The Things We Do for Love

This week, I made a special trip to Gelson’s. Not for Shabbat flowers, not for wine, not even for the babka (though it took everything in me not to put one in my cart). I went for French’s Yellow Mustard and Hellmann’s Real Mayonnaise.

Because we were planning a picnic later this Shabbat and the condiments in our fridge were not quite right. We had the Trader Joe’s versions, leftovers from a previous visit, but Michelle, my wife of 34 years, has strong preferences (when it comes to condiments).

And I do not just mean she kind of prefers one over the other. I mean she has strong preferences. When it comes to mustard, it is French’s, not Dijon, not stone-ground, not organic turmeric-infused anything. And mayo? It is Hellmann’s Real. Period.

So I went. I found parking. I waited in line. I came home with the “right” condiments. Because that is what love looks like sometimes, slightly inconvenient errands done with quiet devotion.

This week’s Torah portion, Vayakhel, reminds us that love lives in the details.

After the rupture of the Golden Calf, Moses gathers the people, “Vayakhel Moshe et kol adat b’nei Yisrael” and invites them to build something sacred: the Mishkan, a portable sanctuary where God’s presence could dwell. But this was not a divine blueprint dropped from the sky. It was a labor of love, built by human hands, fueled by generous hearts, and made from offerings that reflected each person’s gifts and care.

Acacia wood. Fine linen. Scarlet thread. Mirrors donated by women who used them to beautify themselves in Egypt. Each piece had a purpose. Each contribution came from someone who said, in effect, “I want to be part of this.”

The building of the Mishkan was not just about construction. It was about connection. It was a community, reknitting itself after failure. It was a people learning to show love not just through words or apologies, but through action. Through doing. Through showing up.

In modern terms, it is the spiritual equivalent of making sure the mustard is right for the picnic.

Michelle never asked me to go back to the store. She would have been fine with what we had. But I know her. I know what matters to her. And so I did what love quietly calls us to do. I paid attention. I acted on what I knew. I brought the offering that came from my heart.

Dr. Gary Chapman, author of The 5 Love Languages, teaches that “Love is something you do for someone else, not something you do for yourself.” For some, that love is spoken through words. For others, it is a thoughtful gesture. A hug. A gift. A sandwich made just right.

This is what Vayakhel teaches us: that holiness can be built from small, intentional acts. That sacred space is created not only through grand rituals but through daily kindness. That the Divine dwells in our lives when we make space through love.

The Israelites gave what their hearts moved them to give. And in return, they built a space where God could dwell. Today, we do not build sanctuaries of wood and gold, but we do build sanctuaries of compassion, of generosity, of presence.

We build them when we hold space for a friend in pain. When we pack a meal with care. When we listen more than we speak. When we remember how someone takes their coffee or which brand of mustard makes a sandwich feel like home.

This Shabbat, as we gather for our picnic, the sun (God willing) will shine. The challah will be soft. And the condiments will be just right. In that moment, in that meal, I believe the Holy One will dwell with us.

Because where there is love, there is holiness. And where we bring our hearts, fully, intentionally and without holding back, God shows up.