Why the Mishkan and the Beis Hamikdash serve as the “mouth” of the world

“And gather the whole congregation to the entrance of the Ohel Moed.” (Vayikra 8:3)

Chazal teach us that the Beis Hamikdash and Mishkan function as the “mouth” of the world. The mouth is the organ we use to communicate with each other, to connect.

True connection is rare, yet beautiful. Let’s analyze for a moment the nature of words. Before we speak or even think in actual words, we begin with abstract thought, which transcends words. When we speak, we take that abstract thought and concretize it, bringing it into the world of reality. Speech encases our thoughts and inner world within finite dimensions, so that we can project them for others to experience. (Rav Shmuel Reichman)

It was a perfect Yerushalayim morning. The sky was that deep Mediterranean blue with just a few fluffy clouds scattered for contrast. Nestled in a corner of a hilltop, I breathed in the sweet smell of pine as I continued with the lesson I was teaching. It wasn’t unusual for me to take my classes outside. There, our discussions took on wings as we passionately debated pesukim and philosophy.

The girls were as varied as their backgrounds, bound together by a love of Eretz Yisrael and of learning.

They’d walked many paths before they climbed these hills, and often their backgrounds were rockier than the rugged stones we sat upon. Still, year after year, as we debated and discussed, transformations took place, there, where the earth touched the sky.

We see this concept in the alternate definitions of the various Hebrew words that mean “word”: davar, milah, and teivah. Davar also means a thing, because a word concretizes abstract thoughts into things. Milah also means to cut, to incise, because a word cuts down your limitless thoughts into something tangible and real. Teivah also means a box, because a word is our attempt to squeeze our infinite thoughts into a finite casing.

Now, we can understand the nature of speech. We’re separate beings, all living in our own inner universe. How then do we connect to other people — to share our inner life and experience theirs? Through the power of speech.

Once we put our thoughts into words, the barrier between our inner thoughts and our outer world is reduced.

My teaching tools ran the gamut from the conventional to the creative, hence the outdoor classroom. I tapped into every aspect of myself, using the powers of persuasion and personality to forge the bonds that enabled me to forge ahead. I spent long hours after classes, connecting over coffee and answering my students’ many questions from the personal to the preposterous.

And connect we did. We wove ties that have stood the test of time and distance.

We can now understand in the most profound way why the Mishkan and the Beis Hamikdash serve as the “mouth” of the world.

Hashem spoke directly to the Jewish People from between the Keruvim (Vayikra 25:22). It’s here that Hashem’s spiritual Infiniteness connects to our physical world.

 We all yearn for connection. But genuine connection requires time, patience, and a lifetime of effort. The goal isn’t to be connected; the goal is the process of perpetually striving to become more connected with ourselves, with others, and with Hashem Himself.

A decade passed. I thought I’d teach forever. But a maternity leave melded into a sabbatical, which spanned two years, then three. Yet I missed my girls.

When my youngest was old enough, I picked up my seforim and dove back in.

The scenery was the same, as was the classroom and curriculum. But within the first hour of that first lesson, I realized I’d missed more than just a year or two of time. I’d entered a new millennium. Where once I’d stood opposite fresh faces and inquisitive eyes, I now faced iPhones, iPods, and iPads. Where once I’d used all the props of my personality to engage their interest, I’d now lost them before I’d even begun.

Still, when the bell rang after class, I was eager to meet and greet, to connect beyond the books. Yet the moment the bell rang, each girl scrambled to answer her phone, text, or e-mail. I watched them straggle out the door, eyes glued to the screen, earphones plugging their ears.

I looked down at my notes, at the highlighted segments, the stories I’d once shared, the questions we’d once discussed.

But there was nobody to talk to.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 687)