WHEN SIZE MATTERS:
A SERMON FOR PARESHAT PEKUDEY
March 8, 2003
Rabbi Edward Paul Cohn
Temple Sinai
New Orleans, Louisiana
Ordinarily this portion, Pekudey, is linked to the preceding portion,
Va-yak-hel. It is tough enough to preach on this less than homiletically rich
portion when it is double. This year, because it is a leap year with an added
month Adar II, the portion is stretched over two weeks, so what should I
preach? Did we exhaust our subject matter in last week's "brilliant" sermon?
Not a chance! There's much more to be said.
It's true, however, that some portions of Torah require one to dig
deeply to uncover their relevance. This week's reading is made up of lists
and tallies of taxes imposed for the building of the Tabernacle, and
laborious records of just how much gold and silver were used in the
construction.
Let's take careful note of one fact. What is striking here is the fact that
apparently the volume of materials and the precious metals used for the
sanctuary was derived from a very small amount paid by each Israelite,
specifically, a half-shekel tax. It is worth noting, then, that the greatness of
this first Jewish house of worship eventuated not from large donations, but
from a very small sum which was contributed by each and every person.
You and I live in a very different world. Ours is a mind set which has
lost sight of the significance of small contributions because we are
preoccupied with bigness. Bigger is better. Even in terms of character and
personality, we have come to emphasize and stress size.
We speak of a big man, or a great man. We idolize the huge success
and worship size. In our frenzy over size and quantity, we often overlook
and forget the significance of the little fellow and the so-called little things.
We all tend to measure success by the yardsticks of wealth, power,
celebrity, and box office draw. "He's big in baseball." "She's the biggest hit
on Broadway." "They've made it big!" Only the big are successful! Or are
they?
There are many people whose lives are fully successful without even a
moment of public acclaim or notice. Some of the unsung heroes among us
are those who are little if ever noticed and whose remarkable grandeur and
character are lost in a world infatuated and impressed by bigness.
The other day I found myself having broken the first law of travel: I
had nothing to read. I had finished one book and, reaching into my
briefcase, discovered, much to my horror, that I had failed to pack the
second book. What to do?
Off the airport bookstore I went, reconciled to paying full retail price
for a book that would occupy my mind for the next four or five hours. There
on a shelf I found Blind Faith, the authorized biography of Lula Hardaway.
Who was she? Stevie Wonder's mother and a remarkable woman, that's
who!
Hardship, sacrifice, degradation, survival over cruel adversity-Lula
Hardaway did whatever was necessary to save her children, especially Stevie
whom she just knew was blessed with special gifts.
Forced into prostitution by her no-good, lazy bum of a husband who
frequently beat her, Lula started to hide away money in a mattress. She
never touched it, even when the children shivered in the winter cold of an
unheated apartment. She was consumed by the dream of moving her
children far away from this violent man who threatened their lives at every
turn.
And, on one proud day, she emptied the stash of dollar bills-over
$900 of them-and put them down as a down payment on her own house in
a safe neighborhood of Detroit. Whatever was necessary, Lula was going to
do it to give Stevie an outlet for his remarkable musical gifts. And she did it,
one proud day witnessing his first contract with the Motown Label. All
because of this little woman.
Little people launch greatness and initiate great accomplishment and
progress. For all their seeming insignificance, "little people" make this
world a safer, kinder, more exciting and beautiful and hopeful place to live
and dream.
They are the little people who, not due to their bank balance or
impressive portfolios, enhearten and empower others to become their best.
The building of the sanctuary depended on each person making a
small contribution in the form of a half-shekel. From this minimal token
grew the glory of the Tabernacle.
The genuine and lasting success of our lives depends on such so-called
"small" contributions that those who love us, or those who simply do their
duty, make toward the building of God's kingdom on earth. May we earn
their faith and repay their trust in the only way possible, by living lives of
worthiness and loving kindness. Here's to the "little guy" behind the great
and the good!
Amen