The Moon Doesn’t Disappear
Parashas Pekudei, Parashas HaChodesh and You
One of the most fascinating and transformative moments in Tanach was when Eliyahu HaNavi fled from Izevel, and Hashem told him, “Go stand on the mountain.” A strong wind passed by, but Hashem was not in the wind. Then came an earthquake. Then fire. Still, no God. And then, a Kol Demamah Dakah, a still, small voice. Eliyahu heard it and covered his face.
This week, we’ve returned to the sound of sirens. Houthi missile bombardments, whether at 4 AM or 4 PM, it makes no difference. Their goal is mayhem. Though we’ve seen clear miracles, Baruch Hashem, and remain physically safe, there’s no denying the trauma we carry. It lives in each person’s nervous system. It surfaces in moments that we can’t even explain to those abroad.
Yet when we seek Hashem, it is not always in the sirens, the missiles, or the surrounding mayhem. Sometimes, we don’t even find Him in the overt miracles we witness. What we are seeking is within us.
Yesterday, standing in the maamad (bomb shelter), the walls trembled with the force of nearby explosions. We waited out the required ten minutes. Then, I became aware of the stillness. After the chaos, after the noise, there it was. The quiet. The breath. The presence. Aside from being found in the miracles or in the fear, Hashem is to be found in this fragile, quiet moment. This is the Kol Demamah Dakah.
Rav Kook1 captured this so powerfully:
“Silence is demanded from the depths of the soul, from the highest thoughts that transcend speech, fixed deep within. When one engages in this elevated silence, countless worlds are built, sublime songs soar, and supreme strength ascends… This is the sublime silence, rising above wind, earthquake, and fire. It is the Kol Demamah Dakah—and behold, Hashem passes.”
It’s striking that this Shabbos brings together a cluster of moments that all speak to this idea: Parashas HaChodesh, Erev Rosh Chodesh Nissan, Parashas Pekudei, and Chazak, the completion of Sefer Shemos.
In Parashas Pekudei, we read about the completion of the Mishkan. It was a massive project, detailed over many parshiyos. But when it was finally finished, no one really saw it. The Mishkan was physically covered, layer upon layer. From a distance, it looked like a sea of blue.
The Kli Yakar2 explains that these coverings symbolize how holiness is often obscured. The most sacred things in life are usually not visible.
The deepest part of the Mishkan, the Kodesh HaKodashim, was also the most silent. It is the place of the still, small voice. The place where Hashem passes by, not with thunder, but with presence.
The Shechinah that filled the Mishkan was real, even if sometimes it wasn’t felt. We ourselves, our strength, our clarity, our direction, often feel buried beneath the surface, like the Mishkan, hidden under heavy coverings.
Parashas HaChodesh teaches us the mitzvah of Kiddush HaChodesh, sanctifying the new moon: “HaChodesh hazeh lachem…” 3. Chazal teach4 that the Jewish people are compared to the moon: just as the moon wanes and disappears, only to return and shine again, so too the Jewish people go through phases of concealment and return.
When we do the mitzvah of Kiddush HaChodesh, or even say Hallel on Rosh Chodesh, celebrating the new moon, the moon itself is barely visible.
Rav Judah Mischel writes in Baderech Haggadah:
“This mitzvah of observing Rosh Chodesh was given on the first of the month of Nissan, two weeks before Yetzias Mitzrayim. Mired in the darkness of Egyptian slavery and suffering, while Pharaoh was bathing in Jewish blood, Am Yisrael was teetering on the forty-ninth level of tumah. Previous to this momentous revelation, all commandments were individual in nature and not addressed to the entire nation.
Our obligation to identify the new moon includes identifying the molad, the very minute the new moon is ‘born’ and begins to wax and illuminate the darkness. By establishing a sacred calendar, we own our God-given ability to transcend our current time and place and express our belief and hope for the future. We also become masters over time.”
The Maharal5 points out that the moon’s hiddenness is inherent to its nature. Renewal exists precisely because of that concealment.
As Rav Hirsch writes:
“Each time the moon finds the sun again, each time it receives its rays of light afresh, God wants His people to find Him again and to be illuminated with fresh rays of His light, wherever and however, in running their course, they have had to pass through periods of darkness and obscurity. The moon, finding itself again in conjunction with the sun, is a model of finding ourselves again with God; the rejuvenation of the moon is a picture of, and an incentive to, our own rejuvenation.” 6
Each of us can access God’s presence and work with that connection to bring more clarity into the world. When we say Hallel on Rosh Chodesh, the moon is barely visible and looks so small, which reminds us that we are never insignificant. We, like the moon, will become great, and our light will be revealed.
Soon, we will take our candles, feathers, and wooden spoons, and use them to search for the chametz. Searching for chametz is done in the quiet of the dark night as opposed to the brightness of day. This search is more than for bread, it is for what we have tucked away, hidden and forgotten, deep within ourselves.
We use a candle in the dark to teach us the value of slow, patient inner work. This work is about searching for clarity and truth, particularly when things are obscure.
After Bedikas Chametz comes the Seder, where we enact the story of Yetzias Mitzrayim. As part of this, we hide, and later eat, the Afikoman, the hidden piece of matzah. It is eaten during Tzafun, a word that literally means “hidden.” We take this broken piece out of its hiding place, and it becomes the dessert, the very last taste we carry into the night. Nothing may be eaten after it.
In a way, this is the story itself: the broken, hidden pieces we carry become the defining flavor of who we are.
Finally, this week we say Chazak, Chazak, V’nischazek. We finish Sefer Shemos, although the geulah is not yet complete. The Mishkan is built and the journey is just beginning. Chazak is a call for continued strength without a declaration of arrival.
Rav Hirsch7 notes that we say Chazak when completing a book of Torah because learning Torah is an active experience, it requires strength. Now that we’ve completed one phase, we ask for strength to continue.
In the face of fear and uncertainty, this is exactly where we are: finishing something important, but still in the middle of a much larger story. The Mishkan is built, the Shechinah is near, yet the future remains unknown. That is precisely where Chazak matters most.
Right now, we are in a phase of hiding, hiding in shelters, hiding from grief, hiding from clarity, hiding from ourselves. The Torah’s very first mitzvah to us as a people is to see the hidden, to find that sliver of light and proclaim that this, too, is the beginning of Geulah.
It can be hard to draw on the emunah and inspiration we had stocked up when everything now feels so hidden. The Sfas Emes8 writes that the Mishkan is called the Mishkan HaEidus, the Mishkan of testimony, because it testifies to what remains even when forgotten. Torah and holiness don’t disappear. They are hidden in the heart, waiting to be drawn out again.
The Gemara9 teaches that blessing only rests on what is hidden from the eye. Rebbe Nachman adds that the greatest light is hidden in the darkest places. This is why those who have endured the deepest struggles often carry the deepest light.
The Mittler Rebbe taught that every Jew senses this inner purpose, usually only subconsciously. Even when we experience revelations, they often slip away and feel as though they were never there, because the very nature of Divine revelation is that it emerges from concealment.10
The Sfas Emes teaches that Hashem desires that holiness permeate every action. We are sent into this world to reveal the light within the mundanity of the world. Renewal comes precisely when we connect even hidden, ordinary acts to the inner spark of holiness.
The Chidushei HaRim recounts the story of Rabbi Elazar ben Arach who, after becoming drawn after ‘sweet waters’, forgot his learning and misread HaChodesh hazeh lachem (“This month is for you”) as HaCharash hayah libam (“Their hearts became deaf”). He explains that it was because the hearts of the people were deaf that this mistake occurred. Renewal often emerges from this very place, the place of deafened hearts, of distance. It is precisely after the heart has struggled that we can hear the call: This month is for you, you can start again.
This is especially important in times of trauma. We may feel scattered, unfocused, unable to access the emunah we’ve stored up, but it’s not gone. It’s just covered.
And then comes the call: Chazak. Don’t stop. You’ve finished a section, not the journey. Keep going.
There are many times in life when we need to enter the ‘maamad’. The world out there is overwhelming, busy, intense. Sometimes, we need to pause as we race through life, deafened by the noise, and simply take a breath. We need to hear the song of reality. We need to hear the sound of our own breath. We need to hear the Kol Demamah Dakah.
When we engage in inner work, as everyone does, each in their own way and at their own pace, we are working to be true to ourselves. When all we see is the external, we miss the essence. It’s like seeing the forest while missing the trees.
Just as the Shechinah is veiled, so too are our deepest values.
Light isn’t always blinding or loud. Sometimes it’s quiet, internal, and found in the darkness. The deepest Torah, like the inner Mishkan and the new moon, often lives beneath the surface.
Even in moments of national trauma, the hidden strength of Am Yisrael persists. Deep roots require quiet, hiddenness, and time, a focus on the process, more than the result. Judaism embraces hiddenness, it leans into it. It builds with layers. It sanctifies the sliver of a moon. It sends us to search for chametz in the dark with a candle. Finally, as the night closes, we eat the Afikoman, and the hidden becomes the lasting taste.
Perhaps this is the idea of Bilvavi Mishkan Evneh, that there is a hidden Mishkan inside each of us. Just as the Mishkan’s external structure was built first, and only afterward was the inside filled with its vessels, so too, we have our external form, but within, we must place our true purpose. The deepest revelation of that purpose is found in the most hidden part of ourselves. It is through stillness, through inner clarity, through the building of a Mishkan that lives within.
The moon’s apparent disappearance is an illusion. It never truly vanishes; it is simply cloaked in darkness. Just as the moon renews itself monthly, seeming to suffer loss, so too does the neshama experience moments of retreat. But we must maintain confidence that spiritual ascendancy is always possible.
At the deepest level of the neshama, there is a pure, hidden place, intimately connected to Hashem and untouched by fear. Yet most of us remain unaware of it because it is concealed. The real source of fear is in a spiritual orphanhood, a sense of distance from Hashem. The healing begins by uncovering this inner place within the external form. We are never alone.
To be truly successful in this world, we must not measure ourselves by externals. It is less about the honor or the shoutout, and more about the quiet, inner victories, the patience you showed your children, the kindness no one saw.
We must always remember: we are likened to the moon not because we shine constantly, but because we know how to return. We wax, we wane, we disappear, and we return. This is the secret of our people. The quiet light within each of us, waiting to be uncovered, no matter how hidden, is the heart of geulah.
Rav Judah Mischel closes his book Baderech with the following poignant words:
“Let us be humble enough to seek, strong enough to journey, and brave enough to believe that the best part of the path is still up ahead.”
Previous post on Pekudei:
Have You Seen The Shechinah?
Understanding the concept of Hashra'as HaShechinah is pivotal in our journey towards spiritual growth. In fact, one of the most significant berachos one can receive is the merit of Hashra'as HaShechinah, as it embodies the hope that the Shechinah, God's Presence, will dwell among us.
Shemoneh Kevatzim 1:488
Shemos 26:1
Shemos 12:2
Midrash Rabba
Gevuros Hashem, Chapter 44
Shemos 12:2
end of Devarim
Pekudei, 5641
Ta’anis 8b
Kuntres Inyan Tefillah, Chapter 4
This was beautiful and I am putting my prints out in my copy of Rabbi Mischel’s hagaddah, to looks at again and again.
“At the deepest level of the neshama, there is a pure, hidden place, intimately connected to Hashem and untouched by fear. Yet most of us remain unaware of it because it is concealed. The real source of fear is in a spiritual orphanhood, a sense of distance from Hashem. The healing begins by uncovering this inner place within the external form. We are never alone.”
This was so deep and deserves a stand alone essay or a recorded schmooze for the masses.
Yashar Koach! Profound comments beautifully expressed!