Rabbi Rael Blumenthal

When Rabbi Uri Zohar decided to leave behind his previous life of glamour and stardom to become torah observant, his non-religious friends asked the noted comedian if he could tell them one last joke.

He replied by telling them the following: one day a secular Israeli police officer noticed two religious yeshiva students driving together on a motorcycle. The officer drove his car behind them looking for a pretense to issue the duo a ticket. To his chagrin, they stopped at every stop sign, adhered to the speed limit, and drove courteously.

After a half-hour the cop gave up. He pulled them over and said to them, “I don’t get it. I couldn’t catch you doing anything wrong!” The yeshiva boys replied curtly, “that’s because we have Hashem with us.” The cop jumped up, “aha! I’m going to give you a ticket. You have three on a motorcycle!”

How do we get Hashem on our motorcycle? That's the question of the Parsha, of Purim and of Life.

The Jewish people have just built and bowed to the Egel HaZahav. Moshe has smashed the luchos in front of them, and they have narrowly avoided being completely destroyed.

This feeling of utter failure, of brokenness and despair has accompanied us throughout the ages. Every few years or decades, Klal Yisrael feels the weight of our mistakes and misunderstandings; and every time it comes with pain.

We’re somewhere in the middle of our story; not quite at the beginning of this war, but not quite at the end. We’re in a pause, a lull, a moment where we have the clarity to understand that we have work to do, but no idea what needs to be done, or how to go about it.

To that end, the Torah reveals how our ancestors contended with their failures: They built the Mishkan. In the giving and donating, in the building and constructing, in the carpentry and tapestry, they would make a place for Hashem in their lives.

And what a Simcha it must have been! With the anxiety of their destruction finally abated, and the fear of abandonment by Hashem quelled, they gave like no other capital campaign in history.

But beyond the incredible desire to bring the building materials, the Ramban (35:21) describes how each person found within themselves new abilities to craft and construct; skills that they never had before:

וטעם אשר נשאו לבו לקרבה אל המלאכה (שמות ל״ו:ב׳) – כי לא היה בהם שלמד את המלאכות האלה ממלמד, או מי שאימן בהן ידיו כלל, אבל מצא בטבעו שידע לעשות כן, ויגבה לבו בדרכי י״י (דברי הימים ב י״ז:ו׳) לבא לפני משה לאמר לו: אני אעשה כל אשר ה׳ דובר

They were not trained, but found within their nature that they knew what to do... They came to Moshe and declared “I will do what Hashem had commanded.”

Imagine the hislahavus – the passion, drive and devotion!

It is then all the more perplexing that once the mishkan was completed, it was packed up, and not assembled for another few months.

The Medrash (תנחומא פקודי יא) relates that during this waiting period, the ליצני הור – the clowns, the scoffers, were having a good time:

והיו ליצני הדור מרננין ומהרהרין ואומרין: למה נגמרה מלאכת המשכן ואינו עומד מיד

The scoffers of the generation were celebrating and musing and saying: Why is it taking so long for the Mishkan to be standing?

Note the wording of the Medrash: They're not asking “what are we waiting for?” They're saying it. It's not a question, it's a statement. We all know that voice; the one that says: Why is it taking so long? The voice that “knows” it's never going to happen. This is the voice that says “we’ve done everything that needs to get done. We’ve given, and built, and visited and worked and gotten our kids and friends and family involved. There’s nothing more than we can do!”

The Medrash explains further that the delay was due to Hashem's desire to have the consecration of the Miskhan in Nisan the month Geulah, and of Yitzachak Avinu's birth.

But, we should ask, surely there was a better solution to this timing conundrum. Perhaps Hashem could’ve provided a little less supernatural help in building the Mishkan. Perhaps He could’ve told us that the Mishkan would only be dedicated in Nisan? Why leave room for the scoffers to question whether or not Hashem's presence would really return to the Jewish people?

But this mandatory waiting period was not a misaligning of schedules. Clearly, Hashem wanted us to wait.

The Egel HaZahav was built out of fear that Moshe wasn't coming back, and we were now lost in an uninhabitable wilderness. That anxiety led to a rash and disastrous outcome. Hashem wants us to learn to breathe.

Once the Mishkan is complete, He forces us to wait; to take stock, and to understand that while Hashem’s presence will certainly fill the Mishkan, He’s there even before it is built. He always was, is and will be.

He was there when we felt alone without Moshe. He was there when we build the Egel, and He’ll be there when the Mishkan is completed. The deepest truth about the Mishkan, is that you need a Mishkan to find Hashem.

Ultimately, that’s the secret of Purim. It’s a Yom Tov for us: They Jews who are waiting. The Jews without a Beis HaMikdash, in a foreign land, under foreign rule. Jews who live with fear of the unknown and a yearning to be rescued.

Purim tells us that Hashem is here too. He’s always been on the motorbike; and perhaps for the first time we should notice that He’s driving.