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Sanctuary In the Details: Commentary on Parashat Pekudey 5785
By Yosef McCarter, Rabbinical Student at Hebrew Seminary
This Shabbat presents a rare and profound convergence of spiritual moments. We read Parashat Pekudei, the final portion of the Book of Exodus; we observe Shabbat HaChodesh, marking the renewal of time as we approach Pesach; and, immediately after Shabbat ends, we celebrate Rosh Chodesh Nisan, the first month in the Israelite calendar. Any one of these occasions on its own calls for reflection and renewal, but together they offer us a powerful blueprint for spiritual and communal life. They invite us to reflect not only on the sanctity of sacred space, sacred time, and personal renewal but also on the enduring challenge of bringing holiness into our world through our actions and our commitments.
Parashat Pekudey concludes the detailed narrative of the construction of the Mishkan, the portable sanctuary that would accompany the Israelites through the wilderness. After the people’s generous offerings and the meticulous work of the artisans Betzal’el and Oholi’av, the final product is presented to Mosheh for inspection (Exodus 39:43). The Torah records that everything was done exactly as Hashem had commanded (Exodus 39:42). Mosheh blesses the people, and on the first day of Nisan, he erects the Mishkan (Exodus 40:2 and 40:17). As the work concludes, a cloud descends, and the Shekhinah (the Divine’s Presence) fills the space (Exodus 40:34–35). The name Pekudey, meaning “accounts” or “records,” alludes to the transparent accounting Mosheh gives of all the materials used in the construction (Exodus 38:21). No detail is left unspoken; every item is accounted for. It is a moment of communal integrity and spiritual readiness.
Shabbat HaChodesh is one of the four special Shabbatot leading up to Pesach. We read from Exodus chapter 12:2, where Hashem gives the first mitzvah to the Israelites as a nation: “הַחֹדֶשׁ הַזֶּה לָכֶם רֹאשׁ חֳדָשִׁים” (hachodesh hazzeh lakhem rosh chodashim, “this month shall be for you the first of months”). The mitzvah of Kiddush HaChodesh (“sanctifying the new moon”) marks the beginning of Jewish time. Until now, the Israelites had lived according to Pharaoh’s decrees. But now they are commanded to count their own time, to sanctify it, and to prepare themselves for freedom. Shabbat HaChodesh calls upon us to reflect on how we measure our days and what it means to sanctify time in our lives.
Rosh Chodesh Nisan itself is laden with meaning. The Mishnah, redacted by Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi around 200 CE, in Rosh Hashanah 1:1, lists Rosh Chodesh Nisan as one of the four Jewish “new years,” marking the beginning of months, the reign of kings, and the cycle of festivals. The month of Nisan is intimately tied to redemption; it was in Nisan that the Exodus took place, that the Mishkan was inaugurated, and that Israel experienced its first collective spiritual renewal. The Sages in Sifra, edited shortly after the Mishnah, teach that Nisan is destined for redemption in every generation (Emor 29:2). It is the month that calls us to renew our sense of purpose, to strive for liberation from what enslaves us, and to prepare ourselves for a deeper connection to the Divine.
When we consider these three themes together—Pekudey, Shabbat HaChodesh, and Rosh Chodesh Nisan—they present a unified vision of sacred time, sacred space, and sacred responsibility. Pekudey reminds us that holiness is not spontaneous. It must be built through integrity, accountability, and collective effort. Shabbat HaChodesh teaches us that we can sanctify time and partner with HaShem in the unfolding of history. Rosh Chodesh Nisan challenges us to believe in renewal, in the possibility that even after brokenness, we can rebuild and the Divine presence can once again fill our lives.
The early medieval collection Tanchuma Shemot (Pekudey 7) highlights Moshe’s accountability in giving a full reckoning of the Mishkan’s materials. Despite his reputation as Mosheh Rabbeinu (“Moses, our teacher”), Mosheh understood that trust and transparency are the foundations upon which holiness rests. This strikes a deep personal chord for me. There have been times in my life when rebuilding trust—with others and with myself—has been the most difficult task. Yet I have seen how, only after that work is done, the sense of holiness and wholeness can begin to return. We cannot invite the Shekhinah into spaces that lack trust and integrity.
The communal aspect of the Mishkan also speaks to the power of shared purpose. In a midrash from the middle of the 1st millennium, Shemot Rabbah 51:8 describes how the unity of the people made it possible for the Shekhinah to descend and dwell among them. No single person could have built the Mishkan alone. It required the gifts, talents, and dedication of the entire community. In my experience working in communal settings—whether in leadership roles or volunteer positions—I have seen firsthand how unity and shared purpose create environments where holiness feels tangible. When people come together with a shared goal, holiness descends in the spaces between them.
Shabbat HaChodesh, with its focus on Kiddush HaChodesh, reminds us of the radical trust that Hashem places in us. Edited some 1500 years ago, the Babylonian Talmud, Rosh Hashanah 22a, teaches that even if a rabbinic court miscalculates when declaring the new month, Hashem accepts their decision. We are entrusted to sanctify time itself. Personally, I find this idea incredibly powerful. There have been moments when I’ve let time slip by, feeling as though life was happening to me instead of through me. But when I pause, when I light Shabbat candles or engage in meaningful prayer, I reclaim time as sacred. Shabbat HaChodesh urges us to see time not as something to be filled, but as something to be sanctified.
Rosh Chodesh Nisan brings the energy of renewal and redemption into sharp focus. In Nisan of the Jewish year 5631 (1870 on the Gregorian calendar), Rabbi Yehudah Aryeh Leib Alter (1847–1905), known by the title of his book Sefat Emet, taught that, in Nisan, the power of renewal is especially strong. It was the month when we left Egypt, and every year we are called to leave behind our personal Egypts—the narrow places that constrain us. There have been times when I have felt stuck, unable to move forward in my spiritual life. But the call of Nisan is always there, reminding me that renewal is not a one-time event but a constant invitation. It is the first step toward freedom, however small, that begins the process of ge’ullah (“redemption”).
The Babylonian Talmud, Yoma 72b, tells us that the Ark of the Covenant was gold both inside and out, teaching that a Torah scholar must be tokho k’varo, “the same within as without.” Authenticity is not just an ideal; it is a requirement for building a life of holiness. I have experienced times when I felt divided—presenting one face to the world while struggling inwardly. But the Mishkan teaches that holiness demands integration. Only when our insides match our outsides can we truly create a sanctuary for the Divine within ourselves.
Mishnah, Avot 4:1 teaches, “Who is honored? One who honors others.” The Mishkan was built through the contributions of all, each person bringing their gifts according to their ability. No offering was too small. This egalitarian spirit serves as a reminder that we are all builders of holiness. In my life, I have seen how acknowledging and honoring the contributions of others—whether in family life, friendships, or community—creates a space where people feel valued and seen. And that, in turn, creates a space where holiness can flourish.
Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzatto (1707–1746) teaches in his book Mesillat Yesharim, Chapter 1 (Be’ur Chovat HaAdam Be’Olamo, “Man’s Duty in His World”), that our life’s purpose is to delight in the Divine and to bask in the radiance of the Shekhinah:
The foundation of piety and the root of perfect service is for a person to clarify and make true for themselves what their duty is in their world… that man was created solely to delight in the Divine and enjoy the radiance of His Shekhinah.
The Mishkan was a concrete manifestation of that delight. But Luzzatto reminds us that we can build that sanctuary within ourselves. Each mitzvah, each act of kindness, is another beam or curtain in our personal Mishkan. This is not just an abstract idea. There have been days when I’ve struggled to feel close to Hashem, but even a small act—studying Torah, giving tzedakah—has reminded me that I am building something lasting, something holy.
Rabbi Yehudah Loew ben Bezalel (1512–1609) writes in his Tif’eret Yisra’el, Chapter 4 (Be’er Inyan Mattan Torah UMa’alato), of the Tif’eret Yisra’el that the Mishkan is a microcosm of the universe, and by extension, each of us is a microcosm of the Mishkan. This is a humbling and inspiring thought. It means that our bodies and souls are dwelling places for the Divine. Every choice we make can reveal or conceal that holiness. For me, this teaching helps reframe my day-to-day decisions. How I speak to others, how I respond to challenges, how I conduct myself in private moments—each of these is part of building the Mishkan within.
Rabbi Yisrael Meir Kagan (1838–1933), also known by the name of his book Chafetz Chayyim,, notes that the Mishkan’s portability teaches us that holiness is not tied to any one place; we carry it with us. This idea has carried me through times when I felt distant from familiar spiritual spaces. Whether traveling or navigating life changes, I’ve come to understand that holiness isn’t about location. It’s about intention. The Mishkan moves with us when we make room for it in our lives.
The 13th century Sefer HaChinnukh 95 teaches that the commandment to build a Mikdash is ongoing. While we may not have the Beit HaMikdash today, we are still charged with building homes, communities, and lives that are worthy of Hashem’s presence. I often ask myself: Is my home a place where kindness and peace dwell? Are my words and actions making space for holiness? These are the questions that guide my personal avodah (holy “service”).
As we close the Book of Exodus, one minhag (“custom”) that some Jewish communities have adapted. Is to have the Torah reader and congregation chanting the words chazak, chazak, v’nitchazzek (“Be strong, be strong, and let us be strengthened)”. For those observing this, it is a reminder that strength lies in continuity and renewal. In a personal reflection the work of building the Mishkan—whether externally or within—is ongoing. Pekudey ends the construction, but our task is just beginning. We are invited to continue the work, sanctifying time, space, and ourselves.
Shabbat HaChodesh and Rosh Chodesh Nisan offer us the gift of renewal. We are called to sanctify time like Shabbat HaChodesh, to build sacred spaces like Pekudey, and to embrace redemption like Rosh Chodesh Nisan. May we take this opportunity to reflect on our personal Mishkan. May we build it with integrity, sanctify it with time well spent, and fill it with hope for redemption. And may we merit to invite the Shekhinah to dwell within us and our communities, bringing blessing, peace, and the ultimate ge’ullah, speedily in our days.
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