In William Golding’s The Lord of the Flies, a group of young boys land on a desert island without any adults to guide them. They are left to fend for themselves in the wilderness. Still at an age where others had controlled their daily routines and actions, the boys find it difficult to find ways to build a peaceful, caring community.
While many of our ancestors who left Egypt were far older than Ralph, Piggy, Simon, and the other boys in Golding’s story, their day to day existence had also been controlled by others up until the day of the Exodus. They, and their parents before them, had lived by rote routine set by the Egyptians. Now they were struggling to find their way to the Promised Land – to a life of freedom within communal responsibility, and towards understanding what it means to be in relationship with G-d.
Thankfully, unlike the boys left to fend for themselves on the island, the Israelites, for the most part, had some level of confidence in Moses. They also felt a sense of awe at the moments of miracles – the parting of the Sea of Reeds, the pronouncements at Mount Sinai.
Yet, their day to day lives felt so unfamiliar, fears arose easily and with them, a loss of faith. It was clear that, as they grappled with an invisible G-d, they needed something more concrete.
So, Moses was directed to engage the community in the building of the Mishkan – a space in which G-d would dwell. The Mishkan was designed to be portable, to move with the people. Beyond the practicality of this for a community that was wandering, the Mishkan provided a more important message. G-d does not dwell in any one place; G-d dwells wherever we are and wherever we to invite G-d to be.
G-d can be found in the most majestic of worship spaces, along the shore of the ocean, and in the humblest of dwellings IF we take the time to open our hearts and look.
It is all too easy to be caught up in the everyday work of “survival,” whether we define that term as catching food for the next meal or getting to the bottom of a seemingly endless pile of e-mail. Even though we have been taught that G-d is everywhere we struggle to find this connection in our packed day to day world.
We find it hard to pause to make time to listen to the still small voice that can remind us to reflect and focus on what is really important. Yet, when we do, we can feel a weight slip off of our shoulders and our hearts warm. Recharged and renewed we can go forth to leave this world, and the people in it, a better place than we found it.
Hazak, hazak, V’neit’hazek – may our pauses strengthen us.
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