As is the case with most of the concluding chapters of the book of Exodus, most of this week’s portion is taken up with regulations about the Mishkan (portable sanctuary) and the priests who administer its rituals.

Within these elaborate and complex details, a remarkable artistic commission is made. “The Lord said to Moses: See, I have identified Bezalel…in whom I have infused divine spirit, wisdom, comprehension, and knowledge of all manner of workmanship.” (Exodus 31:1-3) Bezalel is given responsibility for managing the construction of the Mishkan and for fashioning the ritual garments to be worn by Aaron and his sons. He is also to prepare the oil of consecration for the sacred site and for the officiants.

Bezalel must have displayed some innate ability to create artistic works and architecture. His elevation reminds us that so many artists seem to be born with talent and skill that others cannot acquire even after years of diligent study. Some have an ear for music; others have an eye for art; some are blessed with a beautiful voice.

To the ancients, as well as to many of us, these gifts often seem to be a gift from God. Not earned, not taught, they remind us of the often surprising and surely serendipitous nature of gifts that are present from birth. That such gifts are discretely distributed — not everyone is a Bezalel or a Mozart — does not diminish their wondrous nature.

The elevation of Bezalel reflects the recognition of his unique abilities. In contrast, the elevation of the family of Aaron to the high priesthood reflects the ascendancy of inherited rather than intuitive or earned status. Aaron’s descendants (the kohanim) will have a claim on the high priesthood based solely on lineage.

The selection of Bezalel, the election of Aaron, and the appointment of Moses as leader might lead one to think that in religious matters, the Torah adheres to a preference for ability or rank. But this week’s portion provides a corrective to that assumption.

Just after the commissioning of Bezalel, the Torah states: “Speak to the Israelites: My Sabbaths you shall observe, for it is a covenantal sign between us forever.” (Exodus 31:13) The juxtaposition of these passages can hardly be accidental; as is often the case with the Torah, the meaning is found in the context as much as in the content.

Not everyone can be a kohen, and not everyone can be a Bezalel. Not everyone can participate in building the Mishkan, and not just anyone can officiate therein. But all Jews can participate in creating the Sabbath — what Abraham Joshua Heschel called “a sanctuary in time.”

Jewish tradition celebrates sacred space. The Land of Israel, Jerusalem, the Temple, the Holy of Holies are all sacred. Sanctity also attaches to the synagogue and to the Jewish home, whose dining table was compared by the talmudic rabbis to the altar of the Temple.

But Jewish tradition is equally interested in sacred time. This may be a consequence of historical circumstance, reflecting the cumulative effect of the repeated cycles of exile and loss of homeland. Or perhaps it is a recognition that sacred time can transcend sacred space and unite a dispersed people through a common rhythm of holy moments.

Our Torah portion gives us a remarkable juxtaposition: Bezalel builds the Mishkan, the people build the Sabbath. In the sanctification of Shabbat, each Jew is given the same opportunity to “minister in the sacred shrine” — to become, for one day out of seven, a priestly person.

The Sabbath requires no sanctuary, portable or permanent, for its sanctity. Holiness is created in time by the people as one community. There will always be a need for those with skill and talent to use them in the service of God. But there remains an obligation and opportunity for each of us to participate in the creation of the enduring sanctuary of Jewish tradition — the Sabbath.