By Josh Appel
In 1928, G.K. Chesterton, the renowned author and philosopher, made a profound statement in an article for The London Illustrated News: “Art, like morality, consists of drawing the line somewhere.” What Chesterton meant is that creativity—whether in art, life, or spiritual pursuits—requires boundaries. Chesterton’s words resonate deeply with a later novel, the cautionary tale found in Michael Crichton’s Jurassic Park. Crichton’s story serves as a stark warning that when humans assume the role of God, the consequences are not only immoral but also perilous.
Chesterton’s words are particularly relevant as we approach this week’s Parsha, Vayakhel, where we encounter a curious repetition.
At the beginning of the Parsha the Torah repeats, almost verbatim, the instructions and details given in Parshat Terumah, including the phrases, “Kechu Li Terumah” and “Nediv Libo”. This raises the obvious question: why repeat what has already been said?
The Ramban answers this question by noting that Parshat Terumah contains the command to build the Mishkan, while Vayakhel describes how that command was implemented. But this doesn’t fully answer our question. There is still something puzzling about such detailed repetition.
Moreover, while there is some debate in the Meforshim over the exact chronology of these events, one thing is clear: Ki Tisa is an interruption between Terumah and Vayakhel. Whether you follow Rashi or Ramban, Ki Tisa serves to break up the flow of the Mishkan narrative, and this interruption itself is worth pondering.
The answer can be found in what Vayakhel adds to what was already said in Terumah. What makes Vayakhel unique is the addition of a crucial element: the commandment of Shabbat. Shabbat had been introduced earlier in the Torah – at Creation and again at Har Sinai – but now, in Vayakhel, it is presented alongside the Mishkan.
The Torah is teaching us that creative action must always be directed toward God. Our ingenuity and craftsmanship cannot be unhinged. Shabbat, as the Torah presents it here, is not just a day of rest. It’s an eternal reminder that human creativity has limits. It calls us to pause and reflect on the fact that, as powerful as human creativity may be, it cannot operate in isolation from the Divine.
This lesson is particularly significant in the aftermath of the Golden Calf. After all, the Golden Calf was, in a sense, the people’s attempt to use their creative gifts in a way that was completely divorced from God. They took their craftsmanship, which was meant to serve God, and used it instead to deny God. They declared, “This is the god who took us out of Egypt,” turning their greatest gift – human creativity – into a force of destruction rather than construction.
The Mishkan, on the other hand, represents the possibility of redemption through the proper use of creativity. It was not simply a structure to house the Divine Presence; it was a reminder that the ultimate purpose of all creative effort is to serve something greater than ourselves. The building of the Mishkan was not just a physical act of construction but instead a spiritual redirection. The people used their creativity, not to reject God, but to become closer to Him.
This is a critical lesson in an age of boundless ingenuity and seemingly unlimited potential. With advancements in health technology, artificial intelligence, and space exploration, we must remind ourselves that true morality lies in knowing where to draw the line. For us, that line is marked by the weekly observance of Shabbat – “Sheishet Yamim Tavod Melachtecha”, yes, you should work for six days, but on the seventh day, rest. By embracing the boundaries set by Shabbat, we not only honor our Creator but also reclaim the purpose and direction of our creativity, reminding ourselves that our greatest potential lies in using our gifts to serve a higher good.
Comments