Rabbi Charles P. Sherman
February 27, 2004
The Rabbi's Gift
This is the Shabbat of gift-giving. Our Torah portion tells how Moses commanded the people of Israel to bring gifts for the construction of our People's very first sanctuary. The people did as they were instructed; they brought all kinds of gifts - gold, silver, copper, brass, wool for the curtains, oil for the menorah. In addition to material gifts, our Torah portion says that the people also brought their talents. This one was a weaver; another was a craftsman; they donated their gifts for the construction and the beautification of the sanctuary.
According to our Torah, there was never such a gift-giving campaign in the history of the world. This effort to secure skills, funds and equipment for the sanctuary was incredibly successful; the collectors were deluged with gifts. The people brought so much that Moses had to issue an order telling people to please stop giving.
So I want to talk with you this evening about the nature of gifts, and I want to do so by telling you one of my very favorite stories about gifts. Titled "The Rabbi's Gift" - this story can teach us about the voluntary offerings which the Israelites brought in the time of the Bible and about the gifts that we bring to each other and to our God in our own day.
Once upon a time there was a monastery, which had fallen on hard times. It had once been a large monastery but times changed. The old monks died off, and young people did not come to take their place. Things reached the point where only five old monks and the abbot were left. These last remaining monks gradually lost their spirit and enthusiasm, for what was the use if the monastery was soon going to close anyway?
So while the monks still visited the sick, they did so without enthusiasm. They still prayed, but they did so out of habit. They still helped the poor, but they did so mechanically.
One day the abbot decided to go and visit his friend, the rabbi, to see if he could give him any advice on how to save the monastery, which seemed to be on its last legs. The rabbi listened carefully to the abbot's words. And then he said: "I can't tell you how to keep the monastery alive. And I can't tell you how to attract young people to join, for I know very little about such things. But this I can tell you. One of you is the Messiah!"
"One of us is the Messiah???" How can that be? The abbot was astonished by the rabbi's words and when he came back and told the other monks, they too were shocked. One said: "Who could it possibly be? Could it be Brother John? No, he is a sleepy and lazy man. It couldn't be him! But on the other hand, he does have a sweet and kindly manner. Maybe, maybe it is Brother John!"
And another one of the monks said: "Who could it possible be? Could it be Brother Paul? No, he is a slow moving man who has a poor education and who never has anything worthwhile to say. It couldn't be him! But on the other hand, he IS always there whenever you need some help. Maybe, maybe it is Brother John!"
And so it went. Each monk wondered if one of the other monks just might be the Messiah. Then, an even more astonishing thought came to them. "What if it's me? What if I am the Messiah? No, it couldn't be. But then again, who knows? Maybe it is me."
And from then on, the monks began to treat each other more respectfully; just on the off chance that one of them might be the Messiah. And just on the off chance that they themselves might be the Messiah, they began to treat themselves more respectfully.
And as they did, their prayers took on new vitality, their care for the sick became more loving, and their attention to the poor became more generous.
Now this monastery happened to be located in a lovely spot, to which people would sometimes come to picnic. When people came there, they could hear the monks singing, and they could see the monks helping the poor and the sick. Impressed by the spirit in which the monks worked, people began to come back to this place, and they began to bring their friends too. Slowly but surely, some young people began talking to these monks, and they were much impressed with their kindness and wisdom. Soon, some of them decided to join the order and within a few years, the monastery had been restored to its former glory - all because of the rabbi's gift.
The key to this story is in its title: The Rabbi's Gift. What exactly was the rabbis' gift in this story? He did not give them ideas for how to do better public relations or how to be more effective fund-raisers for the monastery. He did not make a donation to enable them to be financially solvent. All he did was hint that each one of them had enormous potential.
As a result, the monks began treating each other with much more respect and reverence, just in case. He hinted that each of them had enormous potential, and so they began treating themselves with respect and reverence, and it worked. Once they treated each other and themselves with respect and reverence, those feelings radiated out from them and attracted others and drew them close. That was the rabbi's gift - an entirely different perspective on who they were and who they might be.
Now with that beautiful story in mind, let's reconsider this week's Torah reading. What does God ask of the Israelites? That they bring their gold, silver, bronze, copper, jewelry - their finest possessions - for the sake of the sanctuary. And it was a request, not a commandment. Moses is told: "Take gifts from all those asher yidvenu libo - whose heart prompts him/her to give." This means the people could have said "no". And from what we know of these people, we would not have been surprised if they said no. These are the people who had done nothing but complain since the day they left Egypt. When they came to the Reed Sea and saw the Egyptian army coming behind them, they wanted to turn around and go back to Egypt. When they were thirsty in the desert, they were ready to go back to Egypt. When they ran out of food, they grumbled; when they got food, they grumbled that they did not like it. When they were told to only gather the manna for six days a week, they went out and gathered on the seventh. So this is not a people you would expect to give anything away sacrificially - and yet they did, in record numbers! How can we explain that?
Let me suggest one possibility. Perhaps when God told them that they were going to be allowed the privilege and honor of building a sanctuary for God, they were deeply moved by the assignment. Can it be that we are good enough to build a house for God, we who were slaves but yesterday? We who had to do whatever our masters told us to do, are we now so special that we can be entrusted to build a home for God on earth? How can that be?
Chaim over there, whom I worked with in Egypt, Chaim who was a lazy and a clumsy carpenter is now going to help construct God's sanctuary? And Levy, who can not cut a straight line, is going to have the honor of weaving the holy curtains? And Reuben, who in Egypt could not make a pair of pants to save his life, is going to be entrusted with the task of making the priests' sacred vestments? And God thinks they can do it?
Well if God thinks so then, who knows, maybe they can. Maybe I have underestimated these guys all these years. And God thinks I can do this too, God thinks that I have the potential to help create something sacred? I don't think that I can, but if God does - well, then maybe I'll give it a try.
And God thinks that I'm capable of giving up the gold and the silver and the brass and the copper that I took with so much effort on the night that we left Egypt - God thinks that I can give some of these things away that I've schlepped with me all the way from Egypt? What makes God think that an ex-slave like me is capable of this kind of generosity? But then, if God thinks I can, then maybe I can.
And so the people brought their gifts in record amounts; they gave more than anyone has ever given in the history of fund-raising. They gave sacrificially and, in the process, they themselves were transformed from a motley group of ex-slaves who only cared about material things into people with a vision of God's house and with a vision of themselves as God's partners.
I believe that the key to understanding this week's Torah portion is to understand that God was actually giving a gift to these people. By asking for the very best that they possessed, God was saying to them - I know that each and every one of you is capable of giving of your very best. I know that each and every one of you is capable of generosity and sacrifice. You may never have given very much before; you may have no previous experience in giving at all, but I believe that you can do it. And I believe that if you do, you will look upon each other and you will look upon yourselves differently. You will see yourselves not as people who measure themselves by how much they have, but rather you'll come to see yourselves as people who are bigger than yourselves and who are capable of doing so much - and that was God's gift to the Israelites.
The rabbi's gift to the monks in the monastery was to teach them how to see themselves and how to see each other. Once they learned how to do that, everything else fell into place. So may it be with us.
May we understand our potential. May we see ourselves as God would have us see ourselves. If we can do this, then giving generously will never be painful. Instead it will be a source of joy to us and to our God. Amen
This message is based on the work of my gifted colleague, Rabbi Jack Riemer.
