Who May Ascend the Mountain?

Overlooking Temple Mount from Mt. Scopus (image courtesy of author)

As you gaze over the Temple Mount in Jerusalem, it’s easy to feel shivers run through your body. There’s something mystical and holy about this place, something majestic, and yet, something extremely difficult to put into words. Few places in the world have captured as much attention or been written about as extensively as the Temple Mount. And still, each time I look at this place or visit it, I’m perplexed by its complexity. Someone unrelated to it—as far as one can claim to be unrelated to it today—may simply see amazement and beauty in its presence, especially with the golden-shining Dome on top of it. But as a Jew, the longer you stare at it, the more unsettling the view becomes. The question arises: What is this golden Dome doing up there?

This is not going to be a history lesson where I explain how the Umayyad Caliphate set up the Dome of the Rock to demonstrate their religious and political ambitions in the region. I want to shed light on the inner life of a Jew when he or she looks at the Temple Mount. If you have heard of the Jerusalem Temple, where sacrifices were offered and people made pilgrimages long before any caliphate existed, you might also know that this Temple stood precisely where the Golden Dome shines today. Despite its beauty, this is highly disturbing for a Jew and feels like a thorn in one’s flesh. It isn’t just disturbing because we know how it once was, but also because we know that no Temple will adorn this mountain any time soon. It feels as though someone or something is sending us a message: ‘You don’t deserve the Temple.’ But why are we so obsessed with a building? Does it really matter if a dome or a temple is standing up there? And when we mourn the destruction of the Temple on Tisha b’Av, are we really mourning for a building? I have good reason and strong support to believe that we do not.

לָמָּה־לִּי רֹב־זִבְחֵיכֶם יֹאמַר ה’ שָׂבַעְתִּי עֹלוֹת אֵילִים

What need have I of all your sacrifices?” says G-d. “I am sated with burnt offerings of rams…” (Isaiah 1:11)

It seems that G-d isn’t particularly keen on seeing us build another Temple, offering more sacrifices in vain and “trampling His courts.” This makes me think that maybe it is good that the shiny Dome is occupying the space where another Temple might stand. Maybe we should appreciate this fact so that we can focus on what really matters. On Tisha b’Av, a dear person to me expressed what really matters: In Orthodox Judaism, there’s a Yiddish expression for well-learned and sharp-minded people: a “Gemara-kop,” meaning something like a “Talmudic-mind.” People might use it to praise others and consider it a desirable goal to accomplish in life. That’s nonsense. This term must be destroyed. We don’t need “Gemara-kops.” What we need is Gemara-hearts. Because what matters most is how we do the things we’re doing. You can be as pious and smart on the outside, but at the same time feel nothing when you enact your wisdom.

שִׁוִּיתִי ה’ לְנֶגְדִּי תָמִיד כִּי מִימִינִי בַּל־אֶמּוֹט

I am ever mindful of the Lord’s presence (Psalms 16:8)

Are we doing what we are doing for G-d, our Creator, or for someone else, something finite? That’s the most important question we can ask ourselves. Are we allowing ourselves to be deceived by our own desires and aspirations, or are we staying true to the only Entity that isn’t corrupted? How else could we ever be sure that our intentions are sincere if not for the clarity that each of our actions is an immediate and purely good sacrifice to our eternal father, our Creator, rather than ourselves or someone else finite? When we cried out the words at the end of Megilat Eicha,

הֲשִׁיבֵנוּ ה’ אֵלֶיךָ ונשוב חַדֵּשׁ יָמֵינוּ כְּקֶדֶם

Take us back, O Lord, to Yourself, and let us come back; Renew our days as of old! (Lamentations 5:21)

We didn’t ask G-d to bring us back the Temple. We asked G-d to help us achieve to attain a pure heart. That’s our mission, and until we achieve it, any talk of a theocracy in Israel or the restoration of the Temple is empty talk and a waste of time. Maybe even worse, it’s a desecration of G-d’s name. For it would be audacious for anyone to claim to have a heart pure enough to be worthy of entering G-d’s domain. And even if such a person exists, unless he or she has brought all other people to the same level, it would be an even greater audacity to leave them behind.
It is painful to acknowledge that our long-awaited State is not ready for a third Temple yet. But it’s unrealistic to think that building another Temple would bring any change to our hearts, the part of us that matters most. That’s why looking at the Dome erected by the Umayyads around 690 CE shouldn’t make us sad but should give us strength to take action and uphold our pure intentions while considering possible potential for improvement. Eventually, it’s perfectly summarized by King David:

מִי־יַעֲלֶה בְהַר־ה’ וּמִי־יָקוּם בִּמְקוֹם קָדְשׁוֹ׃ נְקִי כַפַּיִם וּבַר־לֵבָב אֲשֶׁר לֹא־נָשָׂא לַשָּׁוְא נַפְשִׁי וְלֹא נִשְׁבַּע לְמִרְמָה

Who may ascend the mountain of the Lord? Who may stand in His holy place? He who has clean hands and a pure heart, who has not taken a false oath by My life or sworn deceitfully. (Psalms 24:3)

Many generations might pass until we’ve finally ascended the mountain, but every effort will contribute to it, whether someone put in the effort 2000 years ago, today, or a hundred years from now. Many people have worked toward this goal, and they are the ones who made it possible for the final generation to take the last step—a step that represents the collective efforts of everyone who contributed. One of those people was Esra Wyler, who passed away on Tisha b’Av. I didn’t have the chance and honor to meet him more than a handful of times, but every time I did, I felt his sincerity, earnestness, and optimism in building such a world full of pure hearts. I was told that his humor and positive outlook on life, even while facing challenges, was enormous. When people asked him how he could still laugh knowing that he was terminally ill, he would simply say: “Better humor than tumor.”

There comes a point in our lives when we realize that generations are gradually and inevitably replaced. The gravity of this process can be crushing, and we must accept that holding on to the material side of life is no solution to this desperate situation. We must hold on to the love and pure hearts of the ones we know and knew; that’s the only form of existence that endures. A lost object is quickly forgotten, and even though it’s much harder to part from a loved one, the love we felt and received will never cease to exist. It can only continue to shine and spread to more people. I hope that Esra Wyler’s love will continue radiating in the hearts of those who knew him so that it will be passed on for generations to come.

May we find strength in the face of terrible adversities, private or national ones, and arm ourselves with whatever is necessary to fight the adversities with a pure heart so that we may be worthy to reach the top of the mountain with all our brothers and sisters freed and reunited, inviting all of humanity to come join us in celebrating life as it was entrusted to us by the Eternal One.