The Holiness and Stability of a Dining Room Table

There was a time, not that long ago, when I think many of us felt like world history was finally trending in the right direction. Maybe it was immediately after the beepers went off, maybe it was after Iran was pathetically unsuccessful in harming the Jewish state, maybe it was when some of the hostages started to go free, maybe, and I know this is only for some of you, maybe it was with the change of administration and its implications for the State of Israel and antisemitism. Be that as it may, it felt, for a moment, that Israel was coming out on top, coming out stronger, coming out more united. It felt like the Jewish People and by extension all those who want a good life for all were marching towards a great finale. Like the chorus of a very popular Jewish pop-song, it felt like “we were mamish at the end.”

But then, and I cannot point to a particular time and place, that trend changed from a slowly ascending line to a nosedive, when we were flung back into darkness. I don’t care what your politics are, but there is chaos here in the US right now; fluctuating markets, so many unknowns with unknown implications. In Israel, the protest movement against the government that has been dormant since October 7^th has come back with a vengeance. The head of the Shin Bet has been let go causing a showdown between the government and the courts, the IDF is back in Gaza, the Houthis are firing rockets disrupting regular life, the dividing line between the Haredim and the rest of Israeli society is growing ever sharper by the minute. I don’t know about you, but I feel despondent. That sharp turn between trending in the right direction to where we are today leaves me feeling confused and overwhelmed. I imagine I’m not the only one feeling like my emotions are dulled; the joy I’d like to experience, the sadness I should be feeling are inaccessible. Many of us are experiencing some form of spiritual and emotional vertigo. Probably not that different than the Jewish People felt in the year 1313 BCE.

The world, in 1313 BCE, was trending in the right direction. The Talmud relates that when the Jewish People received the Torah, the zuhama, the spiritual filth that entered the world through the sin of Adam and Eve, started to leave the world.

In the immediate aftermath of that holy moment, the world set out on a clear trajectory to world peace; nations started making treaties not out of fear, but out of respect for the natural determination of those around them. The human race started moving towards meaningful and long-lasting relationships; spouses feeling supported, children feeling seen, co-workers not feeling threatened by their colleague across the hall. And each individual started to feel inner peace; people felt attuned to their Neshama, to their calling, to their potential, no longer living in shame or self-doubt.

But then, with the building and the service of the Golden Calf, this positive trajectory fell apart, the world descended into darkness, chaos reigned. We could relate, on some level, to the feeling of despair that the Jewish People experienced in that moment.

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They say a story, one I’ve shared in the past, about a young boy on a beach covered in starfish. The starfish were left by the receding tide and now, without water, are slowly dying. This young and compassionate boy starts picking up one starfish at a time and placing it back in the water. And an old man comes by, sees what the boy is doing and laughs. “Young and foolish boy, don’t you see what’s in front of you. The beach goes on for miles. The are thousands of starfish out here. You’re not able to save them! You’re not able to make a difference!”

The boy looks up, smiles, and gently places another starfish in the water and says, “For this one, I will make a difference.”

That was the message Hashem gave the Jewish People in the aftermath of the Golden Calf. He instructed them to build a Mishkan. The Gemara in Berachos (51a) tell us that Betzalel, the architect of the Mishkan, knew the secrets of the creation of heaven and earth. This is another way of saying that the Mishkan may have been a small project, it may have been no larger than a football field, but in truth, it was a world. The Jewish People may have lost their opportunity to change the world, but we do not therefore give up. We create a small world, we make a small change, and we know that at least in that little corner, with this little act, for this little starfish, we will make a difference. (Rabbi Moshe Hauer)

After the Temple was destroyed, the Jewish People once again faced this challenge. The lighthouse, our Bais HaMikdash, the meeting point of heaven and earth, a place that nations would flock to in order to connect to G-d, the place that united the Jewish People, the place that enabled us to attain forgiveness from Hashem was destroyed. Again, the Jewish People felt despondent. And again, there was a small but impactful solution.

Our Sages, invoking the wisdom of the Mishkan, the wisdom of the small boy on the beach, reminded us that there is still a small space that we can make holy. There is still an area where you can really make a difference, something that can unite us, something that can serve as an example to all the nations of the world, something that can help us attain forgiveness from Hashem for all our misdeeds.

Says the Gemara in Meseches Berachos (54a): כׇּל זְמַן שֶׁבֵּית הַמִּקְדָּשׁ קַיָּים — מִזְבֵּחַ מְכַפֵּר עַל יִשְׂרָאֵל, וְעַכְשָׁיו, שֻׁלְחָנוֹ שֶׁל אָדָם מְכַפֵּר עָלָיו.

“When the Temple stood, the altar atoned for the Jewish People, and now a person’s dining room table brings about a rekindling of the relationship with G-d.”

Not the land of Israel, not shul, not the study hall. Your dining room table is the modern day Mishkan. A dining room table filled with guests, or even a single guest, like the Bais Hamikdash, becomes the source of Jewish unity. A dining room table filled with guests, like the Bais Hamikdash, is the greatest connection between the physical world – your delicious food – and the spiritual – the sharing of what we have with others. If the efforts of the little boy at the beach resonated with you, your dining room table is your opportunity to bring a little light into this very dark and confusing world. (Rav Kook, EA)

Pesach is just three weeks away. Starting with the Erev Pesach, there are 10 Shabbos ad Yom Tov meals. That’s a lot of cooking, I know. For those who are blessed with it, that is a lot of time for family, for laughter, and for long uninterrupted conversations and connection. But for those who do not have a family, or a complete family, Pesach can too easily be 10 doses of loneliness, of a difficult reminder of something or someone that is missing.

If you are able to host for any meals over Pesach, let me know. If you would like to be invited to any meal over Pesach, let me know. I’ll try my best to act as your shadchan. But even better, if you are blessed to be able to host, look around, find someone who might appreciate a meal, and invite them on your own. You are literally building a Mishkan in your home; you are perpetuating our nation’s beautiful legacy of never giving up, of always finding the light in the darkness, and recognizing the value of small changes in a broken world.

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Rabbeinu Bachya, a 14^th century scholar, records a custom that was practiced in France. When the head of a household would die, they would cut up their dining room table and use the wood to make a coffin (Shulchan shel Arba). My dining room table is made of plastic so it wouldn’t work. But the message is so powerful and profound. When we go to the next world, when we stand before G-d, and He asks us what we did in this world, we could so easily throw up our hands and say, I was overwhelmed by the darkness; by the news, by the confusion, by the fact that I never felt G-d’s presence! Or, we could point to our dining room table and say, in my little corner, with the little food that I had, I connected heaven and earth. In my little corner, I made a difference.

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Delivered as a sermon at Ner Tamid Baltimore on March 22, 2025