The passive phraseology (“six days shall work be done”) could suggest that work must not become a dominating obsession leaving no time for cultural or spiritual activity; work must not rule our lives to the exclusion of everything else. If we are able to find the right balance and keep work in its place, work thereby becomes a means and not an end.

There is a further possible explanation. Saying “six days shall you work” and “six days shall work be done” shows us that there are two issues, the worker and the work. The worker must not expect to rest on the Sabbath day or any other time unless they have earned the rest by work. But the nature of the work is also important. As the sages point out at the end of Tractate Kiddushin, one’s work must be clean, constructive and honest.

An extra dimension comes with the second sidra, which not only informs us how well the work was done but adds that there was an inspection and accounting. Everything was checked and double-checked and only then (actually in next week’s reading) could the Tabernacle ritual begin.

On a personal note I have to say that I saw the tremendous wisdom of this procedure – plan, implementation and inspection – when Jerusalem had a bad winter one year and we turned on our reverse-cycle air conditioning to get some extra warmth, and the air conditioning unit blew up. We had been away when the work was done on our apartment and did not know until that moment that not everything had been double-checked before the contractors left. Maybe we had presumed too much, maybe we hadn’t. Still, we should have remembered that the Torah has both Vayakhel and P’kudei.

Maimonides (Moreh N’vuchim 1:54) prefers to understand “ways” as “attributes” or “qualities”, but we are still not certain why the question is raised at this particular point in the history of the Exodus. It does not help us very much to re-affirm that the Biblical stories are not necessarily in chronological order – Ein muk’dam um’uchar baTorah (Pes. 6b etc.) and hence the historical context may be somewhat irrelevant. Most readers would rather see the Torah as a connected story. Think only of the Akedah (Gen. 22), which specifically says, “And it happened after these things” (the events related in chapter 21).

Bearing this in mind, it is likely that in our chapter the leader, embarking upon a long relationship with the led, is anxious to know how to govern the people. Since Moses has been appointed by the Almighty, he needs to know which qualities the Divine Master utilises in managing His world so that the earthly appointee can exercise his own responsibility according to God’s wish and policy.

This explanation fits in with God’s promise, “All My goodness shall pass before you” (Ex. 33:19). The view of Maimonides is that God is about to give Moses a bird’s-eye view of the whole world, about which the Book of B’reshit says, “God saw everything He had made, and behold it was very good” (Gen.1:31). Seeing the world would allow Moses to get a glimmering of where Israelite history – and his own career – fitted into the Divine picture. It is also possible that “goodness” can be taken literally and that God was about to show Moses the moral principles that had to be followed on earth in order to make the world worthy of its Creator.

The text goes on to say that God has a place where Moses can stand and see, not God Himself, but the traces He leaves in history. If that place is Sinai, it once again suggests Moses getting a picture of the world as God wants it. If “place” is metaphorical, as Maimonides believes can be the case, it refers to God Himself. One of the rabbinic names for the Almighty is HaMakom, “(He who is in every) place”. In this light we can understand the text to be another reference to God’s nature and qualities.

One further problem, though the issues we have discussed are far from exhausting the content and message of the parashah. In verse 20, God says, “No man can see My face and live”. Yes, we know that God has no bodily form or physical characteristics, and words like “see My face” cannot be taken literally. But “face” can be applied to God in a spiritual sense, as the priestly blessing (Num. 6) makes clear. God’s “face” = His favour. No man can “see” His “face”? The idea is that no human can fully perceive God’s ways; our human intellect is limited. It also means that no man can fathom how God runs His world and on what basis He makes His decisions. Thus the text says, “I will be gracious to whomever I will (choose to) be gracious”. We can yearn to know and understand all the details of the Divine mind, but we are asking too much.

The kohen was not only an officiant who carried out the intricate ritual. He was also a spiritual leader who built up a rapport with his community. They listened to him because he listened to them. They supported him because he supported them. They hastened to help him because he hastened to help them.

The rabbi of later ages was not automatically a kohen. Learning and not lineage was the deciding factor in his appointment. But like the kohen, the rabbi had to understand his people as they had to try to understand him. People judged their rabbi more by his deeds than his words.

This double dimension of the Tabernacle remained the pattern of Israelite and Jewish worship throughout history. We see this in the names for a synagogue – bet t’fillah, house of prayer, and bet am, community centre. We also see it in the geography of a Jewish community. In the wilderness, the Tabernacle was the centre of the camp with the tribes grouped around it, and wherever Jews lived, the synagogue was the core of the community. If Jews moved away, the synagogue could not be left high and dry without a community around it, so the synagogue also often moved to the new neighbourhood.

In symbolic terms, too, the Tabernacle, like the Temple and the synagogue, was the symbolic representation of Jewish ideas and ideals. The Ark was the repository of the tablets of the Revelation, symbolic of the crucial teachings and traditions of the Jewish people. The altar represented the community’s commitment to God and His Word. The eternal light stood for the constant Divine Presence. The kohanim and Levites represented the nation, “a kingdom of kohanim and a holy people”.

Building the Tabernacle could not have been left until the Israelites reached the Promised Land; the foundations of Judaism and the Jewish people had to go with them from the moment they left Egypt.

What this has to do with the Torah reading is more than merely the general ethical duty (Parashat K’doshim, Lev. 19) not to oppress people or mislead them with selective information. It raises an aspect of telemarketing that can be called telefundraising. The name of today’s portion, T’rumah, is the modern Hebrew word for a donation. In Biblical literature it means an offering, with the technical connotation of a percentage of one’s earnings which is the due of the kohen. The root of the word denotes to lift up, and hence to set something apart for sacred purposes. In Mishnaic Hebrew the noun gives birth to a verb, taram, to donate.

In Israel there are so many good causes for which telefundraisers solicit t’rumot, and it is hard to refuse them. We just have to hope that the telemarketers who are so eloquent about their causes give a personal example of generosity. In England a certain Quaker used to say, “Friend, my sympathy is worth a five-pound note: what is yours worth?”

There is, however, a condition attached to going to the doctor. A patient must not only approach the doctor but also the Almighty. The Books of Chronicles criticise King Asa (II Chron. 16:12) when he put his trust in the physicians “but sought not the Lord”. There were two elements of wrongdoing here – Asa did not pray to God, and the doctors forgot that their skill at healing came from God and they were His agents.

When doctors think they can manage without God, that’s when the sages (at end of Kiddushin) declare, “The best of physicians is destined for Gehinnom”. The doctor must pray to God to guide his or her hands and to remind him or her that the patient is not a mere collection of plumbing and spare parts but a human being created in the Divine image. There is a terrible danger of dehumanisation in the hands of the doctors.

We should all read a wonderful piece of writing by Abraham Joshua Heschel in his book, “The Insecurity of Freedom”. He says, “In dealing with a particular man I do not come upon a generality but upon an individuality, upon uniqueness, upon a person. I see a face, not only a body; a special situation, not a typical case. The disease is common, the patient is unique.” He also points out that “It is part of the cure to trust in Him who cures”.

The success or otherwise of the doctor’s ministrations in the last resort is up to God, not the doctor. In the double phrase v’rappo yerappeh maybe one verb is for the doctor and one is for God.

The Torah says, anshei kodesh tih’yun li – “You (all of you) shall be holy people to Me” (Ex. 22:30). Translated literally, the Hebrew means, “Humans of holiness shall you be to Me”. The Kotzker Rebbe emphasised this word order when he said, “First be human, be a mensch – then be holy. A saint without humanity is no saint.”

How does a person become holy? According to the parashah, by observing the dietary laws. They stand for respect for animals, but even more for respect for onseself. Deciding what to eat and what not to eat is an act of free-will. It says, “I have the capacity to make decisions. I have the courage to say yes and the nerve to say no.”

The fact is that it doesn’t need to be a commandment at all if we go by the Hebrew title, Aseret HaDib’rot (Ten Words, Ten Principles). Nonetheless Maimonides includes this first statement in the list of commandments, though he admits that if a person believes in God no commandment is needed and if they do not believe, no commandment helps. Belief can not be imposed or legislated. You can order me to believe, but you are wasting your time unless my heart and soul have already freely chosen to believe.

We can defend Maimonides, however, if we move to the second part of the verse. “I am the Lord your God” is not saying, “Believe in My existence”, but “Believe that it was I who brought the Children of Israel out of Egypt”. The question is not whether God exists – that is axiomatic from page 1 of the Bible – but whether He relates to His creation.

The sages said that a Roman noblewoman asked, “What has your God being doing since the six days of Creation?” In other words, “Is God only in the background or does He do anything for His world?” The rabbi to whom she posed the question said that God busies Himself making marriages, i.e. He concerns Himself with relationships. We believe not just that He is, but that it is He who is in charge of the world.

This week’s portion defines Israel as a people of priests – mamlechet kohanim v’goy kadosh – “a kingdom of kohanim, a holy people” (Ex. 19:6). We all minister to God in His sanctuary, not merely in the official house of worship but in the home (the mikdash m’at, the “miniature temple”), the factory, office, school and street. We have prayers to say, kashrut to maintain, Sabbaths and festivals to honour. Every day of the year, every stage in life has its rituals to observe. That might be called the particularistic dimension of Jewish identity: we are Jews far zich – “amongst ourselves”.

From the example of Moses (Deut. 34:10) we also learn that we are a people of prophets with a universalistic mission amongst mankind. As prophets we belong to the world. Alenu, the great concluding prayer of every Jewish service, written by Rav in the 3rd century CE, sums up our two dimensions: particularism in the first paragraph, universalism in the second. The prophetic role begins with Judaism but is capable of being shared by other peoples.