The Kiyor and the Sanctification of the Mundane

I recall the rabbi, Rabbi Abittan A’H, would go to Hollywood Gym in Long Beach, surrounded by weightlifters, bodybuilders, and surfers. Dressed in his white shirt, black suit pants, and all-black walking shoes, he would walk on the treadmill. Sometimes, he would even teach the people around him. He explained to us that when one keeps in mind the precept of Ushmartem et nafshotechem—the mitzvah to guard one’s health—and that maintaining physical well-being enables a person to learn Torah better and fulfill mitzvot more effectively, then even every minute spent in the gym becomes a mitzvah. It is our thoughts and intentions that convert the mundane into the holy. We see this same principle in this week’s parashah.

This week, we read Parashat Vayakhel, which details the construction of the Mishkan. Among the vessels described is the kiyor—the laver used by the kohanim to wash before performing their sacred duties.

The Torah first introduces the kiyor in Parashat Ki Tisa:

(יז) וַיְדַבֵּ֥ר יְהוָ֖ה אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֥ה לֵּאמֹֽר׃ (יח) וְעָשִׂ֜יתָ כִּיּ֥וֹר נְחֹ֛שֶׁת וְכַנּ֥וֹ נְחֹ֖שֶׁת לְרָחְצָ֑ה וְנָתַתָּ֣ אֹת֗וֹ בֵּֽין־אֹ֤הֶל מוֹעֵד֙ וּבֵ֣ין הַמִּזְבֵּ֔חַ וְנָתַתָּ֥ שָׁ֖מָּה מָֽיִם׃ (יט) וְרָחֲצ֛וּ אַהֲרֹ֥ן וּבָנָ֖יו מִמֶּ֑נּוּ אֶת־יְדֵיהֶ֖ם וְאֶת־רַגְלֵיהֶֽם׃ (כ) בְּבֹאָ֞ם אֶל־אֹ֧הֶל מוֹעֵ֛ד יִרְחֲצוּ־מַ֖יִם וְלֹ֣א יָמֻ֑תוּ א֣וֹ בְגִשְׁתָּ֤ם אֶל־הַמִּזְבֵּ֙חַ֙ לְשָׁרֵ֔ת לְהַקְטִ֥יר אִשֶּׁ֖ה לַֽיהוָֽה׃ 

“Hashem spoke to Moshe, saying: Make a laver of copper and its base of copper, for washing, and place it between the Tent of Meeting and the altar. Put water in it. Aharon and his sons shall wash their hands and feet from it. When they enter the Tent of Meeting, they shall wash with water so that they do not die, or when they approach the altar to serve, to burn a fire-offering to Hashem” (Exodus 30:17-20).

Later, at the end of Vayakhel, the Torah specifies the material used for the kiyor:

וַיַּ֗עַשׂ אֵ֚ת הַכִּיּ֣וֹר נְחֹ֔שֶׁת וְאֵ֖ת כַּנּ֣וֹ נְחֹ֑שֶׁת בְּמַרְאֹת֙ הַצֹּ֣בְאֹ֔ת אֲשֶׁ֣ר צָֽבְא֔וּ פֶּ֖תַח אֹ֥הֶל מוֹעֵֽד

“He made the laver of copper and its base of copper, from the mirrors of the women who massed at the entrance of the Tent of Meeting” (Exodus 38:8).

It is striking that the Torah specifies the source of the copper for the kiyor, a detail not mentioned for other Mishkan vessels. These mirrors, rather than being an ordinary donation, carried deep symbolic significance.

The Significance of the Mirrors

In ancient times, mirrors were not made of glass but of polished metal, typically copper, silver, or bronze, worked into a reflective surface. Mirrors have long been associated with beauty and self-admiration, raising an important question: Why would objects symbolizing vanity be used to construct a vessel for spiritual purification?

Rashi, quoting the Midrash, provides a powerful explanation. He notes that Moshe initially hesitated to accept the mirrors, seeing them as instruments of the yetzer hara (inclination toward desire). However, Hashem instructed him otherwise:

“Accept them, for they are more beloved to Me than anything else. Through these mirrors, the women of Israel ensured the continuation of the nation in Egypt. When their husbands were exhausted from grueling labor, the women would bring them food and drink, and using these mirrors, they would endear themselves to their husbands, rekindling their affection. As a result, they bore many children and strengthened the Jewish people.”

These mirrors, once symbols of personal adornment, were transformed into tools of devotion, unity, and perseverance. Because of their role in sustaining Klal Yisrael, they were deemed worthy of being repurposed for the kiyor, a vessel that prepared the kohanim for avodat Hashem.

Elevating the Mundane

This story teaches us a profound lesson: even the most seemingly superficial objects can be sanctified and given deeper meaning. The mirrors, originally used for personal beauty, became a means of preserving Jewish continuity and ultimately became part of the Mishkan.

Rabbi Mordechai Kamenetzky illustrates this concept with a personal story about his grandfather, Rabbi Yaakov Kamenetzky.

After my grandfather, Rabbi Yaakov Kamenetzky, of blessed memory, had officially retired from his position as Rosh Yeshiva of Mesivta Torah Voda’ath and had moved to Monsey, New York, he still remained very active not only in the needs of Klal Yisrael as a whole but in discussing Torah with almost any student of Torah who would cross his threshold.

One afternoon a young scholar came to speak to my grandfather and share his novella on the Talmud with him. As he sat at the table and was about to begin sharing his self-concocted discourse, my grandmother entered the room with a freshly baked piece of cake for my grandfather and the guest.

Before my grandfather had a chance to thank the Rebbitzin, the young man, obviously steeped in his own thoughts, flippantly discarded her generous offering. “That’s all right,” he said, “but I already ate. I really don’t need another shtikel (piece) of cake.”

My grandfather remained silently shocked. He said nothing. The rebbitzen returned to the kitchen and then the young man began to speak.

“I would like to share with the Rosh Yeshiva a shtikel (piece of) Torah thought that I formulated relating to a sugya in the Gemara in Yevamos.”

My grandfather was quiet and then responded. “That’s all right,” he said, “but I already heard Torah on that sugya. I really don’t need another shtikel Torah on that sugya.”

When my grandfather saw that the boy realized that Rav Yaakov was chiding him on his reckless indifference to the Rebbitzin, he went on to explain: “You see, that piece of cake was her shtikel Torah. That was something that she prided herself in. That is how she wanted to make me and you feel comfortable. One has to appreciate that as well!”

Just as the mirrors were elevated from objects of vanity to sacred service, we, too, can infuse holiness into the mundane. A simple act of kindness, a well-intended offering, or even a meal prepared with love can become an act of avodat Hashem.

Contemporary Examples of Making the Mundane Holy

1. Shabbat Candles – A simple flame, ordinarily used for light, becomes a symbol of peace and sanctity when lit for Shabbat.

2. Challah Baking – Preparing bread, a basic sustenance, is transformed into an act of kedushah when baked for Shabbat and accompanied by the mitzvah of hafrashat challah.

3. Work and Livelihood – Earning a living is a necessity, but when done honestly and with kavana (intention) to provide for one’s family and support Torah and chesed, it becomes a holy pursuit.

4. Everyday Speech – Conversations can be mundane or filled with gossip, but they can also be infused with words of encouragement, Torah, and truth, turning speech into a tool for kedushah.

5. Technology and Media – Phones and the internet can be distractions, yet they can also be used to spread Torah, connect with loved ones, and facilitate acts of kindness.

As rabbi Abittan explained even time can be elevated to kedusha through intent whether at the gym, working to earn a living or a day out with family at the park. 

The lesson of the kiyor is clear: It is not the object itself that defines its holiness, but the purpose it serves. If the mirrors of Egypt could be transformed into a sacred vessel, then every aspect of our lives—no matter how ordinary—has the potential to become a means of divine service.