A Place for Us
A Place for Us
Sermon Parshat Pekudei 5785
Rabbi Samuel M. Cohon, Congregation Beit Simcha, Tucson, AZ
I once made the profound mistake of telling this true story to my first-year rabbinical school class. I hope your responses are less vigorous than theirs was…
It took place my last year as the cantor at Congregation B’nai B’rith in Santa Barbara, California, during Rosh HaShanah morning services. As is the custom, I entered at the beginning of the central part of the service from the back of the sanctuary chanting the Hineni prayer. I was dressed in my white robe, wearing a white yarmulke and white tallit. As I slowly walked towards the ark, chanting this central prayer of humility and service before God on the holiest of days, I heard a small, wide-eyed child say to his Bubbie, “Is that God?” And I heard her answer, “No, that’s the cantor.” And the child answered, “So where is God?”
Now, I thought that was a lovely exchange, sweet, and honest. My classmates, however, were less impressed. After telling that story in services, whenever I’d come into a classroom or join them at lunch for weeks thereafter they would turn to one another and ostentatiously ask, “Is that God?”
It won’t shock you that I haven’t told that story much since then… Still, it does illustrate an important point.
First, the typical answer we give to children asking us where God is, is simply “everywhere.” But then, if God is truly everywhere, why do we need a special sanctuary at all?
I mean if God is everywhere, which all monotheistic religions believe, why is it better to come to some building or shrine to offer up our prayers? Why can’t we just go for a hike or walk on a beach or just say what we need to say wherever we happen to be?
It’s a valid question. The truth is, we can pray to God anywhere we are, and at any time of day or night. If God exists, and God is listening, what premium is placed on going to a temple, shul or synagogue and offering up prayers there instead of in our kitchen or den or in our cars?
The answer is that of course we can pray to God anywhere and at any time. The purpose of a sanctuary, a place dedicated to prayer and service to God, is to provide a beautiful, unique location for the community to gather in prayer. It is also the way we give those who wish to seek God and holiness a special place to join their voices with others who are also looking for meaning and purpose.
This week we finish reading the book of Exodus with the Torah portion of Pekudei, which completes the work and dedication of the Tabernacle, first central place of worship for Jews. The purpose of this shrine is a little unclear initially. After all, if God exists beyond time and space, and has no physical manifestation at all—that is, if the Jewish idea of God is correct—why does God need any kind of a fixed place of residence at all?
The answer is that it isn’t God who needs the Tabernacle—or the Temple in Jerusalem, or any sanctuary or chapel of any synagogue or temple anywhere in the world at any time in history. It’s we who need it.
You see, we human beings can think abstractly, and say that we don’t need rituals or rites, that we are much too sophisticated to require places for prayer, or even to need to pray at all. But when we are alone, or in pain, when we are lost, and when our minds aren’t dulled by texts or television or email or Facebook or Instagram or the internet or other distractions, we find we still have spiritual needs.
And those needs are not abstract, but concrete. We need a place of solace and separation from the outside world, a location where we can seek God, and our own best nature, in serenity and peace. In short, we still need a Temple, just as our ancestors did, for it is there we find holiness in a world dedicated to the ordinary.
You can pray anywhere. But having a place of beauty and specific sanctity, designed to give tribute to God, can make all the difference.
Think of the difference between the huge office and hotel or residence towers, named for a company or individual to glorify itself or himself, and the sacred spaces constructed to pay tribute to God. Usually, the spiritual houses are much smaller than the financial or hospitality edifices. But they mean so much more.
Poet Ruth Brin wrote:
Babel was built to defy deity
To declare the dominion of man.
Bricks were passed from hand to hand for a whole year
To reach the masons at work on the top of the tower.
Thus, when a brick fell they wept
But when a man toppled to his death
They turned their backs.
The tower of Babel was built to glorify man,
But they achieved degradation and destruction.
The sanctuary was built in obedience to God,
In recognition of God’s dominion.
The tent proved to be far greater than the tower;
Hangings of cloth outlasted brick and mortar.
In the ark built to the glory of God
We find our own essential glory:
Righteousness and holiness
In imitation of God.
The first Tabernacle in the Wilderness, we are told in these final portions of the Book of Exodus, was built from the Terumah, the freewill offerings of the multitude of Israelites, gifts they gave to create a magnificently special place for God’s spirit to connect with us. Both the First and Second Temple in Jerusalem were regarded as the most fabulous buildings that existed in their day in the world. But what made them so special was not the gold and silver, not the elegantly embroidered fabrics, not the giant bronze and copper basins or the magnificent altar or the huge pillars. What made these sanctuaries central to the life of our people was the simple fact that in these holy places, created through the best efforts of the most talented carpenters, jewelers, metalworkers, artists, craftspeople and weavers to create a gorgeous place, what made them special after all that incredible work was that the divine presence, the Shechinah, the sense of God being there, was clear to all.
This was where you could find God most intensely, and most consistently. This was the place to connect to the holy One, to unify with what is eternal and sacred and ineffably magnificent. This was where you went to apologize for your mistakes, to celebrate wonderful festivals, to join in true community with other people like you, and unlike you, in holiness and purpose.
Of course, you could talk to God in your kitchen, or barn, or in the fields or orchards, or on a city street somewhere. But if you really wanted to sense God’s presence the Temple was where you needed to be.
That same truth exists today. Yes, we can pray to God anywhere—at home, at work, in a restaurant, in a car, on a bus or plane or even on a bicycle. But if we want to feel that presence of God, to experience true holiness, we must do so in community in a sacred place.
And the very best of these places help raise our hearts and minds and lives to a newer, higher level. That’s what a great synagogue can do, at its best. And its best is what we must always strive for—our ancestors certainly did, as we see in these Torah portions. But it’s also what we must do, for now it’s on us to try to accomplish what they did.
Asu li mikdash v’shachanti b’tocham we were told recently in the Torah portion of Terumah, build Me a sanctuary and I will dwell among you—that’s a pledge that things can always be made good, that we are always able to come into grace and blessing, if we build that temple. God will be in our midst, always, and that we can find God best in community in a holy place. In our own temple, our sanctuary, our place for the Shechinah to dwell.
Of course, God is everywhere. But if you want to access the spirit of Divine blessing, if you have the desire to experience true community of purpose, and prayer, to reach to the highest level that exists—well, then you need a true sanctuary. To pray together; to mourn together; to learn together, to join together in life-cycle celebrations.
As our Torah portion affirms, and as the long sweep of Jewish history attests, and as we hope to be able to confirm for our own congregation: we need a temple of our own.
May we find that place of holiness and blessing, and join there, always, in community and in prayers of thanksgiving and peace and, especially, great joy.