Parashat Terumah - Behind the Curtain

Raise the Curtain by Rabbi Reuven Chaim Klein
The esteemed etymologist Ernest Klein (no relation) writes that the word pargod is derived from the Greek paragaudos/paragaudion and the Latin paragauda, which refer to a “laced garment” or “tunic.” In this way, the lattice design of a curtain somewhat resembles the make of the garment in question. Others explain that pargod comes from the Latin word pergere (“come” or “go forward”), which in turn might ultimately be derived from the Akkadian paraku (“to go across”). This refers to the curtain’s position at the entrance to a building or room, and how one must pass through the curtain to enter. Another derivative of pergere is the Latin word pergola — from which the English word pergolais derived — which refers to a “roof” that “comes out” or “protrudes” from elsewhere.

3 Enoch 45 (5th C. CE Apocrypha)

Rabbi Ishmael said: Metatron said to me:

(1) Come, and I will show thee the Curtain of the Divine Majesty which is spread before the Holy Blessed One, and whereon are graven all the generations of the world and all their doings, both what they have done and what they will do until the end of all generations.

(2) And I went, and he showed it to me pointing it out with his fingers like a father who teaches his children the letters of Torah. And I saw each generation, the rulers of each generation, and the heads of each generation, the shepherds of each generation, the oppressors of each generation, the keepers of each generation, the scourgers of each generation, the overseers of each generation, the judges of each generation, the court officers of each generation, the teachers of each generation, the supporters of each generation, the chiefs of each generation, the presidents of academies of each generation, the magistrates of each generation, the princes of each generation, the counselors of each generation, the nobles of each generation, and the men of might of each generation, the elders of each generation, and the guides of each generation.

(3) And I saw Adam, his generation, their doings and their thoughts, Noah and his generation, their doings and their thoughts, and the generation of the flood, their doings and their thoughts...

(5) and all the fights and wars that the nations of the world wrought against the people of Israel in the time of their kingdom. And I saw Messiah, son of Joseph, and his generation "and their" works and their doings that they will do against the nations of the world. And I saw Messiah, son of David, and his generation, and all the fights and wars, and their works and their doings that they will do with Israel both for good and evil. And I saw all the fights and wars that Gog and Magog will fight in the days of Messiah, and all that the Holy Blessed One will do with them in the time to come.

(6) And all the rest of all the leaders of the generations and all the works of the generations both in Israel and in the nations of the world, both what is done and what will be done hereafter to all generations until the end of time, all were graven on the Curtain of Makom. And I saw all these things with my eyes; and after I had seen it, I opened my mouth in praise of Makom, the Divine Majesty saying thus, "For the King's word hath power and who may say unto him: What doest thou? Whoso keepeth the commandments shall know no evil thing". And I said:"O God, how manifold are thy works!"

The Sanctuary is a Woman by Rabbi Jeremy Gordon 2017, (channelling Judith Antonelli’s Torah Commentary, In the Image of God)
‘What did Mishkan resemble?’ asked the Rabbis (Shabbat 98b), ‘A woman who goes in the street with her skirts trailing after her’ - that’s a reference to the overhanging curtain at the rear of the building.
In describing the curtain at the front of the Mishkan, Rashi uses the analogy of ‘a bride with a veil covering her face.’ The stitching together of the curtains is compared to the attachment between ‘a woman and her sister.’ Perhaps most tellingly the Talmud (Yoma 54a) compares the poles of the ark, which pressed through and protruded beyond the covering over the Holy of Holies, to ‘two female breasts’ - that one drew the attention of Immanuel Levinas who considers that passage in his famous collection of Talmudic Readings.
Antonelli even brings an analogy from the Zohar which suggests that ‘all women stand in the image and form of the altar,’(Zohar II:102b)
She creates what I think is her own parallelism between the Mishkan and this post-Temple Jewish existence reading the flour of the daily Minha offering, the blood from the regular sacrifices and the everlasting light that shone over the Mishkan as corollaries of the classic triumverate of Halachic obligations for which women were and are particularly associated - the flour for making Challah, the blood for menstrual purity - Niddah, and the light as the Shabbat candles. It’s a provocative Midrash; if the Mishkan, with its flour and blood and light, is the central organising pivot of the entire written Torah then these three contemporary Mitzvot of Challah, Niddah and candles become ever more boldly acclaimed as the centre of contemporary Jewish life...
For Antonelli this womanisation of the alter, the Mikdash and all connected to it, points to the way; ‘the Mishkan maintained the cosmic purpose of the matriarch’s tents’ of Sarah, Rebecca and Rachel. It is a structure to allow the presence of the Divine amongst the people, that’s the comforting immanent aspect of the Divine understood as the Shechinah - a feminine noun of course, and related to the only one of the seven lower aspects of the Divine which is understood as the feminine. In the time of Mishkan and the Temple - this analogy suggests - the central space of Jewish life was feminine, God’s feminine aspect dwelt in a tabernacle designed as a woman to hold that very female kind of comfort...

Chava Weissler, professor, Bethlehem, PA from Lilith Magazine 1988
In 1985, I went to see Kever Rahel [the tomb of the matriarch Rachel in Bethlehem, Israel]. When I entered the site of the monument, there were men and women standing on opposite sides of a cenotaph covered with blue velvet. Many of the Sephardic women there would go up to the velvet curtain and kiss it, as if greeting a respected and beloved older relative. When I approached the curtain, I found, to my astonishment, that I burst into tears. I backed away, and as I did, I regained my composure. Then I moved closer again to reexamine the site and the feelings it had stirred in me. Again, when I stood on the site of the grave, I burst into tears. Again, when I moved away, I stopped crying. These were not tears of sadness, but of reunion. This was someone I knew, someone to whom I could bring my troubles.
The techinos (Yiddish supplicatory prayers for and sometimes by women) that I am working on see Rachel as human and as Shechina, the female presence of God, but not as God per se. When I was at Rachel’s grave, that distinction became less clear and less important than before. I only knew that this was a real female presence. I felt it so strongly that I wanted to offer a prayer and started to recite from the Book of Psalms. I quickly realized that I was speaking the wrong words in the wrong voice. The psalms were the Psalms of David. I needed to speak as a woman to a female aspect of God. In the end, I followed the Sephardic women’s custom of encircling the cenotaph with a red thread. I wished there were words for me to say. I felt like there should be words.