Everyone Has a Gift

I have been in the shul business now, coming on 24 years. And over these years, it has been my privilege to work with literally hundreds of committed Jews both lay and professional.

More than once, I have noticed a member of the congregation begin an adult education class, or sit on a committee for the first time, looking nervous and downright insecure.

I speak with them after the class or the meeting and I acknowledge their anxiety and I ask them why? The synagogue of all the places in our lives is a warm and accepting place. We welcome everyone and we welcome everyone just the way they are.

And then they enlighten me and remind me that I have to pay closer attention. They say “ Rabbi, I am nervous because I can barely read Hebrew. My Jewish background is not very extensive. I am sure most people in this class or on this committee know more than me. I am so new at all of this. I am an accomplished adult out in the world but I feel like a child when I walk in these doors.”

“I feel like a child when I walk in these doors. How can I, of all people, contribute and make a difference in this place, in this community?”

I think of these good people as I read the parasha this morning. It begins with a description of the Menorah in the Tabernacle. What is the Menorah? It is very simply a candelabra designed to light an inner chamber of the Tabernacle. And we read in the text, “daber el aharon v’amarta elav, behaalotecha et hanerot el mul p’nai hamemora, ya’eru shivat ha nerot.” “Speak to Aaron and say to him, ‘when you kindle the lamps, toward the face of the Menorah, shall the seven lamps cast light.” The lights shine towards the face of the candelabra itself. This seems to imply that light of the menorah somehow shines back on itself. Rashi says that the three branches on the left of the Menorah shine towards the central branch and the three candles on the right shine back to the center as well and according to the Artscroll Chumash, this focus towards the center concentrates all seven candles into perhaps, an intense single beam. I think, “Raiders of the Lost Ark,” the light of God, blinding, brilliant, shining a laser beam that can burn through things. And there is drama here. Divine light exploding into the ritual lives of human beings.

I like this notion inspired by Rashi. It’s interesting. But I find another understanding of the Menorah even more compelling. It is brought to us from the Sefat Emet, a Chasidic scholar, 19th century Poland. He explains the meaning of the Menorah by bringing a midrash from a collection of midrashim called “B’midbar Rabbah.” Art Green translates the passage for us: “A king asked his loving subject to prepare a meal for him. [The subject] did so gladly, but all in his own ordinary vessels. When the king arrived, accompanied by all his retinue and finery, the subject became embarrassed and put all his own things away. When the king asked where the meal was that he had prepared, the loving subject had to admit that he had been ashamed. But the king immediately insisted that all the royal finery be set aside and that they use only that which this devoted subject had prepared for him.”

Sefat Emet then writes, “We see from the story that it was proper for the subject to prepare the meal as he did, even though he saw all the king’s fancy vessels. Despite everything the king already had, the subject had to do his part....”

So this is a very different way of looking at the Menorah. The Menorah is just a utensil like the subject’s serving dishes for the king. The king didn’t care about the dishes, he didn’t even care about the food. He cared about his subject. God is the king in the midrash and God doesn’t care about the Menorah. Does God need the Menorah’s light in the Tabernacle to see what is going on there? Does God even need the Tabernacle; it was just a tent made of animal skins. Inside was a candle holder with seven candles. God’s light wasn’t in there. This was a simple little structures in which were simple little things. It was all that a wandering people in the desert could offer up to their God. One day there would be a glorious Temple in Jerusalem; one of the construction wonders of the world. That was drama. But the Tabernacle wasn’t drama; it was small, it was simple, it was modest. It was the best the people could do. Let me say this another way, “it was the best, the people could do.

And according to Sefat Emet, God was delighted with the gift of the Tabernacle because it was genuine; it was from the heart and soul of the People of Israel. Small gifts matter. Even a slave people wandering in a wasteland, can give a gift worth giving, accepted and beloved of God.

It doesn’t matter who we are. It doesn’t matter what we know. Every human being has something to contribute, no matter how modest they think that contribution may be. I have witnessed some of the most searching and profound questions coming from a brand new student of Torah. I have witnessed some of the most helpful and meaningful contributions to the shul coming from the least experienced committee member. Everyone brings their own personality, their own ideas, and their own selves to the community and without each of those gifts; the community would be very much impoverished.

God doesn’t seek brilliance, He seeks the heart. When the first sibling, Abel, brought his gift to God, it consisted of one of his best sheep. But it was only a sheep; what does God care about sheep? But the text implies, because it was the best of Abel’s sheep, God was pleased. Cain just brought some wheat --it wasn’t the best wheat; he probably didn’t think too much about his gift, he probably didn’t really care overmuch about it and God rejected it.

Every one of us has a gift to give to the community. Every one of us has a contribution to make that will make a difference. If given with love, with generosity, with a full heart, no matter what it is, it will be accepted and cherished by this community and by God.

I have always imagined that the Menorah wasn’t important because it shined light upon the utensils in the inner chamber of the Tabernacle. Rather, the Menorah was important because it shined light upon the face of the Priest. It was what the Priest as a human being could bring to God that mattered to God. It is the gift of our best selves that we bring to each other and to the community that matters to God. The question, then, that each of us must ask of him or herself? “What will my gift be?”