The Mishkan’s walls were comprised of huge planks of acacia wood. Rashi wonders why the Torah refers to the kerashim, planks, as ha’kerashim, the planks, with the hay ha’yediah, definite article, as though these were planks with which we were familiar (at the time). He quotes Midrash Tanchuma (91) that, indeed, these were no ordinary planks. They were the product of trees that Avraham Avinu originally planted. Yaakov Avinu was fully aware that he was descending into the Egyptian galus, exile. He also knew that one day his descendants would be liberated, receive the Torah, followed by Hashem’s command that they erect a Mishkan as the place where the Shechinah, Divine Presence, would repose. The Mishkan would require wood as one of its components. The wilderness is not a place in which any vegetation or trees grow. Thus, in his foresight, he cut down the acacia/cedar trees and replanted them in Egypt, commanding his children to take them with when they would ultimately leave Egypt.
Why did Yaakov insist on this? Hashem could have easily provided the nation with the necessary components to construct His sanctuary. Yaakov did not want just any shittim wood. He wanted the Mishkan, the nexus of Jewish life, to embody a link to the past, so that every ensuing generation would be reminded: This is who we are: Bnei Avraham, Yitzchak v’Yaakov. We have Patriarchal roots which comprise the legacy of pride that we carry.
The Mishkan represented a link between the Heavenly and earthly spheres. Its walls bespoke the importance of identity. When Klal Yisrael stood before the Mishkan surrounded by the Patriarchal trees, they were ensconced by their forefather’s vision and devotion.
The Baal HaTurim adds a striking insight. The acacia trees were called atzei shittim as a correlation to the place called Shittim, where Klal Yisrael sinned horribly. Bilaam knew Klal Yisrael’s weakness, that which would break the Jewish people. We rise and fall on our adherence to the laws of morality. At Shittim, the men fell morally and spiritually, as they consorted with the Midyanite shiksas. Twenty-four thousand perished as a result of that tragic episode, which remains a taint on our forty-year sojourn through the midbar. The word shittim appears twenty-four times in the parshah. This is no coincidence, writes the Baal HaTurim. The atzei shittim were mechapeir, atoned, for the sin committed in Shittim.
While this is nice homily, we still must establish a connection between shittim, wood, and Shittim, a place of sin. Perhaps we may suggest the following: How does a Jew turn his back on his faith to the point that he enters into a relationship with a non-Jewish woman? We all draw the line somewhere. Marrying out of the faith used to be the line, until the secular streams, whose adherents called themselves Jewish, entered the scene and legalized every incursion. They did what Bilaam wanted to do. He was their mentor. How did they succeed? They blurred the Jew’s identity by breaking with the glorious past. They eschewed our history of Torah, wisdom, culture, and mesiras nefesh. A young Jew growing up in secularized Germany had no idea who the Patriarchs were and what connection he had to them. All he knew was that Judaism was an antiquated religion that had no place in a progressive society. Thus, the secularists succeeded in subverting the Jewish identity of thousands, which today have grown to millions.
When a person forgets that he is part of a holy nation, who he is, from whom he descends, he has no reason to marry within the faith about which he knows nothing. (Shittim became the place where identity was forgotten, allowing for sin to flourish. This is where atzei shittim are relevant. They are the antidote, because they represent the Patriarchal orchard. They were the whisperers of memory, the reminder of our lineage. They were the beams that reminded us: “You are Bnei Avraham, Yitzchak v’Yaakov. You stem from kedushah, from a heritage that hails back to the beginning of our nation. Do not forget who you are.”
Varied approaches suggest how to reach out to make a connection with our unaffiliated brothers and sisters. Knowledge of our origins instills pride, imbues purpose, and bolsters spiritual fortitude. Jewish life is built upon the foundation of continuity. For the Mishkan to stand firm, it had to reflect the people themselves. Such a structure could endure only as long as Klal Yisrael was firmly rooted in who they were, living with clarity, identity and purpose. Sadly, our unaffiliated brothers and sisters have been robbed of their connection. They do not know what Judaism is, what it represents, and how they are connected to it. If they are given a sense of history, it may engender in them a sense of pride in their heritage. It is definitely worth a try.
