Once upon a time, not so long ago, I taught theater in a Boston Elementary School. Some of my students were in the "lab class." The term "lab" implies something experimental, though I don't know how anyone could've expected anything other than chaos from a class of abused and neglected fourth and fifth graders. Carlos was perhaps the most rambunctious and least focused of that group. It took me much too long to realize that what Carlos craved most was attention, and what he needed most was to feel like he was doing something with a purpose each day. So one class, I appointed him to be my assistant. He was responsible for recording what took place in class that day (in crayon sketches), setting up the room before each activity, and demonstrating new exercises. It didn't work flawlessly, but there was a solid twenty minutes where he felt like he had an important job to do, and he was happy doing it.
This week, the Torah highlights two exemplary teachers, Betzalel and Oholiav, to whom G-d gave the ability to teach. It says further that G-d filled them with "wisdom of the heart," such that they were masters of every type of work needed to build the Mishkan (Temple prototype). Why were they "given" the ability to teach? Granted, teaching is difficult, but why couldn't they have learned the skill themselves, say from Moshe? It seems that to truly teach, it must come from a place that is deeper than intellect, deeper than thought. To teach something you must really understand it, really feel it. It must dwell in your heart and be given from there. Internalizing on such a root level isn't something we can always do alone. As Yermiyahu S. said last week, Betzalel and Oholiav made themselves a "clee"(vessel), and G-d responded by filling it…to the brim.
The word used for the work done to build the Mishkan is m'lacha, curiously close to the word for angel (malach). In the Midrash, Betzalel and Oholiav are credited with being able to teach people to build that which his/her heart yearned to build -- the teachers could hear the needs of their students. It is said that every time we do a mitzvah, every time we take a step closer to G-d and to ourselves, an angel is created. So, on some plane of existence, there are (hopefully) thousands of angels dancing and singing around us right now! Betzalel and Oholiav could see these guys -- they could see what we had already created, understand the path we were seeking, and help us get there. We needed to be part of building the Mishkan, to be an assistant, to contribute towards the group goal -- the ultimate goal.
Rav Kook lived his life always striving toward the goal of uniting the Jewish people. In an essay on love, he says that as crucial as it is to love every person and all of creation, a superficial love won't cut it. We have to get past that, and the only way to do it is to be practical. Love only develops when it's based on real experience. The obstacle to this is, of course, ourselves. Our narrowness of vision keeps us from interacting with new faces, with new places, with new ideas. How many Israelis do I really know? Have I ever interacted with a person from China except to eat his food? I come from Maine, but when was the last time I sat down with a lobsterman and heard his story? Rav Kook reminds us that even "those of excellence," those of wisdom, the warriors, the poets, the artists, the business people, even they are spreading light. Whether they recognize it or not doesn't matter, they are bringing the world closer to perfection.
So what's our job? To become teachers. To become keen observers of the light we are all spreading. Our ability to teach, though, will only be as great as our ability to receive. The deeper we internalize the needs of those we love, the more our own needs will be fulfilled, and the more we'll feel a part of achieving the ultimate goal.