Colours and Counter Culture

Parshas Vayakhel-Pekudei: Society, the self and the soul

Self-discovery is all the rage these days. Everyone is seeking a moment of inner revelation.

Our culture screams that the only way to be authentic is to radically differentiate from the masses. We strive to be different because we want to stand out. Some part of us longs to be noticed and remembered, recognised and admired for our singularity. But are the results of differentiation all they are cracked up to be? We may feel lonely and isolated when we strike out on our own. Often the desire for validation is never fulfilled, and trying to be different for the sake of it leads to shallow relationships. "Be that self which one truly is", advised the dashing Danish philosopher Soren Kierkegaard. Sounds great, right? Until you discover that Kierkegaard lived a miserable, lonely life because of his ideals.

While on the outside, things looked glamorous for Soren Kierkegaard, his actual life majorly sucked.

Yet at the same time, being the same as everyone else is also not the answer. Deep down, few can tolerate appearing as just another face in the crowd. Humans strive to be vibrant, living beings who leave an imprint on the world. And that is not an urge healthily repressed. Wandering through life's labyrinth in search of our true identity, where do we find a deep sense of individuality? And if we were to discover it, how should we expect it to manifest itself? An approach to this week's Parsha opens up a potential avenue for insight.

Our Parsha begins with a whirlwind tour of the materials needed to construct the 'Mishkan' Tabernacle. This includes a list of vessels, Mishkan components, and priestly garments to be created or assembled. In response to Moshe's call, men and women enthusiastically donated all the resources he listed. After addressing the Jewish mass's extraordinary rush of generosity, the verse continues by recounting the contribution of the tribal leaders:

...the princes brought the shoham stones and filling stones for the ephod and the breastplate

{Shemos 35:27}

Now granted, for good reason, I am not a professional fundraiser. But if I were, I would thank my lucky stars for such a generous donation. I would offer a building plaque to each prince, making them guests of honour at the next Tabernacle Trust gala dinner. But Rashi, quoting the Midrash, casts a critical shadow on their efforts.

When Moshe declares the need for the Mishkan's material support, Rashi informs us that the princes resolved to wait until everyone else had contributed. They assumed there would be a substantial deficit in resources left over, a gap they intended to fill from their own finances. But like many modern economists, they failed to sense the fiscal atmosphere in the room. Contrary to their predictions, the Jewish people participated so enthusiastically that Moshe had to tell them to stop giving! With nothing else needed, necessity forced the princes to donate the still-uncollected stones for the High Priest's breastplate. In light of this narrative, the Midrash criticises these leaders' approach to charitable giving as lazy.

At first glance, the midrashic criticism of the princes seems harsh. Certainly, enthusiasm and zeal are praiseworthy attributes in pursuit of fulfilling the divine will. Yet, their intentions were righteous, and ultimately, they contributed to a centrepiece of the High Priest's garments. Why can't we just declare all is well and ends well? To answer this question, let's try to understand the Tabernacle donations' underlying meaning.

Many commentators agree that building the Mishkan functioned as a national redemptive act, with the merit of its construction helping absolve the Israelites from having worshipped the Golden Calf. The Chassidic thinker Rav Nosson of Breslov elaborates on this framework in light of his mentor Rebbe Nachman's teachings. He explains that in contributing to the Mishkan, each member of the Jewish nation could bring out their particular point of goodness or nekudah tovah. This is the significance of the Torah enumerating their gifts as:

"...gold, silver, copper, sky-blue, dark red, and crimson..."

{Shemos 35:4-5}

A varying palette of colours indicates that each person brought an individual gift complementing his distinctive characteristics. Kabbalah teaches that these hues allude to the supernal colours, which are themselves symbols for the unique good inside each and every Jew.

Rav Nosson has understood the material gathering for the Mishkan's construction as expressing each Jew's supreme worth and identity. And his reading enables us to interpret the prince's error in a way that resonates. How so? The tribal leaders' original intention was to fill a gap left over from the combined Israelite donations. Now, if God meant every gift to evoke the inner essence of its giver, we can see precisely where the Princes got it wrong. Instead of making donations based on their personal intuitions, they were addressing a void left by others. Simply put:

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The Princes allowed themselves to be defined by what others were not rather than by what they were.

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Looking for a gap in the market may be prudent business practice. But it is certainly not how we discover our inner selves. Why? Because whilst our appearance may make us look different from the crowd, we have unwittingly allowed the same public to define our identity. The mighty irony of counterculture is that while it seeks to create something fresh and original, it is firmly rooted in the existing social fabric. By challenging mainstream society, non-conformists essentially define themselves as reacting against the prevalent social order and are, consequently, still dictated by it. In this way, counterculture fails to break free from the chains of status quo. Hipster lifestyles, therefore, are just another expression of the norms they aim to subvert.

Copying others is not a way to determine one's identity. But neither does the deliberate rejection of our surrounding models offer a path to self-discovery. What, then, is the answer?

In one of his famous essays, Rav Dessler formulates a striking analogy for the pleasure in the world to come. He imagines the delight one gets from being allowed to praise an impressive and powerful monarch. Still, he envisions even greater satisfaction when realising that the words and nature of one’s accolades were totally different from anyone else's. God made each of us unique so that we can be the ultimate manifestation of His glory. We can all produce our own radically distinct expressions of kavod shomayim or the majesty of heaven.

The Israelites’ act of giving to the Mishkan was instinctive and an intimate expression of affinity with the divine. Our interactions with the outside world are inevitably shaded by what we see around us. In contrast, our inner experience is a raw and immediate expression of ourselves. Yet the clamour and competition of modern life have distracted us from the stirrings of the soul. Our hearts should be open to God, allowing Him to receive our most honest and sincere feelings. We should feel at home with His presence in our inner world. And if the true pleasure of uniqueness is found before our creator, perhaps in the here and now, we can truly discover the beauty of our singular identity.

Good Shabbos, and Keep Pondering!