As I write this, it’s barely two weeks since the Supreme Count decision reversing Roe vs. Wade. We look around us at the pain, at the confusion. And we wake up every day to stories of physicians, forced to do nothing as women hemorrhage. Worst of all, we see the years of work that went into creating this lawless court, and we wonder, how can we reverse the damage? How can we move a mountain?

We long for leaders who have the fire to speak out. We long for leaders who will capture our anger, for leaders who will anticipate the pain and the lawlessness that future decisions may cause. But our leaders haven’t caught up with the people.

How then, do we move a mountain? Our tradition gives us the answer.

There is a story about Rabbi Akiva, perhaps the greatest of the sages. Rabbi Akiva grew up poor and uneducated. When he was forty, he didn’t even know the Hebrew alphabet. One day, he was standing at the mouth of a well, and he asked, “Who carved this well?” The people around him told him, “It was from the water that constantly drips on the stone, day after day.” “Water changes stone?” said Rabbi Akiva. “Then perhaps, it can change me.” On that day, Akiva joined the children in kindergarten and learned one letter a day, until he became the greatest sage of all time.

“What was Akiva like?” the other sages asked. Like a stone cutter who took his pickaxe and hacked away at a mountain. People asked him what he was doing, and he said, “I am going to take apart this mountain and throw it across the Jordan.” He gave one mighty blow, and eventually, he succeeded.

At one of the earliest Zionist conventions, Theodore Hertzl told the delegates Im titrtzu ein zo agada – “If you will it then it is no dream.” Click on the link, and you’ll see what Jews can accomplish. We really can move mountains.

We would love to smash the mountain with one big blow. We would love to have a leader who could make one impassioned speech, who could push one law through Congress and reverse all of the damage. But it’s not going to happen. Smashing a mountain takes time. But it will go faster if all of us grab a hammer.

Each of us has something that we can do. We can donate money to organizations that are working to restore abortion rights. We can write letters to our representatives in Washington. If we are outgoing, we can knock on doors and make phone calls for candidates who support abortion rights and court reform. If we are shyer, we can join postcard programs such as this one to get out the vote. Each of these is just a single hammer blow trying to move a mountain. But none of us are alone.

There was a moment, thousands of year ago, when our people started a project, something far more ambitious than anything we had done before. In the middle of Exodus, God tells Moses, “Tell the people to bring gifts from all whose hearts are willing – gold and silver … and they shall build me a sanctuary that I may dwell within them.”

At first, Moses was overwhelmed. Who could imagine that we could build a place where the infinite God could dwell? And who could imagine the spiritual implications – that a part of that God would come to dwell inside every single person? The Baal Shem Tov described it this way:

The midrash says that Moses spent forty days on Mt. Sinai learning how to build the sanctuary and its vessels. Each day, God told him how to make the menorah, and each day, Moses forgot. And the Zohar explains why. The sanctuary was to be modeled after the sanctuary up above – a beautiful, radiant place unlike anything that had ever existed in this world. God showed Moses a glimpse of it, but it was too much for Moses to grasp.

And so God decided that the entire community would work together to build the sanctuary. Each of them would take a little piece of the sanctuary up above and bring it down to earth. This person would bring down a stone, and this one would bring down some boards, and this one would bring down a bit of gold.

And this is why the Torah says “that I will teach you” – because each Jew went up to heaven, and each person brought down a little bit of heaven – a quality or teaching that God had taught him or her. And so God came to dwell within each of them.

And this is why Moses blessed the people when the sanctuary was completed, and why Moses said to them, “May the Shechinah dwell in the work of your hands”. By coming together, each with their own gift and their own teaching, the Holy One had come to dwell within them.

Each year, we read the Torah portions about the building of the Tabernacle. And each year, we grow bored with the detail. But it contains a profound teaching – a teaching that changed the world for all time. “The lesson of the Tabernacle,” says Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks, “is that the Divine presence lives not in a building but in its builders; not in a physical place but in the human heart.” This was the lesson that led to the idea of the synagogue, the oldest surviving institution on the face of the earth.

It’s a difficult time, and our leaders haven’t caught up with it. But each of you can do something. Each of you can bring down a little bit of heaven. And together, we will succeed.

May the Shechinah dwell in the work of your hands.

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Midway through the construction of the Tabernacle, God tells the people how to avoid burnout. “Above all, keep my Shabbat.” God says. If this time is hard for you, find a new way to enjoy Shabbas. More than the Jewish People have kept Shabbat, Shabbat has kept the Jews.