The Architects

February 29, 2008
Rabbi Seymour Rossel

More than one thousand years before Moses, a man named Imhotep became the chief advisor to Pharaoh Djoser of Egypt. Some say that Imhotep was the first scientific physician known to civilization. But he was most remembered and most revered for being the architect of the first true pyramid of Egypt. Sir James Henry Breasted, the classical historian of Egypt said of Imhotep,

In priestly wisdom, in magic, in the formulation of wise proverbs; in medicine and architecture; this remarkable figure of Zoser's reign left so notable a reputation that his name was never forgotten.

Not only did he make a name for himself through his work, the Egyptians later worshipped him as a god. For thousands of years, his name has remained current, though we know next to nothing of his life except for his accomplishments.

Great architects are great artists. And great artists make a name that outlasts them. Architects are magicians and engineers rolled into one. They manipulate mass and space, volume and texture, light and shadow. All this while keeping in mind the mundane things -- the technology available, the costs, and the engineering. Fine architecture is both aesthetic and functional.

This is what is expected in order for an architect to make history. A true architect must be a polymath, a master of many trades and skills. And the great architects are therefore well-known and highly-revered. So we know by name the individuals behind the pyramids, the Tomb of Hatshepsut, the Parthenon, Hagia Sohia, and so on. And because of this week's portion, Vayakhael, we know who built the Tabernacle in the Wilderness.

The Torah states that the two men we know by name, Bezalel the architect and Ohaliav, his apprentice, were endowed by Adonai with "a divine spirit of skill, ability, and knowledge in every kind of craft" (35:31). They were masters in working gold, silver, and copper (35:32). They could cut, polish, and set stones; and they could carve wood (35:33). But, most important, they were able to instruct others what to do and how to do it (35:34). Many artisans can do one or more of these things, but only a true master can direct a major building project from start to finish. Since every Israelite was supposed to lend a hand in the making of the Tabernacle, the most essential art of Bezalel and Ohaliav was the art of teaching all they knew.

Like Imhotep who was eventually worshipped as a god, Bezalel's reputation has continued to resound throughout Jewish history. Even before the State of Israel was declared, a school for Jewish artists in the modern Holy Land called itself by the name Bezalel. The implication was clear, that above all, Bezalel was considered by reputation to be the greatest artist and architect ever known to the Jewish people.

Now this is doubly startling. I do not wish to undermine all that has become traditional about the great Bezalel. But I need to share a few mysterious propositions with you. First, it is unlikely that there ever was a Tabernacle in the wilderness anything like the one that is described in our Torah. The rich trappings, the vast amounts of gems, and the diverse kinds of woods and skins, all these would probably be beyond the scope of people just released from Egyptian slavery.

Another thing is mighty strange: Where did all the metal come from? Egypt in ancient times was never rich in metals. It was in constant need of importing: gold from Nubia in Africa, silver from Mesopotamia, copper from the famous mines in lower Canaan. Metal in Egypt was so precious that it was used and reused. When it was too brittle to use for weapons or furniture or major purposes, it was poured into flat molds, rubbed and polished, and turned into hand mirrors for women. Egypt provided these thin polished metal hand mirrors for the entire ancient Near East. We have records of shipments of these mirrors being demanded and made to distant kingdoms. And the Torah speaks directly to this point when it says that the laver -- the huge copper basin for the priests to use in washing before entering the sanctuary -- was lined with the metal of hand mirrors donated by the lower class women who did menial labor near the gate of the Tabernacle.

But if the scholars are correct that there was no elaborate Tabernacle like this in the wilderness, if they are correct that what is actually being described is a primitive traveling version of the Temple of Solomon, if they are correct that the priests who described the Tabernacle imagined it based on Solomon's Temple, then why do we have the name of the architects who created the Tabernacle in the wilderness? Why remember specific names of people who lived hundreds of years before the Temple of Solomon? Why honor Bezalel and Ohaliav by name with verses in the Torah?

Or are these real names? Ohaliav is a compound word meaning "I am my father's tent." Now, if the father is God, as is often the case in names, it means "I am God's tent," another way of saying that you could not find a more appropriate name for an architect of a Tabernacle that is often called God's ohel, God's Tent of Meeting.

And Bezalel? What does this mean when you take it apart? Bezalel means "God's shadow." What God described, God's shadow built. So perhaps the scholars are correct and the Torah is being more than a bit mythological. Perhaps these are not the actual names of builders of the Tabernacle, but the mythical memories and the magical names that tell us more about what is happening than who is making it happen.

We could conclude by saying that these two famous Israelite architects are both the epitome of all architects and the key to understanding that, as the Torah puts it, all gifts of carving and cutting, of building, and creating are divinely inspired. We can never know for certain if the Tabernacle was a creation of those who passed through the wilderness, or a creation of those who built the shrine at Beth El, or an imaginary creation of those who saw before them the model of Solomon's Temple. But this we can know with certainty: Any artist who creates not only for the enjoyment of his generation, but for all generations, is divinely inspired. Any artist who creates a tent for meeting God is another Ohaliev and any artist who crafts a God-inspired design deserves to be called a Bezalel, a living shadow of God. And let us say: Amen.