The Ikea on Community Building

IKEA. The name alone triggers a range of emotions and reactions. For some, it gets them excited about the prospect of finding lower-priced furniture and awakens the dormant handyman within them. For others, IKEA is just a four-letter word. They are not excited about assembling their toddler's new dresser and would rather pay a little extra for a finished product. The much-touted Swedish meatballs (they are kosher at the locations in Israel) in the cafeteria don’t move the needle. Indeed, many psychologists have noted the marital discord that accompanies visits to Ikea. They note the maze-like store layout, overwhelming choices, and complex, self-assembled furniture create a "perfect storm" for relationship stress. These situations fuel power struggles over money and design, test communication under pressure, and often reveal deeper, underlying issues about trust, division of labor, and shared, long-term goals. There is a strange choice of verb in the opening of our Parsha. G-d tells Moshe to speak to the Israelites so that they will “take for Me a contribution.” The Hebrew verb is veyikchu, literally “and they shall take,” though some English translations smooth this to “bring.” The choice of verb is precisely what catches the commentators’ attention, because we would expect veyitnu, “to give.” Why would the Torah describe giving as taking? Our Rabbis taught that this linguistic reversal reveals an essential aspect of generosity. When we contribute to something larger than ourselves, we expand. The act of giving creates ownership in a way that passive receiving never can. By releasing our resources into a shared project, we acquire a stake in what that project becomes. G-d created a home for humanity in the world; in our Parsha, humanity creates a home for G-d in the Mishkan. The parallel is deliberate. God does not need a physical dwelling any more than the Infinite needs furniture. But building on behalf of another creates a relationship. The Mishkan allowed Israel to reciprocate God’s creative generosity, and in that reciprocal act of making, they became bound to what they made. Since the Mishkan, there have been 3,300 years of Jewish community building following the original formula. As in those times, there are roughly three categories of people who interact with kehila building. There are builders, detractors, and spectators. Interestingly, my observations indicate that the builders and detractors represent a minority of the demographic pie. It is the spectators who occupy most of the seats. However one feels about the Ikea model, when it comes to the Jewish community, it is most important to evolve from a spectator to a builder. ​ Have a Peaceful Shabbos, ​ Rabbi Yaakov Fisch

Time to Build Our Own Table

Every once in a while, we might receive a jolt that shakes us in many ways. We might wonder whether the jolt is due to new information or to knowledge we've had for a while, and whether the way it is presented now makes it feel different. I am wrestling with this question after listening to the widely reported speech by Bret Stephens on the “State of World Jewry.” Stephens, a noted columnist whom I have been reading for over 20 years since his days at the Jerusalem Post, delivered some compelling remarks recently at the 92nd St. Y in NYC. Stephens argued that the conventional approach to combat antisemitism, which focuses on advocacy, Holocaust education, legal definitions, and monitoring hate, has largely failed to reduce antisemitic beliefs or violence, even as those dedicated resources have grown. He questioned whether decades of education, polling, and advocacy have meaningfully lowered antisemitism. Additionally, he argued that antisemitism isn’t primarily rooted in ignorance or misinformation that better education alone could fix. Rather, he framed it as a deeper, almost irrational resentment. While many of us disagree with or struggle to digest this, the reality is that Stephens is now aligning himself with traditional rabbinic thought. Rashi, in his commentary on the Torah, describes an encounter of Esav embracing Yaakov. He writes that it is a well-known halacha that Esav hates Yaakov. It was just at that moment that Esav had a temporary moment of compassion, but that moment was over just as it began. For centuries, the biological and ideological descendants of Esav have hated the descendants of Yaakov. This hate is sometimes interrupted with periods of less hostility, but even in those times, the anti-Semitism is merely lurking beneath. I am surprised by how shocked some in our community are about the resurgence in hatred of Jews and Israel. Stephens, in describing the plight of Jews in modern times, also quoted Phillip Glass, “If there’s no room at the table, build your own table.” While this can have different applications, I believe it applies to all of us to make a concerted effort to reconnect with our roots. In this parsha, we read once again about the covenant given to the Jewish People at Mt. Sinai. From that moment on, the nations of the world have never forgiven us. While we have tried so hard to prove to the nations that we are not occupiers or colonialists, it has had a limited effect. We really need to focus on building our own table. ​ Have a Peaceful Shabbos, ​ Rabbi Yaakov Fisch

March of a Lifetime

There are certain times in life when words simply cannot capture an experience. The event or experience is so powerful and awesome that putting it into words would simply diminish the moment. This idea is found in the Kaddish when we recite the words. “לְעֵֽלָּא מִן־כָּל בִּרְכָתָֽא וְשִׁירָתָֽא דַּאֲמִירָן בְּעָלְ֒מָֽא.” Translation: the praise and elevation of G-d is far above any words that can be uttered in this world. One may have heard this reaction from someone who visited a breathtaking location or who had recently fallen in love. You might ask them to describe the site they visited or the person they love so much that they have decided to spend the rest of their life with them. They might be at a loss for words, as describing the Grand Canyon as 'amazing' simply does not do it justice. I have been having a similar reaction in the days since we dedicated the new Sefer Torah and proudly marched with it through the streets of Jacksonville to our beloved shul. There are so many elements to unpack and so many emotions swirling inside that I find myself at a loss for words when I am asked to describe the day. Awesome. Magnificent. Unbelievable. These words seem to come up short and don’t feel that they adequately capture the experience. ​ There is one part of the Hachnosas Sefer Torah that is seared into my soul, and I will never forget. As we marched with the Torah and reached San Jose Blvd, the world seemed to stop for the Torah. Our friends at the JSO stopped all traffic, and we were able to walk, sing, and dance proudly with the Torah across a main intersection in Jacksonville. All the vehicles, passengers, and bystanders were quiet and stopped as the scroll that carried the Divine wisdom from 3,300 years ago was brought to its new home. As I mentioned in my remarks at lunch, this moment carries symbolism that extends far beyond the act of marching the Torah to its new home. It should resonate with every aspect of our lives when we face the choice of how much priority to allocate to G-d and His Torah. We have so many competing needs and priorities that tend to divert our attention from what’s really important. As memories fade and we get caught up in the so-called normal, it is incumbent on all of us to remember that chilly Sunday morning in Jacksonville when everything stopped as the Torah was proudly marched to its new home. ​ Have a Peaceful Shabbos, ​ Rabbi Yaakov Fisch