In Parshat Vayakhel, following the sin of the Golden Calf, Moshe gathers Bnei Yisrael and commands them to contribute materials for the construction of the mishkan. The Torah emphasizes repeatedly that donations must come from those who are nediv lev, generous of heart, nesa’o libo, uplifted of heart, and more variations on this theme (Shemot 35:5, 35:21, 35:22, and more). The Torah later specifies several times, as well, that the actual construction of the mishkan should be performed by those who are chacham lev, wise of heart (35:10, 35:25, 36:1, and more). Why does the Torah repeat these phrases so many times? Did only those inspired to give actually contribute? And what is the connection between generosity of heart and wisdom of heart?

The Rav, Rav Yosef Dov Soloveitchik, teaches that after the betrayal of the Golden Calf, Bnei Yisrael needed to undergo a spiritual rebuilding, both externally and internally. The repeated mention of variations on nediv lev emphasizes that true atonement is not just about obligation, but about rekindling a passionate, voluntary desire to connect with God. The mishkan was not meant to be a begrudging act of penance, but an opportunity to repair the relationship through willing, joyful giving.

This helps answer our second question: did only those inspired to give actually contribute? Nechama Leibowitz explains that while the Torah highlights the generous-hearted, it does not say that those who did not feel immediate inspiration were exempt. The community as a whole bore responsibility for the mishkan, but the Torah stresses the ideal — that giving should come from within, not just as a social expectation. This message resonates in our own religious life: mitzvot are obligations, but our highest spiritual moments emerge when our hearts are moved beyond duty and expectation into devotion.

 

The Torah then shifts its repetition to the wise-hearted, those who actually craft the intricate components of the mishkan. This too begs the question: why this emphasis? Rabbanit Shani Taragin explains that chacham lev does not refer to abstract wisdom, but to applied wisdom, the ability to translate knowledge into sacred action. The mishkan was not just about technical skill — it was about channeling wisdom toward holiness, shaping physical materials into a spiritual dwelling for God.

These conceptions of nedivat lev and chochmat lev connect like two halves of the same shekel. Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch writes that true wisdom is itself a form of generosity — a willingness to dedicate one’s talents to the higher purpose of God. Just as the giving of materials required a generous heart, the craftsmanship required a generous application of wisdom. Thus, the Torah links the two: giving without skill is ineffective, but skill without generosity is empty. Only by uniting these qualities could the mishkan be built.

In our spiritual lives today, we are constantly “building a mishkan” — creating spaces for God’s presence in our homes, communities, and especially in our synagogues and batei midrash. The Torah’s repetition teaches us that both generosity and wisdom are necessary: generosity in giving, but also in spirit — in welcoming and including others. Some may give resources, others may contribute talent, but all must bring their hearts into the process.

This message is particularly relevant when we think about the role of women in the synagogue, our modern-day mishkan. If the mishkan required the contributions of both generous hearts and wise hearts, then kal vachomer, how much more so, do our synagogues need the wisdom, leadership, and full-hearted contributions of all members of our community, including those who sit on both sides of the mechitzah. The Torah does not limit generosity or wisdom to men alone — both men and women were crucial in building the mishkan (Shemot 35:22, 35:25-26).

As Rabbanit Esti Rosenberg notes, the inclusion of women in Torah study, leadership, and communal decision-making is not an innovation, but a continuation of the Torah’s vision — where all who are wise of heart, who have something to contribute, must be encouraged to do so. The mishkan was only complete when everyone’s gifts were included — whether materials, talents, or leadership.

Thus, the challenge for our generation is to build synagogues and Jewish communities that reflect this ideal: spaces shaped by both generosity and wisdom, where inclusion is not an afterthought but a fundamental expression of our commitment to holiness. When we open our hearts, not just to give but to make room for others to give, we truly create a dwelling place for the Divine.

May we be inspired to bring both generosity and wisdom into all that we do, ensuring that the mishkans of today welcome all who wish to contribute to the sanctity of Jewish life.

Shabbat Shalom ~ Besorot Tovot ~ Am Yisrael Chai