Parsha Ki Tissa


In this morning’s Torah portion we read about the Half-shekel which was required to be given by each adult male as a donation to the upkeep of the temple and also as a means of taking a census of the number of households.
 
The Torah goes to great lengths to emhasise that it is a half – it even tells us that there are 20 gerah in a shekel and we only give a half, when it could have simply said that we give 10 gerah.
 
The Torah is reminding us that as individuals each of us is incomplete.  The relationships which we have in our lives – our relationship with our spouse, with G-d, with another Jew, and the commandment to love a fellow Jew – all unite us with other people and entities.  The Parsha reminds us that we need this unity – that of man and wife, that of man and G-d, that of the whole of klal Yisroel, with each other and, of course, with G-d, in order to function fully.  Otherwise we remain incomplete, a half rather than a whole, an unfinished symphony.
 
That is not to say that our relationships with other people are alwys smooth, they can, of course, be very demanding and challenging, no less when it comes to our relationship with G-d, as the story of the Golden Calf, related in this week’s Parsha, demonstrates.  Here was the worst national sin in the history of the Jewish people. Not our finest hour, to put it mildly.  Just weeks after the greatest revelation of all time, when we saw and heard G-d, we start bowing down to a cow?! How fickle are we? Yet rather than cover up, the Torah is unflinchingly honest and records this most unflattering moment of ours in all its detail.
Why?
Perhaps the very important lessons we need to draw from this embarrassing episode are, firstly, that people do sin, human beings do make mistakes, and even inspired Jews who saw the divine with their own eyes can mess up -- badly. And, secondly, that even afterwards there is still hope, no matter what.
 
In the very same Parshah we read how G-d tells Moses to carve a second set of tablets, to replace the first set he smashed when he came down the mountain and was shocked by what the Jews were up to. The Torah does not intend to diminish our respect for that generation, but rather to help us understand human frailty, our moral weakness and the reality of relationships, spiritual or otherwise.
 
G-d gave us a perfect Torah. The tablets were hand-made by G-d, pure and sacred, and then we messed up. So is it all over? Is there really no hope now? Are we beyond redemption? After all, what could possibly be worse than idolatry? We broke the first two commandments and the tablets were shattered into smithereens because we were no longer worthy to have them. It was the ultimate infidelity.
 
Yet the Torah teaches that all is not lost. As bad as it was -- and it was bad -- it is possible for man to repair the damage. Moses will make new tablets. They won't be quite the same as G-d's, but there will be Tablets nonetheless. We can pick up the pieces.
They say this is also one of the reasons for breaking the glass under the chupah at a wedding ceremony.  Besides never forgetting Jerusalem and praying for her full restoration, this ceremony teaches a very important lesson about life to a bride and groom who are about to embark on their own new path in life. What happens immediately after the groom breaks the glass? Everyone shouts "Mazel Tov!" The message is clear. Something broke? Nu, it's not the end of the world. We can even laugh about it and still be happy. Nisht geferlich. Lo nora. This too shall pass. A very practical, peace-keeping tip for the new couple.
 
This may also be the reason why both sets of tablets, the broken ones and their replacements, are stored together in perpetuity in the Ark of the Covenant.
Like the story of the person who wanders into an expensive gift store seeking the "perfect" gift for his mother-in-law. Perfect, as in the most impressive for the cheapest price. As he checks out the selection he can't help but overhear the boss berating a new employee who'd just smashed an extremely expensive china vase.
He approaches the owner and negotiates a very reasonable price to have the broken pieces gathered, packaged and delivered to the birthday party, with specific instructions that the klutzy employee accidentally drop the gift at the front door.
The big day arrives. So does the deliveryman. The plan works perfectly. Sympathy all round and assurances that "don't worry, darling, it's the thought that counts."
Next moment though his mother-in-law is berating him as a cheapskate and chasing him out the house.  What went wrong?  The shop assistant had only gone and wrapped each piece separately.
In what way do the broken pieces of the original luchot differ from the gift-wrapped public-relation disaster in the above story? Aren't they just a symbol of our crime and punishment? Maybe – but they are also a reminder that there are always second chances in life, if we are only prepared to seek them out and work for them.
 
It is possible to pick up the pieces in life. Whether it's our relationships with G-d, our marriage partners, our kids or our colleagues, we can make amends and repair the damage.
 
If the Jews could recover from the Golden Calf, we can certainly recover from our own challenges.