Rabbi Charles P. Sherman
David Goldsmith Bar Mitzvah
Shabbat Terumah
February 8, 2003
The Gods See Everywhere
There once was a Greek sculptor named Phidias. This sculptor was commissioned to make a statue which would be set against the wall in one of the rooms of a temple in Athens. Phidias used only the best and most expensive materials for this commission, giving care and devotion to every inch of the statue.
A friend asked him: “I can understand why you work so hard on the front of the statute, for that will be seen by a lot of people; but, why must you work so hard on the back? The back will be up against a wall and no one will see it anyway.”
The artist’s answer was: “The gods see everywhere.” It was a wise answer, for it expresses the insight that a true artist does not create only in order to impress others, but to express himself. If his aim were only to impress others, then it would have been enough for Phidias to work on the visible part of the statue; but if the goal was to express his innermost self, then the work of art had to be right – both inside and out.
I doubt very much if Phidias knew our Torah portion for this week, because the Bible had not yet penetrated into the Greece of his time. But if Phidias had read the words which David chanted this morning, he would have understood and responded to Exodus, Chapter 25, Verse 11. This verse directly parallels the story of Phidias.
As you heard, this week’s Parasha describes the building of the Aron Kodesh – the Holy Ark. Moses is told that the ark will be made of acacia wood and be covered with gold. The two words which I think Phidias would understand very well are mi-bayit umichutz – “oth inside and outside” you’ll cover it with gold. Outside where the people can see it and inside where no one but God will know. Both inside and outside must be made of the same pure material and both must be treated with the same care and devotion.
The sages of our Talmud comment that from this verse we learn that any Talmid Chacham – any disciple of the wise – who is not the same kind of person inside and out is not a disciple of the wise. One cannot be impressive in his/her piety when people are looking and a scoundrel when no one else will know.
I was explaining to my class at TU last week about how a Torah scroll is written and who the people who engage in this sacred work are. A sofer, a Torah scribe, must be an observant Jew who lives his own daily life by the values and instructions of the Torah text; if not, it makes no difference how talented a calligrapher he is, how steady his hand is. His work will not be accepted, no matter how beautiful it appears, if it doesn’t come from the heart, if it isn’t a reflection of the person himself.
Unfortunately, history is full of philosophers and scholars who have written the most lofty and inspired thoughts on life and love for their fellow humans, but in their private lives, they are arrogant, insensitive, caring more for their writings than for actual people. This is not the Torah concept of a Talmid Chacham, a disciple of the wise. A Talmid Chacham must always be a practitioner of what he studies and teaches. Mi-bayit umichutz – the same inside and out.
There is a word in the English language which has its origin in the same concept. The word is “sincere.” It comes from two Latin words – sine and cera – which mean “without wax.” When artists were commissioned to produce a work of sculpture, those who were honest would use pure marble. Those who were scam artists, fraudulent, would use good material in front, the part people could see, and inferior material in the back and then patch up the holes with wax. For this reason, when a work was completed, the artist would attest to the quality of his work by signing that it had been done “sin-cerely” – that is, without wax. So, to this day, when we sign a letter “sincerely”, we’re supposed to be testifying to the truth of our words.
Do you know the story about a shopkeeper who told his friend that he had a moral dilemma? “Yesterday a customer who trades with us regularly, by mistake, gave me a one-hundred dollar bill instead of a ten-dollar bill.”
“I understand,” said the friend. “The moral dilemma is whether or not to keep the money.”
“No,” answered the shopkeeper, “of course I’ll keep the money. My dilemma is whether or not to tell my partner about it.”
The cynical tone of this story reflects an all too-popular attitude about the world of business. Business is business, buyer beware – unfortunately this attitude has become widely accepted and even expected. What is open and visible to the public in products and services will not necessarily be the same as what is inside, behind closed doors. It is really a very unfortunate state of affairs.
The principle of mi-bayit umichutz, that what is inside should be the same as what is outside, works in a different area of life, a more important arena as well. To illustrate, let me share with you a beautiful story by Gene Bedley, the principal of the El Camino Real Elementary School in Irvine, California. It is a story about parenting which I found in that delightful book Chicken Soup for the Soul.
“One night, after reading one of the hundreds of parenting books I’ve read, I was feeling a little guilty because the book had described some parenting strategies I hadn’t used in a while. The main strategy was to talk with your child and use those three magic word, ‘I love you.’ It had stressed over and over that children need to know, unconditionally and unequivocally, that you really love them.
“I went upstairs to my son’s bedroom and knocked on the door. As I knocked, all I could hear was his drums. I knew he was there, but he wasn’t answering. So I opened the door and sure enough, there he was, sitting with his earphones on, listening to a tape and playing his drums. After I leaned over to get his attention, I said to him, ‘Tim, have you got a second?’
“He said, ‘Oh, sure, Dad. I’m always good for one.’ We proceeded to sit down and after about fifteen minutes and a lot of small talk and stuttering, I just looked at him and said, ‘Tim, I really love the way you play drums.’ He said, ‘Oh, thanks, Dad. I appreciate it.’
“I walked out of the door and said, ‘See you later!’ As I was walking downstairs, it dawned on me that I went up there with a certain message and had not delivered it. I felt it was really important to get back up there and have another chance to say those three magic words.
“Again, I climbed the stairs, knocked on the door and opened it. ‘You got a second, Tim?’ “Sure, Dad. I’m always good for a second or two. What do you need?’
“‘Son, the first time I came up here to share a message with you, something else came out. It really wasn’t what I wanted to share with you. Tim, do you remember when you were learning how to drive? It caused me a lot of problems. I wrote three words and slipped them under your pillow in hopes that would take care of it. I’d done my part as a parent and expressed my love to my son.’ Finally, after a little small talk, I looked at Tim and said, ‘What I want you to know is that we love you.’
“He looked at me and said, ‘Oh, thanks, Dad. That’s you and Mom?’ I said, ‘Yeah, that’s both of us; we just don’t express it enough.’ He said, ‘Thanks, that means a lot. I know you do.’
“I turned around and walked out the door. As I was walking downstairs, I started thinking, ‘I can’t believe this. I’ve already been up there twice – I know what the message is and yet, something else comes out of my mouth.’
“I decided to go back there now and let Tim know exactly how I feel. He’s going to hear it directly from me. I don’t care if he is six feet tall! So back I go, knock on the door and he yells. ‘Wait a minute. Don’t tell me who it is. Could that be you, Dad?’
“I said, ‘How’d you know that?’ and he responded, “I’ve known you ever since you were a parent, Dad.’ Then I said, ‘Son, have you got just one more second?’ ‘You know I’m good for one, so come on in. I suppose you didn’t tell me what you wanted to tell me.’ I said, ‘How’d you know that?’ ‘I’ve known you ever since I was in diapers.’
“I said, ‘Well, here it is, Tim , what I’ve been holding back on. I just want to express to you how special you are to our family. It’s not what you do, and it’s not what you’ve done, like all the things you’re doing with the junior high kids in town. It’s who you are as a person. I love you, and I just wanted you to know I love you, and I don’t know why I hold back on something so important.’
“He looked at me, and he said, ‘Hey, Dad, I know you do and it’s really special hearing you say it to me. Thanks so much for your thoughts, as well as the intent.’ As I was walking out the door, he said, ‘Oh, hey, Dad. Have you got another second?’
“I started thinking, ‘Oh, no. What’s he going to say to me?’ I replied, ‘Oh, sure. I’m always good for one.’ . . . He said, ‘Dad, I just want to ask you one question.’
“I said, ‘What’s that?’ He looked at me and said, ‘Dad, have you been to a workshop or something like that?’ I’m thinking, ‘Oh, no, like any other 18-year-old, he’s got my number,’ and I said, ‘No, I was reading a book, and it said how important it is to tell your kids how you really feel about them.’
“‘Hey, thanks for taking the time. Talk to you later, Dad.’
“I think what Tim taught me, more than anything else that night, is that the only way you can understand the real meaning and purpose of love is to be willing to pay the price. You have to go out there and risk sharing it.”
Dear friends, how often do we feel great love and pride inside, but never share it, never display it on the outside? How many of us hold our feelings inside until it is too late? How many tears are shed at funerals because of the countless lost opportunities? Mi-bayit umichutz, the Torah tells us that we must be the same on the outside as we are on the inside.
When we are summoned before the Divine Judge at the end of our lives and show the work of art which we have produced – which is our lives – may each of us be able to say that whatever we have made of ourselves was done sincerely. May we be able to say that we were the same kind of people, inside and out, in public and in private where only God could see. Whenever we said to ourself how much we love someone, we actually shared that sentiment with those we loved. If we can say that, then like Phidias of Greece and like Betzalel, who built the ark, we will have produced a work of art that will be counted as truly sacred. Kayn y’hi ratzon – with God’s help, may we make it so. Amen
This message is based on the writings of Rabbi Jack Riemer,
whose inspiration I sincerely acknowledge.
