Parashat Vayakhel-Pekudei | Rabbi Felicia Sol | March 14, 2026

feels like uh we're just holding on for

our dear lives these days. It's uh this

is a chant actually that's been part of

the singing resistance

uh one of the songs that uh has been

sung on the streets of Minnesota in

these uh last weeks and months since the

um killing of Renee Good and Alex Preti

and the invasion of ICE in the city. Um,

and I uh I actually was mostly in Israel

at the height of that. We had our BJ

trip during that time and I was

connecting to just what I could connect

with and there was a video actually

there they were singing resistance was

highlighted by an Anderson Cooper on CNN

and uh hundreds and hundreds of people

over days were gathered in the very cold

streets of Minnesota um singing songs

just to be protective and sending love

to neighbors. And uh this song I felt

was particularly powerful. This chant um

one might assume it's a Christian chant.

Actually it might sound that way and

that the dawn is a particular dawn. Um

so I did my work uh to make sure to see

where where it was from. And uh the

story behind it is actually even more

powerful. Um so six years ago in a town

in Vermont a 17year-old

uh Finn Rooney died by suicide and the

town uh was going to have a bonfire to

hold his memory and to gather together

and uh one of the organizers of the

bonfire called his friend Heidi Wilson

who was in a nearby town and is a

songwriter and he asked her to write

something that everyone could sing. And

that's what she came up with. Hold on.

Hold on, my dear ones. Here comes the

dawn.

We're all living with a huge amount of

brokenness.

And we're holding on, it feels like, by

a thread.

And I've been thinking just how do we

hold it all? How do we hold on in these

very very painful times?

And I think also a lot about when I

think about my own life, most of the

time we tell our story, not from the

triumphs of our life, not from our all

our successes, but mostly when I think

of the story of my life, I think about

the hardest moments and how I got

through that. Those were the things that

shaped me the most in some ways. It

wasn't the glorified moments. It wasn't

the degrees on the wall. It was like,

"Wow, I survived that." Or, "Wow, I was

able to tell the story differently." Or,

"Wow, I thought I control that and uh

and I actually couldn't." There's a

funny story in our family. Um it came

from a moment of pain which as a

seven-year-old I was seven when uh my

parents told us that our uh very close

family friends it was my mom's roommate

from college that they were getting a

divorce and it was the first couple that

I ever knew was getting a divorce and

that felt very significant in my life

and of course the first thing that I

thought of as a seven-year-old which is

what then my parents are going to get

divorced right That's the natural thing

for a seven-year-old to think. So, I

came up with the plan to control it. Um,

which was I will pay them $100. They

have to pay me $100 if they get

divorced,

which was just my way of trying to say,

"Please don't make this happen." And I

thought at the time $100 was big bucks.

Um, so we come up with all these ways to

try to deal with our brokenness.

That example for me, of course, uh, is

the running joke of the family. Maybe it

worked cuz my parents are still married,

but and they didn't want to pay out the

bet. Um, but, um, we try to guarantee

things in the world that is

ungarantable.

And uh

we think about how we can live with all

this

brokenness in our life, even a life

filled with joy and blessing which many

of us have.

And uh and how do we move forward with

the disappointments and heartbreaks?

And in some sense I think what is is how

we tell our story is um what comes after

the break?

What comes after the brokenness? How do

we move through it? And who do we become

on the other side? And by the way, of

course, there's not always another side.

The truth is that the pain of knowing

what can happen in the world, divorce,

illness, tragic death, failure, war,

terrorism in a synagogue, often leads us

to try to build guarantees against the

horrors of this world, both the small

horrors and the large ones. And of

course, those guarantees don't rarely

work.

It is often the day after brokenness or

the months or years that truly tells the

story of our lives.

This Shabbat we conclude the book of

Shimote.

When you think of the whole story of the

book of Shimote, it's the most dramatic

points in our people's history, right?

It's the beginning of slavery to the

redemption and the crossing of the sea.

The revelation at Sinai and the details

for the building of the Mishan which

occupy a huge portion of the book of

Schmote.

four pariots really and but for all the

miracles and glory in this book it may

be the story of the egalahav the golden

calf the shattering of the covenant

covenant and what comes after that most

deeply shapes us as a people it's the

story we return to again as again and

again as the litmus test for not only

how things break but how we repair and

if you look actually at the end of last

week's parasa I think I often think

about kichi sa between the breach of the

covenant and um the bringing of the new

the set of new tablets. It feels almost

very uh very like wrapped up in a bow

like and we replay that every yomipur

with uh the the you know recitation of

the 13 attributes. But the truth is

Moshe is the one that had that

experience not the people. Uh Moshe,

there was a the Levites murdered three

3,000 people of the people after the

after the break after the egalazahab

after the worshshiping of the golden

calf. Uh God didn't promise to be in

their midst until and the people were

very afraid. They waited as Moshe had

these intercount encounters with God in

the tent of meeting. Then Moshe goes up

to the mountain for another 40 days. As

the people wait, he has this incredible

encounter with God, which God doesn't

show God's face, of course. And then

Moshe comes back down and says the

commentators mostly is that via Kelpud

come the day after he comes down from

Yoni from Yonipur from that experience

of bringing the second tablets down. But

the and he tells the people, but they've

had no experience of it. None. They have

no window into the experience of repair

even though he's gotten it for them. And

so they're living with this brokenness,

even though there's been repair, with

what they've done because of the worship

of the golden calf, with the horror in

their community, with the death of the

30,000, with the questions of whether

God will ever be in their midst again.

And so

this par these parod via keel pu it

seems to me are holding that very very

powerful question which is what comes

after brokenness when it's not all tied

up in the bow which it never is. I mean

for all the things we can repair in the

world and of course there are things we

can't death can't be repaired some

things are final

but what comes after those brokenness

this brokenness

perhaps this question feels especially

urgent right now because we are living

in such a broken world particularly as

Jews since October 7th I have heard so

many people say I am not the same Jew I

was on October 6th.

As if it were a phrase that was codified

in our lingo, but it just comes very

naturally to people. I am not the same

Jew I was on October 6th. For some, it

is an existential issue. For others, it

is a sense of homelessness and political

identities they once trusted. There is

the fear we now carry which is added to

by the fears from synagogues in Toronto.

There were three synagogues in Toronto

that were terrorized uh in the last two

weeks.

The horror and of course of what

occurred in West Bloomfield, Michigan

just on Thursday.

The vulnerability we feel, the exposure

than any many of us have never felt

before.

I have also heard people speak of a

different kind of brokenness. The

questions of what it means to be Jewish

and the pain of watching for some what

Israel has become and the suffering

inflicted on gazins and the profound

moral struggle over what a Jewish state

means in 2000 2026.

And layered on that is the fear

surrounding our own democracy. The

injustice carried out in the name of

law. The anxiety of our neighbors and

friends, particularly immigrants on this

shab in this refugee Shabbat. This is a

Shabbat dedicated by highest to refugees

and immigrants. our neighbors and

friends who are afraid to leave their

homes or even come to RAW respit dinners

here every other week because they're

afraid to leave where they live. And

then of course we're all carrying

private heartbreaks, illness, family

pain, financial stress, loneliness,

the quiet sense of purposelessness that

creep into our lives.

One thing that has become very clear to

me is that we may all be broken, but we

do not all experience brokenness in the

same way. The source of our pain

differs. The outrage we feel differs.

The comfort we need differs. Our

tradition has a very profound history of

honoring brokenness. The psalmist of

course teaches karov adonishv

god is close to the brokenhearted and

the katskar rebby famously said there is

nothing more whole than a broken heart

but our double parasa vayakel picude

is trying I think to answer the question

what do we do with the brokenness if

Moshe has just returned from coming down

from the mountain with the new set of

tablets and tells the Israelites what

has happened, that they've been given

forgiveness, then moving forward is

dealing with carrying forward, to trying

to see the dawn and hold on. And that is

what the project of the Mishan is meant

to do. I don't want to offer any pretty

picture of a of a gift that's tied up in

a bow um to the questions of brokenness.

We all have our work to do around how we

handle what is broken in our house

hearts and how we handle what is broken

in our world and we as a community of

course have what to do with that too.

But I do want to offer a couple of

reflections that are living in the

detail of particularly Parisad Vayakel

about how I think the commentators are

embedding the question of what do we do

with brokenness and how they provide at

least a couple of answers. Of course,

one of the things I think I love about

the tradition most and I think many of

you do too is that there's not one

answer. And I think we deal with

brokenness in multiple ways. Um you know

we hold on to uh whatever works you

know. So the the tradition I think

offers us a handful at least I'll share

a handful today of ways I think it is

inviting us to move on and hold on to

the dawn.

The first word of the parasa is viael

and mo and Moshe gathered. This is a

commandment. Um he gathers the people

together which of course comes from the

same root as kahila

community after the catastrophe of the

golden calf. The first step forward is

not an idea, not a law, not even

repentance for the people. It is

gathering.

The Rambam explains that this gathering

is a moment of recenting.

Even though everything has changed,

there are new tablets now and the people

can begin again. Some commentators point

to something else. They focus and it's

very interesting on the diversity of the

kahal. People holding different

understandings of mitzvot and different

roles within the community. It seems

it's at this point in the moment after

the experience of the golden calf the

unity of the people is um is striven for

but it in some deep way the commentators

seem to understand at least the kidic

commentators that they're not naturally

unified that there is a built-in

diversity in the community and so the

viael the commandment is to try to say

okay you all have different

understandings of the roles of the

commandments. You all have different

ways to play in this community, but

actually you'll have to come back and do

something together. And that is the

building of the Mishan. Despite their

differences, they come together in

shared action to build something

together. Um, acknowledging both of

those things, Rabbi Moshe of Cobrin

offers a beautiful insight into this

action of the building of the Mishkhan.

He said the gathering reminds the people

that the lessons they learned the day

before on Yung Kipur when Moshe comes

down from the mountain remorse,

contrition, responsibility must continue

the day after that the lessons must live

beyond the moment which is a very hard

lesson to uh hold. You know, often we

get if we think about mirroring what the

Moshe Cobberin is saying is that we have

these profound commitments on Yonipore.

We walk out of 86th Street or 88th

Street thinking like I'm going to do

this and then the next day is just a

regular day and you have to hold it. And

so what he's saying is the commitment of

the building of the Mishhan was a

translation of all of the work of the

pain of the hope of the possibility um

of the work that they did to get to that

place of recenting to say every day I'm

going to do it again. Every day I'm

going to do it again. The thread running

through all these teachings is is both

simple and profound. Of course, it's

togetherness.

Community reminds us that Jewish life is

still possible. That even with different

opinions and different wounds and

different fears, we can still sustain

one another through care and shared

action. A hard lesson to learn in a

diverse community as ours.

The spat offers another insight about

the Mishkan itself.

I uh we learned this in my class this

week. In their brokenness, he says, "The

Israelites of course feel disconnected

from God. Of course, they're given

forgiveness

on Yumkipur as the Torah explains or as

the Midas explains. But I think also the

Fatimad understands they haven't been

proximate to the experience. Moshe had

the experience on the mountain. They've

been waiting below."

And so they're kind of hanging on his

words and hanging on his shoulders, but

they don't really feel it. And so he

says they're disconnected.

And he teaches this fat that despite

their sin, despite their breaking of the

covenant, that the experience of Sinai

was never truly lost. It was only hidden

in in them. So it was hidden that sense

of connection um which is a veryish idea

you know when sin doesn't block sin

doesn't erase something that was there

it actually is a blocking of something

it hides something

um and so God commands them to bring

offerings to the Mishkan.

Why? Because the act of giving awakens

their love again.

It allows them to give which awakens

them to the sense of connection. We

normally don't give gifts if we don't

love some people. like that sense. I

said in my class on Tuesday that I never

realized how fun it was to give a gift

to my kids, you know, like when I had

kids, uh we weren't a giftgiving family

and um my when I had kids, it all of a

sudden like I had that experience of how

thrilling it feels to give someone you

love something they love. uh not for the

sake of consumerism or capitalism but

just because how powerful it is to just

offer something that someone receives

with love which is like a very

connective experience.

So the God commands them to take things

to make the sanctuary to remind them to

awaken and uncover that hidden hidden um

print of Sinai in them to say we belong

together.

We are still together. When they bring

gifts, they do rediscover what they are

connected to. So often when we are

broken, our instinct is actually to

withdraw,

to isolate,

to detach.

But the giving of the gift of the Mishan

is an act of connection that pulls us

back towards relationship,

which is uh I think a very powerful idea

about why the Mishan.

God understood that they were out of

connection and they needed something

very practical to show up to give for.

You could say also um that when you know

people often say when they make a bikor

hole visit or they stop at a shiva home

that the person who is making doing the

mitzvah actually feels just as comforted

as uh as the person receiving the

comfort or the care. And I think this is

also connected to this notion that in a

world that we can't control when there

is death and when there is illness that

when we give something it doesn't I mean

the tradition says that when you visit

someone um who's ill you take away 160th

of their illness. I don't necessarily

believe that but I certainly believe

that the nisham the nishama is not only

impacted the person who is visited but

the person who visits. It reminds us of

our connection.

So that's the second one. The first is

uh first is um about togetherness and

the second is about giving in

brokenness. And the third is a very

subtle teaching in the parasa by Rabbi

Nakman of Bratzlav who offers a striking

teacher teaching about the wisdom of

Bital and Oalav the artisans who built

the Mishkhan.

The Torah in a in a puk about them says

they are filled with wisdom and the word

is bahma in them

within them. But Rebi Nakman reads the

word as behema

which is like a beast which is a very

odd reading of the word. Um because when

we think of the word behema uh a beast

we think of as a very bad thing. Um you

know he teaches Rabbi Nahwatlav that we

must cultivate a kind of wisdom that is

bleed

without knowing.

Meaning the difference between human

beings and beasts are that we have

knowing

right that is what is distinct makes us

distinct is we have knowledge we have

wisdom whereas animals are only going

according to instinct. So knowledge and

wisdom is what makes us distinct from

the animals. But Rebi Nakman teaches

that

we have to cultivate a kind of wisdom

that is without knowing. It sounds

strange and almost backwards because we

usually assume that wisdom means

knowing.

But Rebi Nakman

warns that wisdom with certainty can

close us off. It can make us rigid. It

can prevent something new from emerging.

Brokenness often tempts us to dig in our

heels,

to cling even harder to what we know.

But Rebi Nakman in this teaching in this

very parasa invites us to remain open

to remain curious

to not live with certainties

to allow the possibility that something

new might grow from the fracture.

Perhaps this is the spiritual task of

this moment

to one to really look into what we're

broken about,

what is really shattering our hearts

and to become curious about what we will

do with our brokenness.

Parashat Vaya Pikude asks us to build

something after the shattering.

The problem I think we're having in our

world is that we can't take a breath

because day after day there's something

new that shatters. It feels like we

can't even take a breath after one day

to the next.

Just like happened this week in West

Bloomfield, Michigan at Temple Israel.

Thank God, of course, no one was killed

and the injured security guard will

recover. But it still feels as though

the breaking never stops.

And that is, I would say, enter Shabbat,

which is also the Shabbat, the Shabbat

that precedes the new month of Nissan,

which is on Thursday, beginning

Wednesday evening. In the ma we read

this this month this month shall mark

for you the beginning of months.

Rabbi Nakman teaches in Luk Halakot

that this was the very first mitzvah

given to the Jewish people as they

prepared to leave Egypt. That's an

understood thing that it was the first

mitzvah.

But what does he say is the actual

mitzvah which is normally associated

with this is the calendar. The mitzvah

is understanding that Nissan is the

first of months and that our calendar is

according to the moon. Why begin with

the new moon? Asked Rabbi Nakman.

Because the new moon teaches us to look

for light within darkness. The

Israelites were spiritually diminished

by slavery. Yet God redeemed them,

redeemed them according to Rebi Nakman,

because God saw their nicot,

the points of goodness still alive with

them. And so our very first commandment

as a people is this, to look for the

good points, the nicod to tovote, to

find the light. Because as dark as a

world may feel, it is not all darkness.

And you can hear that by the way that

the folks from Westfield, West

Bloomfield, Michigan, like how grateful

they feel for, by the way, their

security guards. Um the love that was

felt, the incredible enormity of

outpouring of their neighbors, of the

sense that no one except for the

security, no one died. I mean, that is

an enormous uh not guaranteed thing. In

something like this,

we need to find the light because as

dark as the world may feel, it is not

all darkness. There is still love.

We can feel that in community. We can

feel that in family.

We can feel that with our neighbors.

There is still justice. There are places

where justice is emerging. There is

still holiness. There is still

community.

And our tradition commands us to notice

those nicodo tovote, those sparks of

goodness, to gather together, to give

generously, to remain open to what we do

not know or do not understand, and to

hold fast to what we do know. That light

does exist.

And so, we're holding on.

Holding on, my dear ones, in a world

that feels very, very dark. But the dawn

has to come because we have to bring it.

And only we can make that happen. It's

no one else's responsibility.

That is a mitzvah that is ours. It was

the first to find the light in the

darkness. To gather together in all our

diversity, to offer ourselves and serve

in the ways that we best know how, and

with all the doubt and uncertainty, to

know that the dawn will come. Hold on.