When we put a mezuzah up at the entrance of our home, we’re declaring that this is Hashem’s space

“And write them on the doorposts of your house and upon your gates.” (Devarim 6:9)

T

he word mezuzah means doorway. Generally, names of mitzvos refer to the actual item utilized for the mitzvah, not how it’s used or where it’s placed; it’s like calling tefillin “forearm.” Why is the name of this mitzvah defined by where it’s located?  (Rabbi Yochanan Zweig)

This summer marks almost 20 years since we moved to our home outside of Yerushalayim. Before that we were the Wandering Jews, moving from one rental to the next, getting creative with small spaces to accommodate our growing family.

But on that hot summer day in Av, the kids danced around, racing from room to room, thrilled with the space that was all theirs.

Against the backdrop of their exhilaration was our excitement at hanging up the first mezuzahs in our own home. As my husband hammered in each mezuzah, I felt each room become ours, one at a time. No more rentals. These were our doorways, our rooms. Thank you, Hashem, for our own mikdash me’at.

On the night of Makkas Bechoros, the Jews placed blood on their doorways so Hashem would “pass over” that home and not harm its inhabitants.

However, Hashem Himself came to redeem the Jews that night and to smite the Egyptians; why would He need the blood on the doorway to differentiate between the homes of the Jews and those of the Egyptians?

Truthfully, the purpose of placing blood on the doorways was for our sake. It was our declaration that we identify as Jews and not Egyptians. Physically putting the blood on the doorways of our homes was an articulation of our allegiance to Hashem.

A few years later, my husband ran a routine check on all the mezuzahs. This was mostly for form, as the mezuzahs we’d bought when we moved were mehudar and brand-new. Still, he went through them one at a time, and then came to the mezuzah on the glass door leading from our dining room to the patio.

This mezuzah, according to halachah, was placed outside, and we kissed it upon entering the house from the garden. My husband stepped outside, took down the mezuzah and brought it inside to inspect. The case looked fine, and he expected to find the mezuzah in perfect condition, just as he’d found the rest.

Yet to our shock, when he opened the case, the mezuzah was burned and black, scorched straight through all the layers of the parchment. Completely passul! How had that occurred?

Our patio gets a lot of sun every afternoon. Day after day, year after year, the sun’s rays hit that mezuzah directly in the same spot. Like a laser, the heat managed to penetrate through the protective covering, without us even knowing. My husband immediately went to buy a new mezuzah and a cover that protects specifically against sun damage.

In American society, “a person’s home is their castle.” This has many applicable ramifications in law. Homeowners consider their home to be their kingdom, where their rule is absolute.

When we put a mezuzah up at the entrance of our home, we’re declaring that this is Hashem’s space. We’re proclaiming that even in our most private space, we’re still in His place. That’s why the very essence of the mitzvah of mezuzah is its placement on the doorways of our homes — a declaration that our home is His and Hashem’s rule is absolute, even in our personal space.

I sat for a while staring at that scorched scroll, not wanting to believe my precious home had been unprotected, vulnerable all that time, and we’d been unaware.

There’s so much danger outside our homes, both physically and spiritually. Often we think we’re working as hard as we can to ensure that no outside influences enter our family’s castle. Yet this incident drove home for me the insidious dangers that lurk. Despite our best efforts, threats can slither in past our defenses. And often we’re not even aware that they’ve infiltrated.

We hung the new mezuzah in its place and kissed it gently. We have to do our hishtadlus. But it’s not the sealed room or the Internet filters or the double locks on the door. The only way I can truly be protected is by knowing He protects me. By kissing that mezuzah, I’m declaring: This is His castle. I just work for Him.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 906)