us, “Now all discipline seems painful at the moment—not joyful. But later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.” 

Twenty-five years ago, I was participating in worship dancing at a conference, never thinking that a missed step would lead me to have broken my right foot in two places, to have two surgeries, recuperating on my bed for almost 6 months with my foot above my heart. What made it worse was that I was in the process of being transferred from Nashville to Kansas City, where many of my Jewish family members lived. My elderly mother took care of me. I was humbled. It was one of the top five worst times of my life. However, on the anvil of affliction, God gave me an assignment — to learn Hebrew, to become a Bat Mitzvah at the ripe age of 45, and to begin a devotional book on the Names of God. That journey of brokenness and broken foot changed the direction of my life. Fifteen years ago, a similar incident happened, two weeks before I was to lead my first charity trip to Israel. I went into Walgreens, went to the ladies’ room, slipped, and broke my left foot. Although my doctor told me that I was allowed to go to Israel, I was ordered not to put my foot down whatsoever. He told me after I returned home how seriously broken it really was and my recuperation took four-and-a-half more months for complete recovery.  

In both instances I knew that I had not sinned, and afterwards I was shown that God was truly orchestrating every single detail for my good. Transformation takes place in this sacred time of suffering and trusting. As Paul told the Philippians, “My aim is to know Him and the power of His resurrection and the sharing of His sufferings, becoming like Him in His death” (Phil 3:10). 

It is in these moments that God refines our heart, chisels away our pride, and builds perseverance for the journey ahead. The quiet often brings clarity. The loneliness brings dependence, and the waiting cultivates our trust. Like Paul, we learn to trust God in the darkness, and we gain a deeper knowledge of Him. 

I love what the Hertz commentary notes about God’s goodness: “Pity is a Divine attribute; and man is never nearer to the divine than in his compassionate moments. God’s merciful qualities are, therefore, the real links between God and man” (Hertz, pg. 363).

Moses had the mountain-top experience with the beautiful encounter of God’s glory as it passed by (Exod 33:21-23). However, we must recall the many challenges of Moses that led up to that moment.

Recall your times in school when during testing the teacher is silent. When tested, remember that the Teacher is silent, yet “Now all discipline seems painful at the moment—not joyful. But later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it” (Heb 12:11 TLV). May we all crave the peaceful fruit of righteousness, as we walk through the valley.

The Sweet Aroma of Prayer

Parashat Tetzaveh

Parashat Tetzaveh, Exodus 27:20–30:10

Rabbi Paul L. Saal, Congregation Shuvah Yisrael, West Hartford, CT

I cannot recall ever smelling incense burning in shul. In my mind, such practices seemed to belong categorically to Roman Catholic or Orthodox churches, or to Buddhist shrines. Most of my own experiences with the scent of burnt fragrances occurred in the dormitory during my college years, when coeds would use incense to cover the smell of illicit cannabis. Clearly, the use of incense was foreign to my own religious experience, and yet, the Torah in both this week’s portion, Tetzaveh, and next week’s, Ki Tisa, describes the burning of aromatic spices, or K’toret, as an important and normative practice for the Kohanim in the Mishkan, the priests in the Tabernacle.

The incense was to be burned by the Kohanim on the golden altar in the Holy Place, just outside the Holy of Holies, before the Ark of the Covenant, both morning and evening each day (Exod 30:1–8). Apparently, this fragrant offering was so crucial that altering its formula or contents in any way would cause estrangement from the entire community (30:37–38). Such an alteration may have been the cause of the death of Nadab and Abihu, the sons of Aaron the Kohen Gadol (Lev 10:1–2), further emphasizing the significance of these burnt offerings.

But why was incense so central to the worship of ancient Israel, when it seems to have no place in Jewish worship today? And how might we derive meaning from this practice for today? First, we must recognize that we live in a world that is separated from theirs not only by time and distance but also by fundamentally different worldviews. Modern worshipers are part of a principally cerebral world, where our worship is dominated by articulated ideas. In contrast, ancient Israel was more attuned to phenomena and sensory experience. Their worship was enriched and defined by sights, sounds, and, yes, even smells. The rising scent from the golden altar was meant to accompany, and perhaps even define, the prayers of Israel. This is why the psalmist pleads, “May my prayer be set before you like incense; may the lifting up of my hands be like the evening sacrifice” (Psa 141:2), and why the author of the New Covenant Apocalypse uses the same figurative language (Rev 5:8; 8:3, 4).

To help translate the meaning of K’toret for today, I like to use an acronym that provides not just the formula for incense but a formula for appropriate prayer as well—Kedusha (holiness), Tohar (purity), Rachamim (mercy), and Tikvah (hope).

● Kedusha (holiness) – Appropriate prayer must encompass all that is holy and sacred. When the community of faith prays, it must envision itself as set apart and sanctified, preparing for the Age to Come. We realize that our actions matter, and they have the potential to sanctify God’s name in this world (Kiddush HaShem). Holiness has a sense of locality and proximity; just as the Holy Place was the only appropriate place to burn the sacred incense, we must create sacred spaces (synagogues) and sacred times (such as Shabbat) for prayer.

● Tohar (purity) – Prayer should be offered in an orderly fashion and from pure hearts. Tohar suggests an appropriate state of being for all of creation. Every creation and creature have a unique and appropriate state of being, which can also describe the proper state of being when coming into God’s presence. Nadab and Abihu’s disastrous results came when they tried to innovate and offer “strange fire,” as we mentioned earlier. The Apostle Paul often spoke of the importance of proper order in worship (1 Cor 14). Jewish prayer should follow the structure of keva (order) and kavanah (intention) to maintain purity. Without these, our prayers may be sincere but not authentically Jewish.

● Rachamim (mercy, compassion) – Prayers without genuine compassion are faithless (James 2:16). God would not even hear Israel’s prayers if they failed to care for the widow and the orphan (Isa 48). Jewish tradition tells the story of Rabbi Moshe Leib of Sassov, who was late for Kol Nidre one year. When asked why, he explained that on his way to shul, he encountered an unattended child that he took time to attend. Although expected at the Yom Kippur service, he explained, “In our prayers, we often call God HaRachaman (the merciful one), but an act of rachmanut (mercy) is also a prayer.”

● Tikvah (hope) – “Now faith is being sure of what we hope for . . .” (Heb 11:1). In July 1944, just a month before the Nazis captured her and her family, Anne Frank wrote in her diary: “I see the world gradually being turned into a wilderness. I hear the ever-approaching thunder that will destroy us too. I can feel the sufferings of millions. And yet, if I look up into the heavens, I think that it will all come out all right, that this cruelty too will end, and that peace and tranquility will return again.” Prayer demands that we speak into the world as it is, with the assurance of a world that does not yet exist. It is only through the hope and trust in God’s promises that our prayers can be truly effective.

While we no longer burn incense, symbolically, we can continue to offer a sweet savor to the nostrils of HaShem. We do this by sanctifying God’s name, ourselves, and those around us. This is only possible by keeping ourselves pure and maintaining God’s highest standards. We must grow in compassion and show pity to those who may not deserve it. Finally, we must maintain hope—not in utopian illusions or theological abstractions, but in God’s promises and in the substance of the age that will surely come.

The Mishkan and the Restoration of Israel

Parashat Terumah

Parashat Terumah, Exodus 25:1–27:19

Matheus Zandona, Har Tzion Congregation, Belo Horizonte, Brazil

וְעָ֥שׂוּ לִ֖י מִקְדָּ֑שׁ וְשָׁכַנְתִּ֖י בְּתוֹכָֽם׃

"And they shall make Me a sanctuary, and I shall dwell inside of them." (Exodus 25:8)

The directive to construct the Mishkan (Tabernacle) is fundamental within the order of Parashat Terumah. Along with guiding an architectural endeavor, this command also indicates a deeply theological truth: God’s presence does not seek to be limited to a physical structure but rather desires to live among His people. The Tabernacle—and later on, the Temple—was a means of education to Israel on holiness, the significance of sin, and, most importantly, their divine vocation: to be a kingdom of priests and a holy nation (Exodus 19:6).

Jewish philosopher and theologian Michael Wyschogrod devoted considerable attention to God's indwelling in the people of Israel. He underscored that Israel was not chosen to be “Hashem’s abode in the created world” merely for its own sake, but for the redemption of the world (The Body of Faith: God and the people of Israel, p. 212). A restored and reunited Israel serves as evidence of God’s love for the world and aids in its salvation. This perspective corresponds with many prophecies concerning the restoration of Israel, as in Isaiah 60:1-3:

Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you. For behold, darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples; but the Lord will arise upon you, and His glory will be seen upon you. And nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your rising.

The apostle Paul connects Israel’s restoration with the revelation of Yeshua to His people, bringing an unprecedented world revival:

For if their rejection (of Yeshua) means the reconciliation of the world, what will their acceptance mean but life from the dead? (Romans 11:15)

Israel was created to be the Mishkan of God, the place where He dwells among the nations. Every time we announce the Good News of redemption in Yeshua to our people, we are working toward the restoration of His Mishkan. But there is another way to join this divine task: through aiding the sons of Abraham to return to their lost heritage. This reconnection is a crucial element of Israel’s eschatological restoration, which in turn signals the ultimate redemption of the world. An example that stands out in this case are the Anusim, the descendants of Jews who were forcibly converted during the time of the Inquisition.

A parallel can be drawn between the basic structure of the Mishkan and the spiritual journey of the Anusim. The Mishkan had three levels of holiness:

The Outer Court — open to all Israelites, representing the initial phase of restoration, where one reclaims their Jewish identity.

The Holy Place — accessible only to the priesthood, symbolizing a deeper commitment to spiritual refinement.

The Holy of Holies — where the Shechinah (Divine Presence) rested, representing the full reintegration into the people of Israel.

The Portuguese sage Don Isaac Abarbanel, who witnessed the expulsion of the Jews from Spain in 1492, foresaw the return of the Anusim in his commentary on Ezekiel 20:

The Ingathering of the Exiles will include not only those who are part of the community of Israel, but also those who were compelled to leave the faith, for all of God’s sheep shall return to the flock. (https://www.jpost.com/opinion/fundamentally-freund-the-abarbanel-and-the-return-of-the-bnei-anusim-423752)

Writing on Deuteronomy 30, Abarbanel adds:

In the End of Days, God will awaken in the hearts of the Anusim a desire to return to Him. . . . And when they return to God and follow Him, everyone according to his status and his ability, He promises that the exalted God will bring them close to Him.

Abarbanel was convinced, based on his interpretation of biblical prophecy, that the Anusim would one day return to the people of Israel. But their return is not only about their own longing—it is also about the Jewish world opening its heart to receive them.

Today, as in the past, the return of the Anusim is a subject symbolized in many Jewish communities as an indication of Israel's redemption. Their story is one of trails of tears, triumph, and faithfulness. After several centuries of forced conversions, persecution, and even exile, they did not completely lose their Jewish identity. The Jewish soul within them is now crying out: “we need to come back home”! Their return today stands as a testament to the restoration of Israel echoing the prophetic vision of Ezekiel’s valley of dry bones:

Behold, I will open your graves and raise you from your graves, O My people. And I will bring you into the land of Israel. (Ezekiel 37:12)

The medieval Jewish thinker Rabbi Yehuda HaLevi wrote in The Kuzari about the vision of Israel’s restoration in Ezekiel:

These bones retain a trace of vitality, because they were once the vessels of a living heart, head, spirit, soul, and mind.

This image fits the Anusim, who, though hidden for centuries, remained a vital part of Israel’s spiritual body. The prophet Jeremiah also foresaw this restoration embodied in a Renewed Covenant that is made with all Israel:

“Behold, the days are coming,” says the Lord, “when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and with the house of Judah. . . . I will put My law within them, and I will write it on their hearts. And I will be their God, and they shall be My people.” (Jeremiah 31:31, 33)

These days, conversations around the return of the Anusim are increasing in scholarly discussions. But to what extent does this issue concern the Jewish follower of Yeshua? What is essential is that if we trust in the future redemption of Israel, we must also accept that the return of the Anusim is an act of God, with Yeshua at the epicenter. Will our movement play any role in this prophetic gathering of our people?

In Brazil, Ministério Ensinando de Sião (Teaching from Zion Ministry), Congregation Har Tzion, and the Museum of the History of the Inquisition are actively working to reconnect the Anusim with their Jewish heritage. Through historical research, education, and spiritual guidance, we help them rediscover their place in the covenantal story of Israel, keeping the most important gift Israel has given them: Yeshua as our promised Messiah!

It is more than just an interesting subject and a tragic story; the restoration of the Anusim is one of Israel’s redemptive motifs. God will certainly bring the outcasts of Israel back, whether we wish to get involved or not. The good news, however, is that He is giving us the chance to engage in this redemption, being His partners. The question is, will we accept this challenge as Jewish followers of Yeshua?

Yeshua’s focus was on restoration—looking for the lost sheep from the House of Israel and waiting for the world’s redemption. The building of the Mishkan was a divine mission which symbolized a restored Israel as the indwelling of the divine glory, reflecting God’s light to all humanity. The return of the Anusim is part of this process.

“In that day I will restore David's fallen Tabernacle. I will repair its broken places, restore its ruins, and build it as it used to be, so that they may possess the remnant of Edom and all the nations that bear my name,” declares the Lord, who will do these things. (Amos 9:11–12)

While reflecting on Parashat Terumah, let us never forget that we are living tabernacles of His Shechinah. And our goal is to show forth His light, demonstrate love, and actively take part in His covenantal promises. “The kingdom of God is within you” (Luke 17:21).

Let's appreciate this call and work with the Almighty to restore Israel, so that the whole world once again can be a place of God’s divine presence.