Here’s a question that might sound a little crazy: If God is the Creator of the universe—the Architect of stars, planets, oceans, and human beings—why would God ask us to build a home for God?
Seriously, think about it. If God can create the sun and moon, sky and sea, animals and humankind, why on earth would God entrust mere mortals—specifically, a ragtag bunch of Israelites fresh out of slavery—with the task of designing and constructing the Mishkan, God’s dwelling place?
Over the past few weeks in our Torah readings, we’ve been knee-deep in blueprints and fabric swatches—Torah portions filled with elaborate detail about the construction of the Mishkan. From Parashat Terumah to Vayakhel and now Pikudei, we’ve read line after line about golden clasps, acacia wood, woven curtains, and sacred vestments. If you’re wondering, “Why all the repetition? Why all this minutiae?”—you’re not alone.
On the surface, it seems like divine micromanagement. But beneath it lies a profound theological idea: God chooses not to design the divine dwelling alone. Instead, God makes space for us to become co-creators.
This concept echoes one of the more beautiful teachings in Jewish mysticism—Tzimtzum. Found in Lurianic Kabbalah, Tzimtzum refers to divine contraction. The idea is that at the moment of creation, God didn’t just radiate divine presence everywhere. Instead, God contracted—withdrew—in order to create space for something other than Godself to exist. God made room for us.
Rabbi Nachman of Breslov takes this further. He teaches that God created a ḥalal ha-panu’i, a “vacant space”—a tangible feeling of God’s absence that paradoxically allows us to sense God’s presence even more deeply. It’s in this sacred emptiness that we encounter freedom, creativity, and growth.
One of my teachers, Rabbi Eugene Borowitz (z”l), one of the most influential Jewish theologians of the 20th century, applied Tzimtzum not only to theology, but to leadership. In a groundbreaking 1976 essay titled Leadership and Tzimtzum, Dr. Borowitz argued that the Jewish model of leadership isn’t about inflating ego or dominating a room. Rather, it’s about making space—contracting oneself so that others can step in and lead.
He called it ethical leadership.
That idea has stuck with me. It informs how I try to lead within the rabbinate. One example: our amazing Director of Education, Margaret. She began as a teacher in our religious school, moved into engagement and education coordination, and now leads as Director of Education. And even though I love teaching and being in the classroom, I intentionally pull back from certain meetings and decisions—not out of disinterest, but because I want Margaret to lead fully. I believe her growth depends on my contraction. That’s Tzimtzum.
And this wasn’t just a theory for Dr. Borowitz—it’s how he lived.
During my student-rabbi days, I served at Temple Sinai in Stamford, Connecticut—where Dr. Borowitz happened to be a congregant. Giving sermons with a theological giant in the pews? Intimidating doesn’t begin to cover it.
One Saturday, I came early for his 8:00 a.m. Torah study and tried to quietly sit in the back. He looked at me and said, “Rabbi”—I wasn’t even ordained yet—“you can’t sit back there. Come sit next to me.” That was Tzimtzum—he made space for me not just to observe, but to belong, to lead, to grow.
And then there was my friend and classmate, Rabbi Evan Schultz, who was presenting on Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel’s theology of “radical amazement.” Mid-presentation, Dr. Borowitz interrupted: “Let’s stop here. Everyone, pair up and share a moment when you felt radical amazement.” Insightful? Sure. But afterward, Dr. Borowitz reflected and realized he had hijacked the moment.
The next week, he wheeled in a cart of coffee and pastries. A party in the classroom. And with complete sincerity, he said, “Evan, I want to apologize. I stepped in where I should have stepped back. Even I can get it wrong.”
That was Tzimtzum in action.
God’s decision to let us build the Mishkan wasn’t a flaw in the divine plan. It was the plan. Just as God contracted to make space for creation, we too are called to contract at times—to step back so others can step forward.
Your Shabbat challenge is this: Where in your life are you taking up too much space? In your workplace? In a relationship? At home? Try practicing Tzimtzum. Make a little less room for yourself—and watch how those around you begin to grow.