The
Temple Mount arouses Jewish passions like no other issue. Here's why.
Discussions
over the future of Temple Mount have aroused intense feelings among Jews the
world over.
For
some, the issue is incredulity that Islam's so-called third holiest site should
outweigh the right to retain Judaism's holiest site. For others, it is the challenge to Judaism's
profoundest historical memory. For still
others, the issue is the violation of an archaeological site that possibly
contains the most vivid authentication of Jewish history. And, for almost everyone else, it is just an
intuitive feeling that there is something extremely special about this place.
But
then there is another side, which uncomfortably nags us as well. Are a few old rocks worth a war? Do we not look askance at the Serbs and
Bosnians that can't stop slaughtering each other on account of centuries-old
"historical" and "hallowed" sites? We see them blindly trapped in history, rather
than surging forward to a beautiful unencumbered future.
Even
at the theological level, we begin to hear some contrary voices: "Judaism
is about people, not about things." Or, "Pagans believe in holy rocks
and earth; Jews believe in a trans-substantial Divine. "Indeed, if Judaism believes in an
incorporeal G-d, shunning icons, paintings and graven images, then why do we
cherish this heap of stones?
THE
SANCTUARY
At
the time of the encounter with Hashem at Mount Sinai, the Jewish people were
commanded to make a mikdash, "sanctuary," so that Hashem could
dwell among them (Exodus 25:8). This
portable structure (containing the Ark of the Covenant) traveled with the
Jewish people throughout 40 years in the wilderness, and while they were
settling the Land of Israel. Then, some
3,000 years ago, King David built an altar on Mount Moriah in Jerusalem (the
site of Isaac's binding and Jacob's dream). And, on this spot, David's son Solomon built
the first Temple -- making the portable mikdash permanent.
The
Temple was called Beit HaMikdash, "the Holy House."
The
"house" aspect was reinforced in many ways:
- The
furnishings of the Temple itself were a table and a lamp (together with an
incense altar).
- The inner
sanctum was called chadar mitot, "bedroom" (2 Kings
11:2).
- The outer
courtyard served the function of courtyards in those days, such as food
preparation, washing, etc.
- The Talmud
expresses the Divine bereavement as "Woe my house is destroyed."
What does the concept of "house" mean in
relationship to Hashem?
Imagine
two separate individuals, "A" and "B." Each has his own circle, A and B respectively.
Each has an area that intersects and
overlaps with the other. The area where
they overlap is the "house." It is the area where two distinct entities
find their common denominator. Bet
is the Hebrew letter whose numerical value is two. Its literal meaning is "house" --
for a house brings together two elements and includes within itself their
commonality.
Thus,
a home of marriage includes two people of distinct nature and personality. Those character traits that the spouse finds
unbearable are left on the outside, and those elements that are common to both
are included and accentuated in the home. As the marriage progresses, both sides divest
themselves of offensive behavior, and learn more and more to enjoy their common
dreams and goals.
How
does this relate to Hashem, man, and the Beit HaMikdash?
Hashem
and man are as distinct elements as could be. Hashem is the ultimate spiritual essence,
devoid of materiality. Man is (at least
superficially) physical material, with a seeming lack of much spirituality.
To
solve the problem of the gulf between spirituality and materiality, Hashem
created a place in the material world that would serve as a house, where Israel
and Hashem could unite their commonality, the Divine soul.
This
in essence was Jacob's dream. While
running away from his brother Esav, Jacob fell asleep on a mountaintop, which
tradition says, was Mount Moriah. He
dreamt of a ladder, reaching from the heavens down to the very spot where he
was sleeping, as angels ascended and descended upon it. He woke up, awestruck, and exclaimed:
"How
awe-inspiring this spot is! This must be G-d's abode. It is the gate to Heaven." (Genesis
28:17)
The
Malbim, a 19th century commentator, remarks on this passage:
Jacob understood
that this place was the site of the future Temple... for the Temple is the
ladder, whereby heaven and earth kiss each other. Man's worship ascends upward, and the Divine
providence descends thereby.
How
was the Divine presence manifest in the Temple?
The
Talmud (Avot 5:7) states that there were 10 ongoing miracles at the Temple:
"No meat rotted, no fly was seen there... the rain did not extinguish the
Divine fire, etc." The Rambam states
that, in general, miracles are not meant to persist over time. Yet, here was a steady, ongoing set of
miracles.
Besides
the steady stream of miracles, something about the number of the miracles
strikes us as significant. The number
10, as used in Jewish text, represents the totality of a system, much as the
number 10 represents the totality of the unit integers.
Indeed,
the Talmud lists the 10 miracles at the Temple in the same series as the 10
utterances with which the world was created. Just as the world in its completeness
encompasses 10 utterances of Hashem, so does the Temple consist of 10 elements,
which compose an entire world.
In
other words, the Temple is a "parallel" world, physical in substance,
but more refined and G-d-like. It is a
world of meat, but the meat does not rot. It is a world of dampness and rain, which does
not extinguish the flame of the altar. As
the most physical manifestation of Divine spirit, it is as if Hashem has moved
into this "house."
Man,
on the other hand, must elevate himself in order to enter this house. He must either dedicate himself to Divine
service, as do the Kohanim (priests), or must be temporarily on an elevated
level of spirituality, as the Jewish people achieved during the festivals
through purification and offerings. Thus, man enters the Divine house after
bringing out in himself the spark of G-dliness, the Divine soul.
The
Temple is where the human and the Divine include their points of commonality,
and where the two can embrace and unify -- if only for a moment.
This
is our collective memory of this awesome place.
And,
we await tantalizingly for the day when both Hashem and man are ready for that
communion again.
Looking
at the rocks and ruins from this perspective, we see that their value is not
merely "historical." Nor,
however, are these rocks imbued with magical powers. Rather, they remind us of the time when this
place brought out the best and most beautiful in man, and the most fathomable
and concrete of Hashem.
The
Temple Mount is far above politics of the right or the left. It is a place where Hashem came closest to
revealing himself to humanity in a permanent and tangible manner. And, it is a place where man reached the peak
of his awesome potential. When these two
occurred simultaneously, "heaven and earth kissed." Man and Creator, so to speak, embraced.
The
essence of Judaism is that we are a nation tied to Hashem, enacting His moral
designs, and thereby seeking to bond with Him.
For
reasons known only to Him, one tiny plot of land is where Hashem chooses to
reveal as much of the Divine as possible, and to elevate man to the highest
peak of spirituality humanly possible. As we pray three times a day, we face
this point, knowing that this is the spiritual pole of planet earth.
We
are not dealing with mere history and remembrances. We are dealing with our most essential present
and our profoundest hope for the future. This is who we are -- our most important
place, the very soul of the nation.
Our
remembrance of what the Temple Mount once was should evoke in us a pang of
yearning and an elevation of self. Yes,
the day will come when we will be beckoned "home" again, when Hashem
will again be willing to set up a "home for Divine embrace."
And,
there will be no bloodshed on that day. For on that day, the world will recognize
truth and embrace it.
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