Reflections on Parashat Terumah: Making Space for God and Hope

Each year, when I read Parashat Terumah, I struggle to visualize the details of the Mishkan, the tabernacle we were instructed to build in the wilderness. This year, the meticulous descriptions of gold clasps, acacia wood, and embroidered curtains left me bored. But as I sat with the text, three other thoughts emerged.

1. Creation and the Tabernacle

Commentators often compare the construction of the Mishkan to the creation of the world. This year, I finally compared the two texts myself. The contrast is striking: God’s creation of the world is described in one parasha. The instructions for building the Mishkan span many chapters. Why does it take so much effort for us to make space for God, when it took much less for God to make space for us?

Perhaps the answer lies in love. God’s creation of the world was effortless; but our building of sacred space requires effort, generosity, and precision. Parashat Terumah tells us that donations for the Mishkan should come from the heart. Maybe that is the dwelling place that God desires, not a physical structure, but the space we conscientiously carve out in ourselves through effort and intention. It may even be that the labor itself makes room in our hearts

2. The Curtain Between the Holy and the Most Holy

The Mishkan is a place of order and separation, much like the laws of kashrut or Shabbat, which divide the sacred from the profane. But the Mishkan doesn’t just divide between holy and secular; it distinguishes between holy and most holy. The innermost chamber, the Holy of Holies, is concealed behind a curtain, as the summit of Har Sinai was hidden by cloud. Holiness is not a simple binary. We might want the world to be black and white, but reality is multi-layered and complex and worthy of contemplation.

3. Hope in the Midst of Darkness

The most powerful idea in this parasha for me this year comes from a legend that the wood used to build the Mishkan came from trees that Jacob had brought to Egypt generations earlier. Over the generations, those trees stood as a silent promise. Whenever the enslaved Israelites looked at them, they felt hope that redemption would come.

Not the most compelling of Jewish legends, but it made me reflect, as I often have the last few weeks, on the hope and resilience shown by the recently released hostages who, despite the horrors of their captivity and the grief that awaited them at home, have still found a way to lift up and display their hope for all of us to see. Each and every one of them has been a radiant exemplar of the best quality of Israelis: resilience.

At the funeral of his wife and two children, for whom he had sacrificed himself, only to learn they had perished while he was in captivity, Yarden Bibas said, “Shiri, guard me so I don’t sink into darkness.” He still sees light! He still has hope. I don't know how that is possible.

An Australian news station desribed the day of the funeral as a dark day for Israel. And yet, for the first time in months, I saw light— not because of my own worldview, but because Yarden Bibas, of all people, could still find words of hope.

The Israelites carried Jacob’s trees with them into the wilderness, using them to build the Mishkan. Perhaps we, too, carry some unseen reserve of strength and resilience that allows us to build light even in the darkest places.

Dream Doorway

Last night, I dreamed I was standing in a threshold—stuck there. My feet wouldn’t move and I was unable to step forward. When I woke up, the feeling lingered.

I’ve thought about leaving Israel countless times, even come close, yet here I am still here. Still hovering in that in-between space. The dream felt like a message, but I needed more clarity. So I turned to my tarot deck.

I drew the Five of Cups reversed, Eight of Pentacles reversed, and the Tower reversed.

Even before analyzing the cards, I could see how they mirrored my situation. Dreaming of being stuck in a doorway captures everything: neither fully in nor out, caught in the space between staying and leaving.

The Cards:

Five of Cups Reversed – This card is about moving past grief, regret, or disappointment. Maybe I am letting go of something—past hopes, past pain, past beliefs about what living here was supposed to be? But if I’ve begun to let go, why am I not moving forward?

Eight of Pentacles Reversed – Stagnation. Lack of progress. Fear. I recognize that I haven't and may never integrate into Israeli life, and yet I can't commit to giving up either. Am I holding myself back because I doubt my ability to start over somewhere new?

The Tower Reversed – Resistance to change. Trying to avoid upheaval. The Tower reversed doesn’t bring sudden devastation but rather a slow, creeping realization that a change must happen. I’ve known for a long time that my values and preferences don’t fully align with Israeli society, and it has become clear that my current life here isn’t sustainable. But knowing isn’t the same as acting. And acting means accepting that there’s no going back!

The Message

I’m ready to move on, but fear is causing me to hesitate. Fear of upheaval. Fear of failure. Fear of letting go of the place that has shaped me.

But the dream and the reading both make something clear: I am still standing in the doorwayand if I don’t step forward, I will remain stuck between two worlds, belonging to neither. It’s time to decide.