(Delivered February 21, 2026)

We live in a noisy world. Having just spent a few days in New York this week, I can attest to the near-constant cacophony of voices that permeates the streets there. Voices wooing, voices arguing, voices philosophizing, so many voices preparing for auditions. Our media environment, social and otherwise, offers more of the same. The sheer number of issues about which people are raising their voices is staggering. 

Is the new mayor of New York a dangerous antisemite? Is the former Prince Andrew guilty as charged? What, as a society, should we be doing with respect to revelations of rampant sexual abuse and trafficking? What are the merits of the Board of Peace? Can we even give credence to a Board of Peace while simultaneously executing a military buildup in the Middle East? Can the founding of a country be canceled because its origin story is one-sided? Because we don’t like its current policy? Was the late Jesse Jackson a visionary for equality or an unrepentant antisemite? 

Just how many servings of vegetables are required per day? Is wine good for you or bad for you? Were the American ice dancers robbed of a gold medal by nationalistic favoritism from the French judge?

You probably have opinions about many, if not most, of these things. So do I. In the cacophony of voices that comprises our world today, it feels increasingly difficult to discern where the truth is. With so much shouting and fist-shaking, with bumper-sticker slogans replacing nuanced discourse, how do we begin to bring order to the cacophony? Which is the voice of ultimate truth, and how do we know it when we hear it? 

Our parsha this week, Terumah, is inviting us to think about what that might look like, and offers a fantastical image that could shed some light.

Beginning at chapter 25, verse 17, we read: 

וְעָשִׂיתָ כַפֹּרֶת זָהָב טָהוֹר אַמָּתַיִם וָחֵצִי אָרְכָּהּ וְאַמָּה וָחֵצִי רָחְבָּהּ:
וְעָשִׂיתָ שְׁנַיִם כְּרֻבִים זָהָב מִקְשָׁה תַּעֲשֶׂה אֹתָם מִשְּׁנֵי קְצוֹת הַכַּפֹּרֶת׃
Make a covering of pure gold, 2 ½ cubits long and a cubit and a half wide
And make two כְּרֻבִים of hammered gold at the two ends of the covering.

The passage continues with more specifics about the כְּרֻבִים or cherubs: they should be fashioned of a single piece of gold, one כְּרֻב facing the other, with their wings spread out to form a canopy over them and over the covering. This covering will be set over the Aron after the tablets containing the commandments are placed inside it.

And God says:

וְנוֹעַדְתִּי לְךָ שָׁם וְדִבַּרְתִּי אִתְּךָ מֵעַל הַכַּפֹּרֶת מִבֵּין שְׁנֵי הַכְּרֻבִים 
And I will meet you there, and I will speak to you from the covering,
from between the two כְּרֻבִים 

Digging into this image as metaphor, we can begin to discern a teaching about listening.

Firstly, the two angels face one another. Their posture is one of focus and attention. Neither one is looking at a screen or otherwise distracted by the surroundings; rather each of them is locked in on the other. They have their wings raised above themselves, to create a mutual shelter. These two כְּרֻבִים are tuning out the cacophony to invest in hearing one another. They are not interested in 500 cable channels or what this or that pundit said on X. They model the choice of real listening. Everything about their physical position suggests care, trust, and respect. The Kitzur Ba’al haTurim writes: 

 וּפְנֵיהֶם אִיש אֶל אַחִיו כְּמוֹ שְׁנֵי חַבֵרִים שֶׁנוֹשְׂאִין וְנוֹתְנִין בְּדִבְרֵי תּוֹרָה
And their faces, each toward his brother,
are like two friends exchanging words of Torah

The voice of the divine is embodied in this image of two equals engaged in speaking about holy things.

Additionally, verse 19 teaches that the two כְּרֻבִים are to be made from the same piece of gold. Taken metaphorically, this is a reminder to us that the deepest truths contain internal contradictions. That a single piece of gold could hold space for opposites squaring off in dialogue should give us a sense of the possibility of finding something of value across a continuum of opinion.

Verse 19 is also phrased in a way that scrupulously avoids taking sides: 

וַעֲשֵׂה כְּרוּב אֶחָד מִקָּצָה מִזֶּה וּכְרוּב־אֶחָד מִקָּצָה מִזֶּה
Make one כְּרֻב at one end, and one כְּרֻב at one end

The language is important. It’s not one and the other; there is no other. Each כְּרֻב is its own thing and is offered at least the validity of a hearing. This may be hard for us to translate into our current-day environment, when polarization is the name of the game and admitting to any ambivalence is seen as a sign of weakness. Yet the Torah does not speak in pithy slogans. It isn’t interested in easy answers, nor in black and white. This model of the one and the one is telling us that there can be something worthy of consideration in a wide range of positions. Even someone with whom we deeply disagree deserves a hearing. 

I want to be clear that I’m not saying this means everybody is right, or that every opinion is of equal validity. What I am saying is that everybody’s viewpoint is real to them. What I am saying is that if someone has come by an opinion through genuine reflection and humble consideration, we may learn from hearing what they’ve discerned. What I am saying is that there is little to be learned in shouting someone down, or in flattening their viewpoint into something easily swept away, or in dismissing the possibility that the world looks different depending on where we’re standing, that there could be something we’ve missed.

Parshat Terumah, in its description of how we can hear God’s voice, demands courage and tenderness in equal part. It asks us to imagine that God’s voice comes through the middle, the ultimate in balance and in-between-ness. The כְּרֻבִים are one and one—each with its own internal integrity. And by facing one another and sheltering themselves and one another, they form an amplifying shell around the One. 

Shabbat shalom!