Tetsaveh. A heart of Gold

Many of us, when arriving at the verses that detail the construction of the Mishkan, find ourselves tempted to close the book.

After the sweeping drama of Yetziat Mitzrayim, after the wanderings and revelations in the wilderness, these passages—filled with measurements and materials, with architectural instructions and meticulous craftsmanship—can seem distant, as if they do not speak to the deep urgencies of our lives.

Yet the Torah, the Chassidic masters remind us, does not offer its wisdom in only one voice. Sometimes its teaching is luminous, unfolding in parables and symbols, revealing itself like light through stained glass.

Other times, it speaks in numbers, in wordplay, in what may seem like the incidental details of a sacred blueprint.

In his commentary on Parashat Tetzaveh, the Mei HaShiloach opens a door into one such hidden teaching, concealed within the gold that adorns the Mishkan.

All of its vessels were fashioned from acacia wood, overlaid with gold—except for two: the kaporet, the covering of the Aron, and the menorah, the bearer of eternal light.

These alone were to be made of pure gold, untouched by any other material.

כל הכלים היו של עצי שטים מצופים זהב חוץ מהכפורת ומנורה שנאמר בהם זהב טהור בלא תוך של עצי שטים.

Why? Is gold so beloved?

Here, gold is not an end in itself. It is a symbol—of refinement, of purity, of a presence untainted by the distortions of the world.

For the Mei HaShiloach, the Mishkan is not merely a structure. It is a mirror of the human form.

אבל הכפורת שהוא נגד הלב, והמנורה שהוא נגד עינים,

But the kaporet, which corresponds to the heart, and the menorah, which corresponds to the eyes.

בזה צריך האדם שמירה מאוד שיהיו נקיים ומבוררים בלי שום צד נגיעה מצדו לשום טובת העוה"ז

A person must guard these places with the greatest vigilance—that the heart remain unclouded, the eyes remain luminous, free from distortions, free from the desires that would bend them toward illusion.

The Talmud often speaks of the connection between what the eyes see and what the heart desires. But the relationship moves in both directions. Sometimes, it is the heart that shapes what the eyes perceive—our inner world, sculpted by memory, by experience, by the inherited currents of our time, becomes the lens through which we see.

This Shabbat is Shabbat Zachor, the Sabbath where we are called to 'remember—to erase the name of Amalek'.

Who is Amalek?

Amalek, in our tradition, is not just an ancient enemy but a recurring force—the one who "attacked you by surprise, and mutilated all the weak ones at your rear. You were faintand weary, and He did not fear God."(Devarim 25.18)

אֲשֶׁ֨ר קָֽרְךָ֜ בַּדֶּ֗רֶךְ וַיְזַנֵּ֤ב בְּךָ֙ כָּל־הַנֶּֽחֱשָׁלִ֣ים אַֽחֲרֶ֔יךָ וְאַתָּ֖ה עָיֵ֣ף וְיָגֵ֑עַ וְלֹ֥א יָרֵ֖א אֱלֹהִֽים

History has known many Amaleks. And today, Israel still struggles against a few.

But Amalek is not only external. There is an inner Amalek as well.

In Gematria, the letters of Amalek share the same numerical value as the word safek—doubt.

And doubt, that quiet eroder of conviction, can dismantle a soul more surely than any external force.

It is no accident that so much of the Mishkan’s design is about kindling light—again and again, a flame that must be tended, renewed, kept burning.

Gold. Light. Presence. These are the metaphors of the Mishkan, and they are the architecture of the soul.

Since the loss of the Temple, the work has shifted inward. The sacrifices have become avodah she’b’lev, the service of the heart.

Today, you and I do not have a Mishkan to build in the desert. But we do.

The Mishkan is a sanctuary of presence. The eternal flame is the quiet radiance of awakened consciousness.

And only these lights, only this gold of the heart, can illumine the world today.

All it asks of us is to sit still for a while. To listen. To notice what is alive. To allow the heart to open.

This is how we refine awareness.

This is how we build a Mishkan, in the world as it is.

Are you ready?