The Torah column is supported by a generous donation from Eve Gordon-Ramek in memory of Kenneth Gordon.
Vayakhel-Pekudei
Exodus 35:1–40:38
When the Jewish people were about to build their first synagogue — the portable sanctuary in the desert — the architects were told by God to design a sculpture to sit above the ark.
“Two cherubim, two angel-like figures shall be chiseled on each end of the cover. And the cherubim shall have their wings spread upwards — toward heaven — with their faces turned to one another.” (Exodus 25:17-20)
Here, in just two sentences, we have a vivid picture of the function of the first House of God. Here is the blueprint for the purpose of the desert sanctuary built by Moses long ago, and for the shul built by the Jew today. This is both a mission statement and a guide for the future.
“And the cherubim shall have their wings spread upwards as if flying toward the heavens.” The function of a synagogue is primarily to elevate us, to lift us heavenward, to lift us out of our everyday earthliness. It is to lead us gently away from negative patterns and habits into which we are continually tempted, and to lead us to higher ideals.
Let me tell you about the young man who went on a date and for three hours spoke about himself: his talents, accomplishments and successes. Finally, he turned to the woman and said: “Enough about me, let’s talk about you. Tell me, what do you think of me?”
Instead of flying upward like the cherubim, that man was stuck in the quicksand of self-interest with his wings buried deep in the earth. Too often, without meaning to, we resemble that guy.
The task of a shul and the prayer that happens there is to help us outgrow our self-centeredness and lead us upward and Godward in life.
It must take us out of our material interests and point the way to the more beautiful and sacred aspects of life.
But the synagogue must not stop there. It is not enough for us to direct our thoughts upward.
The text goes even further. The cherubim were represented not only as flying upward but “with their faces turned to one another.”
Here, again, the function of a synagogue is beautifully expressed — to turn the faces of people toward one another and to promote friendship, community and unity in the process.
I love the story about the poor man who tried to get into an exclusive synagogue. However, they were too polite to tell him that they didn’t want to let him in. So they continually put him off with one excuse after another. On and on it went, until finally, the poor man got the idea.
One day, he went back to the synagogue for what he had decided would be the final time, only to be rebuffed once again. And as he was walking away feeling depressed, he chanced to meet God, and God asked, “Why do you look so sad?”
The man said, “Because I’ve been trying to get into that shul for months and I can’t get in.”
God said, “You are in good company. I’ve been trying to get into that shul for decades, and they don’t want me either.”
It makes no difference how grand the synagogue, or how many times God’s name is invoked in a place. Either kindness and generosity are there, or else God is not there and the shul loses its meaning.
A building is just a building. The magic is what happens inside it.
The synagogue is only a holy place when God has been invited in — and yes, it takes a bespoke invitation, even for God Himself, because He will never force his way into anywhere.
There is yet another thought that our text emphasizes.
Note that the two cherubim are not to be placed close to each other. On the contrary, they are placed “on the opposite ends of the cover.” Though the cherubim are far removed from one another, on opposite ends of the ark cover, nevertheless, their faces are to be turned toward each other. They gaze at each other across a distance, their eyes meeting across a great expanse. They recognize, acknowledge and love each other.
What a relevant lesson the Torah reveals here for our times, when Judaism has fractured into different denominations and segments, like islands with few bridges between them.
We are apt to turn our faces toward those whom we regard as “good Jews.”
So our text emphasizes that even though we are far removed from our fellow Jews, even though they appear to be on the other side of the Jewish spectrum — at the other end of the ark — we must still look upon them as brothers and sisters. Because that is what they are.
We remain one family, especially to those who seem far away from us.
The well-known late Israeli Rabbi Aryeh Levin was walking in his neighborhood in Jerusalem when he noticed a young soldier who was home on leave from his military service. The rabbi knew him from the neighborhood, and so he crossed the street in order to greet him. “Shalom,” he said. “Please come to my home. I would very much like to drink tea with you and hear about your activities.”
“I don’t think it’s right for me to come visit you,” the soldier replied. “I’m not religious anymore, I dropped it all. Can’t you see, I don’t wear a kippah anymore? In fact, I threw it out.”
Rabbi Levin took the soldier’s hand in his own and said: “Don’t you see? I’m a very short man. I see you, but I cannot look up so high as to notice whether you are wearing a kippah. But I can see your heart, and your heart is big and kind. You are a soldier placing your life at risk for all of us in Israel. Please drink tea with me; your kippah is probably bigger than mine.”
That is how we should turn to a Jew on the opposite side of us.
Don’t look for what they may be doing wrong. Look for what they are doing right, find their mitzvah, their particular radiance and see all that they have in common with you.
Tell them how special they are, and how much the Jewish people need them. “From opposite ends of the ark-cover shall you make the two cherubim.”
That is how we build a loving Jewish community.
What animosity and strife could be avoided in the Jewish world if only we were to absorb this Divine truth, which the Torah so vividly communicates to us.
May we, just like our ancestors in the first sanctuary, learn from the cherubs to aspire toward godliness, to live our lives focused on meeting other people’s needs, and to unite as one people.