My son’s bedroom needed a second dresser – a good problem to have. But it meant taking a trip to IKEA, measuring the space carefully, and deciding between the Malm, Kullan, and Hemnes. If you’ve ever shopped at IKEA, you understand. We settled on the three-drawer Malm in grey. His small eight-year-old arms helped me load it into the car, and when we got home, we began to build. Somewhere amid the dowels, screws, and minimalist instructions, my son looked up and said, “Mom – this is hard, but I’m going to love this dresser so much because I’m building it.” And he was right.
What makes us value something we create with our own hands so much more than something we simply purchase ready-made? Why does the sweat of our brow and the work of our hands transform our relationship to ordinary objects?
In this week’s portion of the Torah, Terumah, we witness a remarkable turning point in the Exodus narrative. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks noted that before this moment, the Israelites had been primarily passive recipients of divine intervention. God delivered them from Egypt with plagues and wonders. He parted the sea for their escape. He provided food from the sky and water from rock. Yet despite these miracles, the people responded mostly with grumbling and ungratefulness.
Then comes a significant shift. God tells Moses: “Tell the Israelites to bring Me an offering. You are to receive the offering for Me from everyone whose heart prompts them to give”.
The Mishkan (Tabernacle) wasn’t built because God needed an earthly residence. As Isaiah later proclaimed: “Heaven is My throne and the earth My footstool. What house can you build for Me?”.
Rather, this divine command was about honoring human capacity for creation and participation in something holy.
The Hebrew word terumah is illuminating. It signifies not merely a donation but an elevation ā something lifted upward. By contributing to the Mishkan, the Israelites weren’t simply giving possessions; they were raising themselves to new spiritual heights.
Rabbi Sacks references Dan Ariely, a behavior economist in his understanding of the what building the Mishkan meant to the Israelites. Dan Ariely’s research into what he terms “the IKEA effect” shows that people consistently assign much higher value to items they assemble themselves compared to identical pre-assembled items. In his experiments, creators of simple origami figures valued their handiwork at five times what others considered it worth. When we invest our labor in something, both the object and our perception of it transform ā we develop attachment through creation.
Through the building of the Mishkan, God revealed an understanding of human psychology that modern science would only confirm millennia later. This divine invitation wasn’t a burden placed on the Israelites but an opportunity granted to them ā a chance to participate in creating something of lasting significance.
The project welcomed contributions from everyone according to their individual resources and talents. Gold from some, textiles from others, craftsmanship in various forms from those with skills. The invitation extended to women and men alike, to leaders and ordinary people ā all could take pride in saying they had helped construct a dwelling place for divine presence.
This collaborative building project marks the first thing the Israelites created together since leaving Egypt. It represents their transformation from passive recipients to active contributors. No longer were they merely following divine direction or receiving divine gifts; they were building something meaningful with their own hands.
As we learn from Psalms
Today, though the physical Mishkan no longer stands, we experience this same principle through Shabbat ā what Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel described as “a sanctuary in time.” Jewish families worldwide don’t passively experience Shabbat; they actively create it through preparation, prayer, song, meals, and rest, becoming architects of sacred time.
One of the most meaningful gifts we can offer another person is the chance to create. When we provide opportunities for others to build something of value ā whether a simple furniture piece, a community initiative, or a spiritual tradition ā we transform them from consumers into creators. We acknowledge their capability and inherent dignity.
My son’s observation about his IKEA dresser revealed this timeless wisdom embedded in Terumah: what we build becomes connected to us in ways that what we merely acquire never can. The creative process transforms not only the materials in our hands but something within ourselves.
For parents, educators, and community leaders, this principle offers crucial guidance. Instead of doing everything for children, invite their participation in building. Rather than simply instructing communities, engage them in creating meaningful experiences. The deeper the investment of effort, the stronger the resulting connection.
Genuine value emerges not from passive reception but from active creation. By inviting human participation in building the sacred, God demonstrated that even the Ultimate Creator makes room for human creativity ā showing divine greatness through divine humility.
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