Terumah: The Silver Sockets: Finding God in Simplicity
Liluei Nishmas Ita bas Chanoch Aharon Bistritzky
This week's parsha is Terumah. "Terumah" means a gift, a giving. The first giving in this week's parsha says, "Give for Me a gift." Rashi says this refers to a unique gift – the gift that every Jew gave for the sockets, the foundation of the Mishkan, and the silver sockets that the wall beams fit into.
What was unique about this gift compared to any other gift or giving that built the Mishkan? This one was equal for every single Jew. Every Jew gave one half-shekel silver coin. You couldn't give more; you couldn't give less. To give gold for the walls, for the Menorah, for the altar – for those things, any Jew could give whatever they wanted, whatever they had. But for the sockets specifically, each Jew needed to give equally – no more and no less than one silver coin.
We need to understand: What was so unique about these sockets? Why specifically here, did every Jew give equally?
Second, specifically about this gift, the Torah says, "Take for Me a terumah." In other words, this is not described as a giving of the heart, as is said by some of the other gifts. This isn't a gift that comes from an inspired heart. It doesn't say that this is the gift of a Jew's inspiration. About these silver sockets that were at the bottom of the Mishkan, it says that this is a gift of God.
What was so unique about these sockets, and what do they represent in life?
To put it simply, the Lubavitch Rebbe says that the sockets represent the simple, fundamental humility of a Jew – the humble kabalat ol (acceptance of God's yoke): "God wants me to do something, so I do it." Before any sophistication, before any intellect, before any understanding, before any deeply integrated emotion of love or fear of Hashem – just the simple giving over of "I'm Yours. Tell me what You want me to do, and I'm going to do it."
At this most primal, basic level of a Jew's relationship with Hashem, every Jew is equal – from the greatest tzaddik to the biggest rasha. Every Jew has that space in them where it's just "God, I'm Yours. What do You want me to do? And I'm going to do it."
Specifically, this unique type of service of Hashem – the service that involves no ego, no self, and just comes out of a simple commitment to Hashem – this, Hashem says, is not the gift of a human. This isn't a gift where you see an inspired heart. This is a gift where you see God Himself, says Hashem.
We sometimes encounter people who demonstrate this pure simplicity in their service of Hashem. People who do mitzvos without fanfare do so without needing recognition. Perhaps they make sure to send Shabbos candle-lighting times to friends and family. Perhaps they are meticulously careful about tznius (modesty) without ever considering bending the standards. Perhaps they recite Shema every night regardless of their reading abilities or take on an additional mitzvah after the passing of a loved one – simply because it's what Hashem wants, with no need for others to know.
You see something in such neshamos that's so pure, so primal. And at that level, everyone – from the most sophisticated to the most simple, from the most brilliant to the least brilliant – has that space in them that exists no matter what. All of our sophisticated layers sometimes block this, but as a line I read once says, "Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication." At some point, we realize what's life all about? Go back to that primal space of a relationship between a Jew and Hashem: How should I be acting as a Jew? I'm going to do it. And no one needs to know about it. It doesn't need to have anything fancy or any sauce.
This is the most elevated gift – the giving of the sockets, the simple giving of the sockets, which is really the foundation of everything we do. Just being kind to people, working on our mitzvos and our relationship with God in a way that doesn't have the static of the social pressures that many of us live with. And in that gift, in that giving, you see the essence of the soul. You see the essence of God that is hard to see in most of us socially well-adjusted, "normal" people.
Adapted from “Life Talks on the Parsha”