SPIRIT
A WORD OF TORAH

50 | FEBRUARY 3 • 2022 

H

uman beings have a 
unique and fundamental 
attachment to place and 
space. Animals have lairs and 
mark their territory, but people 
add layers of significance to the 
spaces they occupy. 
Our homes are 
particularly signif-
icant to us. They 
provide us with 
security, privacy, 
belonging, identity. 
They are the center 
of our existence 
— a central place from which to 
look out at the world. And they 
give our lives meaning, well-being 
and happiness.
Home is the place we feel saf-
est. Where we build a lifetime of 
memories. Where we raise our 
children and entertain family and 
friends simply to celebrate being 
together. Above all, our homes are 
sanctuaries — a physical safe har-
bor, but also a place of emotional 
and even spiritual refuge.
Ultimately, a home isn’t just 
where you are, it’s who you are.
In this week’s parshah, we read 

of another sacred space, a literal 
sanctuary — a spiritual home for 
the Jewish people and a “resting 
place” for the Shechina, God’s 
Divine presence.
Parshah Terumah deals with 
God’s instruction to build the 
Mishkan — most often trans-
lated as the “Tabernacle” or the 
“Sanctuary” in the desert. It was 
the place where the Jewish people 
gathered together to connect to 
God in an intimate way. Though 
built to extraordinarily intricate 
and detailed specifications, the 
Mishkan was a temporary struc-
ture that was disassembled and 
then reconstructed as the Jewish 
people journeyed from place to 
place.
Later on, when the Jewish peo-
ple took possession of the land, 
it took a more permanent form 
— becoming a forerunner to, and 
receiving its ultimate expression 
in, the Beit HaMikdash — the 
holy Temple in Jerusalem. The 
city of Jerusalem itself is a holy 
space, and within it the Temple 
Mount, on which the Temple 
stood, is a place where the spir-

itual pulse is at its most intense 
— to the extent that the Beit 
HaMikdash embodies the very 
notion of the holiness of space: 
Kedushat HaMakom.
Jewish history and destiny is 
inextricably entwined with the 
Temple. It was the focal point of 
our identity when it stood and, 
2,000 years later, we continue to 
mourn its destruction and pray 
fervently for its rebuilding. 
Yet, in a certain sense, the 
Mishkan/Beit HaMikdash 
remains in existence today — as 
the prototype and model for 
two other key institutions in 
Jewish life, the shul and the beit 
hamidrash — the house of learn-
ing. According to the Talmud 
(Megillah 29a), even after the 
destruction of the Temple, God’s 
presence continues to dwell in 
the shuls and Torah study halls 
we create, which are called a 
Mikdash Me’at — a miniature 
sanctuary. These two fundamen-
tal institutions, so permeated with 
holiness even amid the darkness 
of exile, are a microcosm of the 
Mishkan and the holy Temple.

THE SANCTITY OF 
PHYSICAL SPACE
We see that this concept of the 
sanctity of physical space has 
characterized Jewish life for thou-
sands of years. Let’s now journey 
deeper into the root meaning of 
the Mishkan.
The Sefer HaChinuch, one of 
the classic works from the Middle 
Ages, argues that the purpose of 
the Mishkan wasn’t really to pro-
vide a home for God. The author 
cites the words of King Solomon 
spoken at the dedication of the 
Temple he himself built: “Behold 
the heavens and the highest 
heavens cannot contain You, and 
surely not this Temple that I have 
built” (Kings 1:8:27). 
The Sefer HaChinuch, 
therefore, instead focuses on 
the Mishkan’s significance to 
people. He says the Mishkan’s 
painstakingly detailed building 
specifications were geared toward 
constructing an intensely holy 
space within which God’s pres-
ence — the Shechinah — could be 
felt viscerally, enabling those who 
entered its confines to be uplifted 

Holy 
Space

Chief Rabbi 
Warren 
Goldstein

