Parshat Terumah: Making Space
by Nora Chernov
I can clearly remember the first time I attended a Jewish conference with a designated low sensory space. It came at a moment early in my journey of understanding my own neurodivergence and, at first, it felt incredible. Here was recognition of my presence and the presence of my similarly disabled peers and an attempt to anticipate and accommodate us. I never actually used the space - the conference was in a hotel and when I needed to recover from overload or prevent a meltdown the private space of my room was far more appealing - but I felt seen nonetheless.
That was until I actually experienced the rest of the conference. It seemed that in creating one form of accommodation - a sequestered space off from the main area that did not actually facilitate participation as much as recovery - the organizers absolved themselves of all responsibility in building an accessible experience beyond the existence of that one room. Mandatory sessions were a barrage of bright colored lights, booming sound systems, tight aisles, chairs clearly not designed for fat bodies, and a series of other access nightmares. And these were the parts of the event that everyone was expected to attend! I watched even neurotypical colleagues struggle with the sensory overwhelm and found myself struck at the simultaneous move towards and away from accessibility. It felt as though they knew accommodations are something one ought to have available but were unwilling to commit to actually implementing them in any sort of transformative way. Put another way, it seemed like they had read about the needs of some disabled people but had never actually spoken to one. Had they done so, maybe different choices would have been made. More likely, however, our access needs would have been treated as too great an expense in time and effort or too disruptive to plans made before our presence was even considered.
The core of Parshat Terumah are the hyper-detailed and specific directions for the creation of the Mishkan, the holy space that will be God’s dwelling place as the Israelites move through the desert. It’s a parsha I often struggle to find any connection with. The details of gold and acacia wood and cloth are inscrutable to me, impossible to picture. And the precision of the tasks described are anathema to my dyspraxic experience, where thriving requires an embrace of all things askew and disheveled. However, the moment I read this parsha with a focus on disability it hit me like a ton of bricks - I know this! This is a request for accommodations!
In Exodus 25:8 God says to Moses: וְעָ֥שׂוּ לִ֖י מִקְדָּ֑שׁ וְשָׁכַנְתִּ֖י בְּתוֹכָֽם v’asu li mikdash, vschanti b’tocham. “And let them make for me a holy space and I will dwell among them.” The rest of the parsha hangs on this verse, the instructions for the creation of this holy place for God. Attentive readers however, may notice a peculiarity. God has been accompanying the Israelites along their journey since the moment of leaving Egypt. What then changes with the construction of this holy space? It creates the conditions for God to be able to be not merely with but fully amongst the people. In other words something is blocking access to God and the Mishkan is the method of change.
This text is a chance to pick up the invitation laid out by Rabbi Dr. Julia Watts Belser in her book Loving Our Own Bones: Disability Wisdom and the Spiritual Subversiveness of Knowing Ourselves Whole in which she describes “God on Wheels.” “God on Wheels” is a theology and conception of the divine in which God knows the joys and pains of the disabled bodymind because God is disabled. To know God as disabled is to transform how we read Torah, as disability becomes embedded in every letter of every word.
Once we understand God to be disabled, the details of the Mishkan change. No longer just instruction, they are divine accommodations. And not just a list of accommodations, but the accommodations “request” par excellence. It is a model of boldness for all of us in making our needs known. What God describes will require a major commitment of resources both in labor and material, even though the Israelites are not particularly well established at this moment. God does not follow the pattern many of us have become accustomed to: compromising on our needs in advance and yet still anticipating a response that this is “asking” too much. Instead God simply gives instructions on how the space must be if it is to be a holy space. There is no list of explanations for why each detail is present, nor a diagnostic criteria that God must meet in order for effort to be made to ensure equal access. There is no dance of negotiation, it is understood that full presence of the divine is desired and said full presence requires a material commitment from the community. And as all disabled bodyminds are in the Divine image, the same principle can extend to all of us.
In this model, accommodation cannot be made an afterthought in the construction of a holy space; rather, accommodation is the prerequisite of holy space and the very reason for its existence.
I may not be able to comprehend the details of theMishkanas laid out in Torah, but I can begin to imagine what it might be like in our contemporary moment. I can picture the wide aisles, the sturdy adjustable chairs, the open spaces for all bodies. The faces of interpreters illuminated by different lighting that can meet all needs, and the lens of cameras that broaden the boundary of holy space beyond the walls of any one room. The clicks of keyboards captioning, of stims and tics and shuffling, as part of the harmony of any song or psalm. And there, in that place and every holy space that accounts for every one of us, the Divine amongst us all.
Nora Chernov (she/her) is a trans and neurodivergent Jewish educator, writer, and ritual leader. She is currently a student at the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College.
