Vyakheyl / ויקהל

This is a weekly series of parsha dvarim written by a frum, atheist, transsexual anarchist. It's crucial in these times that we resist the narrative that Zionism owns Judaism. Our texts are rich—sometimes opaque, but absolutely teeming with wisdom and fierce debate. It's the work of each generation to extricate meaning from our cultural and religious inheritance. I aim to offer comment which is true to the source material (i.e. doesn't invert or invent meaning to make us more comfortable) and uses Torah like a light to reflect on our modern times. The full dvar is paywalled for four weeks to help me sustain my work as a writer; if you can't afford to subscribe, email me and I'll send you the link for free.

An appeal: It's Ramadan, which means it's a great time to donate to people in Gaza. My friend Madleen needs help to support her children. This fundraiser is run by a friend of a comrade, and I talk to Madleen regularly. Any amount helps, no matter how small.

Content note: mention of genocide and medical trauma in Gaza

In the parsha this week, Moishe Rebeynu relays Hashem's instructions on the importance of keeping Shabos and how to build the Mishkan. Only the most precious materials are permitted—gold, silver, copper, fine yarns and linens and goat hair, dolphin skins, acacia wood, oil, spices, and gemstones—and the most skilled artisans are to work on its construction. Moishe tells the people what to bring and they do so in abundance:

This is an instructive and utopic vision of community collaboration. If we all show up and do our part, there's more than enough. I've seen bail funds and medical crowdfunders hit their targets in a few short hours.

But while we pour ourselves into one thing—especially if it's the same thing everyone else is focusing on—others might go neglected. While there's no wrong answer on where to direct our help, it's worth trying to prioritize based on urgency (as long as the task of weighing need doesn't prevent us from helping at all).

We take on different roles in our communities. The task—the time commitment, the skill required—of the artisans is greater than that of the people donating raw materials. Likewise the sacrifice of people with specialized skills in our movements, like pediatric care for amputees who working in Gaza, is far greater than the cost for those of us sending money from the "imperial core".

Most of us are not artisans—much less artisans endowed with "a divine spirit of skill, ability, and knowledge in every kind of craft" like Betsaleyl ben Uri—and we can't have the perspective of the artisan. We have to trust them when they say we've brought the right materials, or too much, or not enough. We must build strong community ties based on trust to ensure that everyone gets what they need.

In Pirkey Avos, the immediate metaphor of the work is Torah study; the employer is Hashem; and the indolent workers are us. But this is often and rightly extended to our holy work of repairing the world.

The task is overwhelming, and too much for any community (much less any individual) to finish. The day is short and the work is long. But we are building on a legacy of imperfect, important work done by those before us as we improve the world, piece by piece, for those not yet born.

Sometimes we lack the precious materials with which to do our holy work. Ideally, we know how to ask and the community knows how to provide. The impetus is shared: before people can show up for us, we must learn how to ask for help.

There is no Moishe Rebeynu today. One of the beautiful things about anarchy is that we shift roles depending on context: there is no set leader (except maybe Hashem). Sometimes we're the artisans and sometimes we're the masses. Consider your skills and capacity. Find your role. Get to work, rest, and continue the next day. Be mindful where you donate your time and gems and dolphin skins.