I sat in the Jerusalem synagogue hoping that I was not occupying the seat of one of the regular shul-goers. A man came and sat right next to me. He told me that the seat that I chose as well as the seat that he was in were the two best seats in the place because if we looked straight ahead, not only would we be facing the Temple Mount, we would be zeroing in on the precise spot where the Holy of Holies stood. He explained that if we moved one seat to the right or one seat to the left, we would miss the mark.
He was referring to a tradition that originated before the construction of the first Temple, evolved further over centuries, and was later codified as normative practice. Jerusalem would be the focal point of our prayer. When one is praying outside of Israel, one faces Israel. Inside of Israel, one faces Jerusalem. Inside of Jerusalem, one faces the Temple Mount. On the Temple Mount, one faces the Holy of Holies. And so, here we were, about 2000 years and 1 kilometer away; the Holy of Holies was in our imaginary sights.
My neighbor may have hit the mark, but I think he missed the point.
We have been facing Israel from our disparate Jewish communities around the world for millennia. In fact, we have been facing an imaginary Temple for more than twice the time that the actual first and second Temples stood there. While the original intention of this practice was literally to keep our eyes, and by extension, our hearts and our thoughts focused on Jerusalem throughout our dispersion, something else happened. An awareness has descended upon us that has lasted longer than the stones that stood there.
Imagine hundreds of people standing around a center-point, the people representing the Jewish diaspora; the central point representing the Holy Temple. Now remove the Temple as it was so violently wrenched from our view twice over. One may think that the result is that all of us will be looking at an empty space. In fact, what we see is something far greater; we are all looking at one another.
You may have stepped a bit to the right or to the left. You may have turned your face away, but I still see you. Even if we are not perfectly aligned, I can still see the holiness in you.
The place that you and I are looking through was drenched in holiness from the moment that Abraham and Isaac walked there. Abraham gave that place a name which might be understood as the place where God will see. Maybe, the place where God will be seen. But what is certain is that our universal focus on this place over millennia has made it the place where you are seen by me, and where I am seen by you.
The Holy Temple once drew our attention there. Its disappearance created not a void but a communal presence. It has become the place where we not only look at one another, but the place where we learn to look after one another.
Robert Lichtman has devoted his career to securing a vibrant future through Jewish leadership, learning, and community. He has served in senior roles at major Jewish organizations including UJA-Federation of New York, Hillel International, and the Jewish Federation of Greater MetroWest, where he was Chief Jewish Learning Officer. Now an essayist, mentor, and teacher, he explores the challenges and possibilities of Jewish communal renewal in his writing and teaching. He may be reached at RobertELichtman@gmail.com
