They were to measure according to their abilities, albeit within the constraints of human imperfections

“Then all the wisehearted people, those doing the work… made the Mishkan out of ten curtains of twisted fine linen, and blue, purple, and crimson wool….” (Shemos 36:8)

The Torah already elaborated and expounded upon the details and specifications of the construction of the Mishkan and the raiments of the Kohanim in the portions of Terumah and Tetzaveh. Why, then, does the Torah once again review all these same measurements and descriptions as the Mishkan is actually being built? (Rabbi Ben-Zion Rand, Likutei Peshatim)

In Pursuit of Perfection: An Autobiography

M

ore than 40 years ago there lived a little girl who was a perfectionist. In first grade, while learning how to write, she’d get frustrated at her messy penmanship and destroy the papers, wishing for perfect script like her teacher’s.

In fifth grade, the little girl learned how to sew. While she enjoyed planning the colors and designs of each outfit, by the time the project was completed, she’d push it to the back of the closet because it didn’t come out professional enough.

In high school, this preference for perfection followed her year by year. It was a millstone around her neck, passing judgment on all her accomplishments and rendering them wanting.

As a young mother, she was determined to work so her husband could learn, take care of her kids with complete devotion, and also keep a sparkling clean house. Anything less than was simply unacceptable.

The Gemara (Bechoros 17b) discusses whether it’s possible for man to measure to an extreme and exacting precision. The Gemara suggests that it is possible, for we find that the Jews were instructed to build the furnishings for the Mishkan according to specific measurements, and we are told that they succeeded in doing exactly what they were commanded to do. Nevertheless, the Gemara rejects this proof, pointing out that it could very well be that man is not capable of being so precise. In reference to the Mishkan, the original command was only that the Jews should do their best in forming the utensils and garments according to the measurements given, but not that they were required to be exact. They were to measure according to their abilities, albeit within the constraints of human imperfections.

But time moves on. And with it, hopefully, comes maturity that takes our ingrown traits and tempers them with wisdom and experience.

This middle-aged woman learned that perfectionism did not work to her benefit, and in fact detracted from her real progress. She learned that the dishes could wait in place of taking her kids to the park, and the laundry could be folded without the use of a ruler. (For illustrative purposes only; she never actually used a ruler.)

Bit by bit she grappled with her inner demands, and bit by bit she was able to temper them with patience and priorities.

Not The End

According to this conclusion of the Gemara, Harav Yitzchak Ze’ev Soloveitchik points out that we see that whenever a mitzvah is commanded, it’s understood that its adequate fulfillment can only be expected to be that which is within human abilities to accomplish. This is one of the messages that we learn from the Torah’s repetition of the full details of the Mishkan as the various items were actually completed. They succeeded in fashioning each piece as commanded, making an effort to do their best, just as they were commanded to do.

A while back, my husband and I bought burial plots. I hope this doesn’t creep you out as it did me, but apparently, it’s a segulah for long life. But it lent itself to a discussion with my kids about matzeivos and levayos… don’t ask. It was one of those conversations that you’re not sure how you got into and you wish you could get out of.

Somehow, though, in the course of the conversation, something came up that brought home to me that I had made progress over the years.

“I don’t want long megillos on my matzeivah,” I said to my older children very seriously. “Remember when the time comes, I want only two words on my matzeivah: I tried.”

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 985)