“And the Nesi’im brought the Shoham stones and filling stones …” (Shemos 35:27)
Why is it that the Nesi’im were first to donate for the Mizbei’ach, but they were not the first to contribute towards the construction of the Mishkan? Rashi writes that the Nesi’im wanted the community to make their donations first and then whatever was missing they would complete. At the end, however, the community donated everything, as it says (Shemos 36:7), “And the work was enough,” and the Nesi’im had nothing left to bring other than the Shoham stones and the filling stones. Since they were not forthcoming at the outset, the letter yud is missing from their name. With that, they were the first to donate for the Mizbei’ach.
The question is why is it considered as if the Nesi’im were indifferent? After all, if the Jewish people would only have come forth with half the money or gold that was necessary, the Nesi’im were ready to generously contribute the other half. They waited merely because they wanted to be able to fill in whatever was missing.
R’ Yitzchak Dov Koppelman, the rosh yeshiva of Lucerne, answers: It seems that even though the intentions of the Nesi’im were admirable, their attitude was in strong contrast to the zeal and enthusiasm of the Jewish people. The Ohr HaChaim notes that they all rushed together to bring their donations, even before they were given permission to do so, as our sages tell us, “Love can cause a person to do irrational things.”
In truth, the Nesi’im should have displayed a comparable passion and eagerness to initiate their participation in the construction of the Mishkan. If they wanted to contribute that which was still missing at the end, they could have done that as well. The fact that they now stood to the side intimated a tinge of apathy, no matter how slight. At their lofty position, it was considered a flaw.
The most important aspect of the contributions for the Mishkan, as is often stated, was its motivation from the heart – that the donations should be sparked by the sheer generosity and good will of the Jewish people as an expression of their great love for Hashem. Such an investment of personal altruism develops a deep inner connection with Hashem, our ultimate goal in life.
When the Jewish people donated their gifts to the Mishkan it was not merely a financial investment; it was a donation from their soul, as Hashem desires. The Divrei Emes observes that avodas Hashem requires “heart,” alluded to the first and last letter of the Torah. In contrast, albeit the Nesi’im were prepared to make a much more magnanimous donation, it was not one that manifested an enthusiasm from their hearts and souls.
Hashem also desired the unity of the Jewish people when they brought their donations. When the Nesi’im stood aside as everyone else rushed to bring their contributions, they separated themselves from the community. As a result, their donation lacked a show of solidarity with the Jewish people.
The Ridvaz was born in Russia, served as Rav of Slutsk in Poland, and in the last years of his life lived in the holy city of Tzfas. He was considered one of the greatest gaonim of his generation, and his commentary on the Talmud Yerushalmi is world famous.
One year, on the yahrzeit of his father, the Ridvaz arrived in shul for Mincha before the rest of the congregants. He went up to the shtender, leaned on it, and became steeped in deep thought. His eyes filled with tears and he began to cry.
A close friend of the Ridvaz approached him and asked, “Why are you so sad? Your father was over 80 years old when he was niftar, and that happened 50 years ago.”
“I will tell you why,” said the Ridvaz. “I was thinking of the time my father arranged for one of the best melamdim (teachers) in the city to tutor me privately when I was young. My father was a poor man, for whom the melamed’s salary was steep. Nevertheless, he made every effort to pay the monthly fee because of his deep love for Torah.
“My father earned his living from building ovens. One winter there was a shortage of the materials needed and my father could not build any ovens. Three months went by and the melamed was not paid.
“One day I returned home with a letter from the melamed stating, apologetically, that he would be unable to continue tutoring me if he was not paid.
“That evening when my father went to shul he heard one of the wealthy townspeople complaining that, due to a shortage of certain materials, he was unable to get an oven for the new house he was having built for his son and daughter-in-law. He announced that if anyone could get him an oven he would pay them nicely.
“My father told my mother about this when he returned home that evening. In those days in Russia an oven was a vital necessity in the house, not only for cooking and baking, but it was a source of much needed heat. My parents agreed that my father would take apart the oven, brick by brick, and rebuild it anew for the son of the rich man. With that he would earn another half a year of salary to support the melamed. He immediately paid the melamed for the three months he owed, and gave him the advance for the next three months. It was a very cold winter that year but it was all worth it, as long as I could grow in Torah.
“Today, it was very cold outside, and I was considering the possibility of arranging a minyan in the house, instead of going out to shul. But then I decided that I had to go the extra mile to go to the bais medrash and not to daven in the house. I cried when I reached the shul because I remembered the mesiras nefesh of my parents for my sake and for the sake of Torah. I remembered their boundless love and fiery enthusiasm for the sake of the holy Torah.”
