In Pekudey, we read about the construction of the tabernacle. The tabernacle is a portable sanctuary, a place for God to be manifested to the people. It is a harbinger of the Temple, but it does something the Temple cannot do — it moves with the people.

Judaism throughout its history has constructed buildings that were temporary. Not only the Sukkah, which is designed to be temporary, but the sanctuaries and synagogues that served a community for as long as that community was permitted to stay — or even to exist. We did not have the desire or the stability to build magnificent cathedral-type synagogues. When you wander, you must have only that which you can take with you.

Recently, in the wake of the devastating fires in Los Angeles, I know a number of people who were left with nothing but the clothes on their backs. Some even berate themselves for not grabbing one more memento, one more picture, one treasured book.

Yet, the lesson of the tabernacle is what one victim of the fire said: “I learned intensely that what you have is not who you are.” The tabernacle throughout the wilderness reminded the Israelites who they were. It did not need to be permanent, for nothing is except that which gave them their identity in the first place — the Sovereignty of God.

Each night, the Israelites followed a pillar of fire. One night, I looked from my window and in the far distance in Los Angeles, I saw a modern, awful version of that pillar of fire. It reminded me of the pain of loss, of the need for mutual care, of the impermanence in the history of our people and in the human experience. And of the hope for comfort in the presence of God, called by our tradition rofeh l’shvurey lev — the healer of shattered hearts.