Rabbi Jeremy Golker

Inside and Outside

Parshas Terumah introduces us to the construction of the Mishkan and its sacred keilim (vessels). The very first component described is the Aron, the Ark, which housed the Luchot and symbolizes Torah and the study of Torah at its highest level.

The Torah tells us that the Aron was fashioned from three boxes: an inner box of gold, a middle box of wood, and an outer box of gold (Shemos 25:11). In this layered structure, Chazal discern profound symbolism. The Gemara (Yoma 72b) teaches that just as the Aron was gold both inside and out, so too must a talmid chacham be tocho k’baro—his inner character reflecting his outward persona. Authenticity is the hallmark of true Torah greatness. The Torah scholar must be genuine through and through, refined not only in knowledge but in essence.

The Gemara (Berachos 28a) moreover recounts the well-known dispute between Rabban Gamliel and Rabbi Yehoshua. Following that controversy, Rabban Gamliel was removed from his position as Nasi, and Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah was appointed in his stead. One of Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah’s first decisions was to revise the entrance policy of the beis medrash.

Rabban Gamliel had maintained a stringent standard: only those who were demonstrably tocho k’baro were admitted. Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah, however, removed the guards at the entrance and opened the doors to all. The Gemara relates that the beis medrash. immediately swelled in number—four hundred, and according to some opinions seven hundred, benches were added.

The Maharsha notes the striking language of the Gemara. Why describe the growth in terms of benches rather than students? He suggests that this phrasing subtly reflects a shift in quality. The earlier students embodied spiritual depth; the later influx, while numerous, was characterized in more material terms, symbolized by the benches themselves.

Yet the Chiddushei HaRim offers another angle. Why was Rabban Gamliel distressed upon witnessing this expansion? He could easily have relaxed the standards himself and achieved similar numbers. What troubled him?

He realized that those who had not previously qualified as tocho k’baro had, through immersion in Torah study, become refined. The very environment of limud haTorah transformed them. Torah did not merely filter and refine the already worthy; it created them. That realization filled him with regret: perhaps he had inadvertently withheld the transformative power of Torah from others.

And thus we return to the Aron. Its golden interior and exterior symbolize not only the ideal of authenticity, but the capacity of Torah itself to generate authenticity. Through the koach haTorah, a person can evolve—from partial to whole, from fragmented to integrated—until he, too, becomes tocho k’baro, inwardly and outwardly aligned.

Rabbi Leiby Burnham

The Best of the Best

Of all those vessels in the Mishkan, the holiest was the Aron, the Ark of the Covenant.

Resting atop the Aron was the Kapores, the golden cover, and upon it stood the Keruvim, two winged, child-faced figures fashioned from gold. The Torah states (Shemos 25:18): “And you shall make two cherubim of gold… hammered out shall you make them, from the two ends of the cover.”

Chazal note a striking detail. While many of the Temple vessels designated to be made of gold could, in pressing circumstances, be fashioned from other materials, such as silver or wood (see Menachos 28b), the Keruvim could not. They had to be gold, exclusively and without compromise (Mechilta to Shemos 20:20). Why was that?

Rabbi Meir Shapiro, the illustrious founder of Yeshivas Chachmei Lublin and the visionary behind the Daf Yomi movement, offered a profound explanation.

The Aron represents Torah itself. It housed the Luchos and symbolized the covenant of learning and Divine wisdom. The Keruvim, however, are different. They bear the faces of children and represent the transmission of Torah to the next generation.

Torah does not endure merely because it is studied. It endures because it is taught carefully, lovingly, deliberately to children from their earliest years, until it becomes second nature to them. It is absorbed not only intellectually, but existentially and becomes identity.

When Rabbi Meir Shapiro’s students once sought to honor him, they organized an extraordinary siyum: in a single day, the entire yeshivah collectively completed the entire Talmud. That gesture was not merely a gift, but a living embodiment of his vision: Torah flourishing in the hands of devoted students who would carry it forward.

And that is why the Keruvim must be gold.

In many areas of communal life, adjustments can be made. Economies can be found and substitutes can suffice. But when it comes to teaching Torah to our children, when it comes to the future of Klal Yisrael, there are no substitutions. There is no “other metal.” You do not economize on eternity.

The message of the golden Keruvim is clear: invest the finest resources, the deepest care, and the highest standards into Torah education. Support institutions that shape young minds and hearts. Give the gold.

For it is through the children and their learning, their growth, their internalization of Torah, that the covenant continues, generation after generation.

Rabbi Shraga Kallus

The Son of Gold

The Pasuk says, “Ve’asu Li Mikdash ve’shachanti be’socham—And they shall make for Me a Sanctuary, and I will dwell within them” (Shemos 25:8).

The Midrash offers a beautiful mashal. There was once a king who loved his daughter deeply. When she married and left his palace, he said to her husband, “I cannot separate from her. Make for me a small chamber near you, so that I may dwell close to her.”

When you read that Midrash, you must pause. This is not poetry. This is reality.

The Ribbono Shel Olam is saying: “Make Me a small room and I will dwell there.” Not in the heavens. Not in abstraction. But be’socham, within you. Hashem desires a space in your heart where He is always present. A quiet chamber where He is never a guest, never visiting, but always home.

The Zohar (Lech Lecha 88b) tells a remarkable story about R’ Abba. He once encountered a young orphan in the street named R’ Yossi. R’ Abba saw something special in him and invited him to come learn in the Beis Midrash. But R’ Yossi replied honestly: “I work and earn money. If I come to yeshiva, what will I live on?” R’ Abba promised him twelve golden coins if he would come learn, to which R’ Yossi agreed. But he had friends who mocked him. “You think the rabbi has twelve gold coins? Where will he get such money? You’re being fooled.”

The doubt crept in. R’ Yossi returned to R’ Abba uncertain. Though R’ Abba reassured him, he himself had a momentary thought: Where will I get the money? At that very moment, an elderly man arrived at his door with exactly twelve golden coins.

This old man had heard a fiery drasha from R’ Yochanan that only those who are connected to Torah will merit the dew of resurrection. He feared for himself as he knew that he was distant from Torah. “If I cannot learn,” he reasoned, “let me at least support Torah. Let me attach myself to a young talmid chacham.” R’ Abba saw the Hashgacha Pratis and gave the money to support Yossi’s learning.

Months passed. One day R’ Abba noticed R’ Yossi crying. “What troubles you?” “Now I understand what Torah is,” he said. “I don’t want to learn for money. I don’t want reward. Bring the old man back. Return the coins.”

He no longer needed incentive. Torah itself had captured his heart.

A powerful argument ensued. The old man wanted the merit of supporting Torah, but the boy refused to learn for payment. Finally, R’ Abba declared: “I guarantee both of you Olam Haba. The money will go to the poor.” R’ Yossi continued learning and became known as R’ Yossi ben Pazi (R’ Yossi the son of fine gold), due to his valuing of Torah even more than gold.

At first, R’ Yossi began learning for gold. But at some point, something awakened. There was a small place inside him where the Shechinah quietly entered. And once Hashem occupies that chamber, everything changes.

You don’t know when that moment will come. You don’t know what day or night or what insight will open that inner room.

But when it does, the Torah is no longer external. It is no longer transactional. It becomes life itself.

And that is the Mishkan within.

Rabbi Dovid Rosman

A Torah Life

As we read through Parshas Terumah, the Pesukim yield profound guidance for anyone who seeks to live as a ben Torah and lead a genuine Torah life.

The Pasuk states, “Va’asu Aron atzei shittim—And they shall make an Aron of acacia wood…” (Shemos 25:10). The word “Va’asu” is in the plural, and means, “They shall make.” This is striking. Most of the Mishkan instructions are in the singular, namely, “Ve’asisa—You shall make.” Here, regarding the Aron, the Torah speaks in the plural.

Chazal explain that the Aron corresponds to the keser Torah, the crown of Torah. There are three crowns in the Mishkan, in particular: The Shulchan, embodying the crown of Malchus (kingship); the Mizbeach, carrying the crown of Kehunah (priesthood); and the Aron, representing the crown of Torah.

Malchus is limited to the house of David and Kehunah is limited to Kohanim. But Torah? Torah belongs to everyone. That is why the Aron is introduced with the plural “Va’asu.” Torah is not reserved for a dynasty or a tribe. No Jew should ever think, “Torah is not for me.” The crown of Torah is available to all.

But in line with this, we quickly run into a problem, because immediately afterward, the Torah switches back to singular: “Ve’tzipisa oto zahav—And you shall cover it with gold…” Why the shift?

While Torah belongs to everyone, each person connects to Torah in an individual way. We are obligated to learn all areas of Torah, and yet each neshama feels a particular pull toward certain areas, whether it be Halachah, Aggadah, Iyun, Chassidus, Tanach or something else. That individuality is not a weakness, but intentionally designed by Hashem.  Torah is for all (va’asu), but it is also personal (ve’tzipisa). One must therefore embrace both the communal and the individual dimensions of Torah learning.

A second aspect of the Aron relates to its materials of wood and gold, or what can be understood as the balance of simplicity and dignity. The Aron consisted of three layers: gold on the inside, wood in the middle, gold on the outside. What is striking is that the Torah first introduces the wooden box with the words, “Aron atzei shittim.” Only afterward does it describe the gold overlay.

To the eye, one sees only gold, while the wood is hidden entirely. Yet the Torah presents the wood as primary.

The message is powerful.

A ben Torah must be gold inside and gold outside—authentic, refined and dignified. One must dress and act with dignity, feeling an inner richness and confidence in one’s spiritual worth.

But at the core? Wood. Simplicity. The essence of a Torah personality is not extravagance or pursuit of luxury. It is inner substance, humility and restraint. The world runs after gold, but the Torah begins with wood. The gold is necessary, but it is not the foundation.

In addition, the dimensions of the Aron are unusual: Two and a half amos long; one and a half amos wide; and one and a half amos high. In contrast to other keilim which are measured in whole numbers, everything in regards to the Aron is in halves. Why the difference?

The Baal HaTurim explains that Torah is never complete within a person. No matter how much one learns, one always remains “half.” The more one grows, the more one realizes how much remains to be learned. This is not meant to depress us, but humble us. Torah was no less given on Har Sinai, the smallest of mountains because growth in Torah must be accompanied by humility. As Chazal teach, Torah only endures in one who makes himself humble (Taanis 7a). The more one learns, the more one should feel gratitude and humility—not arrogance.

Lastly, the Aron had poles (badim) inserted into rings for carrying. Other keilim also had poles, but there is a crucial difference. Regarding the Aron, the Torah commands: “Lo yasuru mimenu—They shall not be removed from it” (Shemos 25:15) It is prohibited to remove the poles from the Aron, even when the Mishkan is stationary, something unlike all the other vessels. If the poles are merely functional—to carry the Aron—then when it is resting, they should be removable, like the poles of the Shulchan and Mizbeach. But the Torah forbids removing them. Why is that?

Because the image of Torah must always be one of movement. The Aron represents Torah. Torah is not meant to sit in one corner of a room, confined to private study. Torah is meant to travel, to be carried, to reach others. The Rambam (Sefer HaMitzvos, Mitzvas Aseh 11) writes that the mitzvah of Talmud Torah is “Lilmod u’lelamed—To learn and to teach.” It is one mitzvah. Without the teaching dimension, it is incomplete. The permanent poles teach us that Torah must always be on the move through being shared and spread to others.

And so, from these simple Pesukim about the Aron, we learn a number of fundamental principles for a Torah life. Torah belongs to everyone; each person has a unique connection to Torah; a ben Torah must combine dignity with simplicity; true Torah growth produces humility; and Torah must never remain stationary, but shared.

May we merit to grow in Torah, to remain humble in Torah, and to carry it forward, so that the entire world becomes filled with its light.

Rabbi Ephraim Eliyahu Shapiro

Revealing the Gold

Toward the beginning of Parshas Terumah, the Torah describes the two golden Keruvim. The Pasuk says they were to be made “miksha”—hammered from a single piece of gold (Shemos 25:18).

Simply, this means that the artisan would take one solid block of gold and hammer it carefully until the forms of the Keruvim emerged. They were not separate pieces attached together; they were fashioned from one unified mass.

But the Tolna Rebbe offers a deeply moving interpretation.

He explains that miksha does not merely describe a technical process. It describes a revelation. The form of the Keruvim was already present within the gold. The beauty, the structure, the sacred image already lay hidden inside. The role of the craftsman was not to create something new, but to uncover what was there all along. Through patient, deliberate hammering, he revealed the form that was waiting to emerge.

The Keruvim, Chazal teach, bore the faces of children (Sukkah 5b). They represent our precious children. And herein lies the message for parents and educators.

Greatness is already within each and every one of our children. The strengths, the talents, the purity, the capacity for Torah and for holiness are not manufactured from the outside. They are embedded within the child’s very being.

Our task is miksha. To work gently, invest time and shape with care. We are not to impose something foreign, but to reveal what is innate. Sometimes the process requires effort, repetition and discipline. But it must always be carried out with the awareness that we are not creating greatness, but revealing it. The gold is already there.

May we be zocheh to approach our children with that vision and believe in the hidden beauty within them.