In Parashat Terumah, the Torah lists many detailed instructions to build the Mishkan. In between those words, the rabbis are pulled in two directions.
On one hand, they spend a lot of rabbinic energy in the Talmud discussing those details. How big? How long? How many? You get the idea.
On the other hand, they are left with several foundational questions they leave unanswered or more importantly, unable to answer.
Today’s newsletter is a bit of an anthology with a theme: knowing and not-knowing.
Dolphin or Unicorn?
The portion begins with a list of items that the people would gift:
And these are the gifts that you shall accept from them: gold, silver, and copper; blue, purple, and crimson yarns, fine linen, goats’ hair; tanned ram skins, dolphin skins, and acacia wood (Exodus 25:3-5)
The word translated as a dolphin doesn’t mean dolphin.
The phrase is וְעֹרֹ֥ת תְּחָשִׁ֖ים, v’orot t’chashim, the skins of [the animals known as] tachash. What is a tachash you ask? We have no idea.
In the context of kosher animals and tefillin, the Talmud (Shabbat 28b) discusses this animal:
The Gemara asks: What is the halakhic conclusion reached about this matter of the taḥash that existed in the days of Moses?
Rabbi Ela said that Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish said that Rabbi Meir used to say: The taḥash that existed in the days of Moses was a creature unto itself, and the Sages did not determine whether it was a type of undomesticated animal or a type of domesticated animal.
And it had a single horn on its forehead, and this taḥash happened to come to Moses for the moment while the Tabernacle was being built, and he made the covering for the Tabernacle from it. And from then on, the taḥash was hidden (נגנז) and is no longer found.
The rabbis ask, in classic rabbi fashion, what is the halakhic status of this animal? But more important is the phrasing: “that existed in the days of Moses.”
This must mean one of two things:
They don’t know what the animal is.
They know what the animal is but it doesn’t exist any longer.
Rabbi Meir teaches that the rabbis had no idea what category this animal is in (and probably what animal was in the first place), wild or domesticated. They then describe this animal: It has a single horn on its forehead.
Are we talking about a unicorn? Maybe!
This mythical, unknown creature wanders to Moses and permits itself to be used for the Mishkan. After that, according to the Talmud, it is hidden away (with the same root as a genizah, a place of holy storage).
The Talmud goes on for a tiny bit longer, comparing it to the ox that Adam haRishon sacrificed. Still, ultimately, they don’t come any closer to discovering what animal it was.
Is it a dolphin, a seal, a unicorn, or a gloriously blue-tinted-skinned creature? No idea, and the rabbis aren’t sure either.
What did the Menorah actually look like?
Imagining Moses on Mount Sinai, receiving Torah and the thousands of details for the Mishkan, transmitting them to the people, and then constructing it seems unwieldy, to say the least.
Without the ability to take serious notes (is that what Torah is?) I’m confident that I’d never remember most of it.
The Talmud (Menachot 29a) notes this kind of thing and says this:
It is taught in a baraita: Rabbi Yosei, son of Rabbi Yehuda, says: An Ark of fire and a Table of fire and a Candelabrum of fire descended from the Heavens, and Moses saw their format and fashioned the vessels for the Tabernacle in their likeness. As it is stated after the command to fashion these items: “And see that you make them after their pattern, which is being shown to you in the mount” (Exodus 25:40).
In the parashah, we have this language about patterns and fashioning the items. However, how would Moses know what they looked like? This is the question being answered. Effectively, Moses got to take a look at an image.
An image made of fire, but an image nonetheless.
The Talmud goes on to nitpick about the details here but then says this:
The school of Rabbi Yishmael taught: Three matters were difficult for Moses to comprehend precisely, until the Holy One, Blessed be God, showed them to him with God’s finger, and these are the three matters: The form of the Candelabrum, and the exact size of the new moon, and the impure creeping animals.
The Candelabrum was shown to him, as it is written: “And this is the work of the Candelabrum” (Numbers 8:4).
The new moon was shown to him, as it is written: “This month shall be for you the beginning of months” (Exodus 12:2).
The creeping animals were shown to him, as it is written: “And these are they which are unclean for you among the swarming things” (Leviticus 11:29).
And there are those who say that God also showed Moses the halakhot of slaughtering, as it is stated: “Now this is that which you shall sacrifice upon the altar” (Exodus 29:38), and slaughtering is the first ritual of sacrifice.
The school of Rabbi Yishmael teaches something I think is astonishing. There were a few things that Moses couldn’t fully comprehend while on Mount Sinai, and God had to explain them more specifically.
One of which, and the connection with our Torah portion, was the precise shape of the Menorah.
Each of these examples hinges on the idea that the word זה, zeh, meaning “this” in the verses refers to a time when God explained the shape or pattern specifically.
Whether or not this argument is substantial enough for you, there is a core takeaway: Moses didn’t understand something.
And even if he did, there’s little chance that it would be accurately transmitted and then continuously passed down to us. Its exact shape is fundamentally unknowable.
This is the point: some things are lost to time and knowledge, regardless of what generation we live in. Just like the tachash above, it is just something we do not know.
Prophecy and Non-Prophets
There is a discussion elsewhere in the Talmud (Bava Batra 12b) on which a verse from our portion is mentioned. It discusses the quality of someone who is hungry having two hearts, one of which is satisfied once having eaten.
More interestingly, this comes in the broader context of prophecy and the Temple being destroyed. As we are talking about the building of the Mishkan, which later is replaced by the Temple, it feels tangentially related here.
The rabbis teach that when the Temple was destroyed, prophecy was taken from the prophets. The sages, who apparently also had this ability, had their capacity retained. But then it says this:
Rabbi Yoḥanan said: From the day that the Temple was destroyed, prophecy was taken from the prophets and given to fools and children.
The Gemara explains: In what way was prophecy given to fools?
It was like this incident involving Mar bar Rav Ashi, who was standing in the street [beristeka] of Meḥoza when he heard a certain fools say: The head of the yeshiva who will be appointed in Mata Meḥasya signs his name Tavyumei.
Mar bar Rav Ashi said to himself: Who among the Sages signs his name Tavyumei? Nobody but me. Conclude from the statement by the fool that my hour has arrived, and I will reap success in this matter.
He arose and went to Mata Meḥasya. By the time he arrived, the Sages had already decided to appoint Rav Aḥa of Difti as the head of the yeshiva.
Note: the word for fool in this text is שוט which has a number of meanings. I’ve intentionally translated it here as a fool and understand it as someone who certainly wouldn’t know something about which they speak.
Prophecy is taken from the prophets and given to fools and children. On its surface, this statement is honestly rediculous. We’re going to unpack the first category together.
How does this work?
Mar bar Rav Ashi overhears someone who would not know the state of yeshivot claiming that he was to become the Rosh Yeshiva, head of the academy, in a neighboring area. Excited by this possibility, he travels there to discover that the leadership had already decided otherwise.
The text goes on:
As soon as the Sages heard that Mar bar Rav Ashi had arrived, they determined not to proceed with their appointment without the approval of an important figure such as him.
They sent a pair of Sages to him to consult with him, and he detained them. They again sent a pair of Sages to him, and he detained them as well. This continued until they completed a quorum of ten Sages.
Once they reached ten men, Mar bar Rav Ashi opened his lecture, taught, and expounded. He did not speak earlier because one should not open a lecture during kalla, the gatherings for Torah study during the months of Elul and Adar, when less than ten men are present. He was then appointed as head of the yeshiva.
However, the prophecy gave Mar bar Rav Ashi confidence, and he could maneuver himself into the role he would not have.
The text offers a different takeaway, which you can read here, but I want to focus on the not-knowing quality of this story, as that is our theme.
Mar bar Rav Ashi and the sages, who had a plan, couldn’t have known the result of this situation. Each was missing a piece of knowledge, a level of understanding. Even the fool, who would not have known the result, despite the Talmud’s claim of prophecy, didn’t know how this would work.
Not knowing something isn’t necessarily a problem, but it is a part of our human experience.
Knowing and not-knowing
Each of these sections, connected to Parashat Terumah, explores what we know and what we do not. In each case, not knowing something is not a problem but an invitation.
In the case of the would-be unicorn, we are left with unanswerable questions about what creature’s skin would have been part of the Mishkan. We must be satisfied with never knowing.
This is a challenge for us modern-folk who have access to the entirety of human knowledge at our fingertips. And yet, we are invited to imagine what it could be, how that creature encountered Moses, offering itself to God’s home.
In the case of Moses’ confusion, we are left with the recognition that even the greatest of all of us, Moshe Rabbeinu the Prophet, didn’t understand every detail of God’s instructions. Even hearing it from God, Godself, isn’t enough.
This is a recognition of our human nature, that communication is both: our attempt to reach the other and their understanding. This is an invitation to think about how we interact with each other and know that not all of it will be perfectly clear.
In the case of prophecy itself, it leaves us with a mystery. What we know and what we do not fold back on itself. We might act on knowledge that isn’t real and still come out with the same result. Does it matter that it wasn’t the case from the outset?
This invites us to think about how we encounter the world, and the assumptions and choices we make. What we don’t know about the universe is far greater than each of us can comprehend, and yet we muddle through anyway.
Each of these stories reminds us that it is reasonable to say, “I don’t know,” and to seek understanding. We may never truly grasp that bit of knowledge fully, but our attempt might be a good enough place to start.