By Rabbi Dan Lewin
Parashat Pekudei

One of the most fundamental principles of Jewish faith — and mitzvot to internalize — is that the Creator of the universe is present everywhere and within everything. However, once we accept this, a question arises: What, then, makes a place sacred? Likewise, can’t we pray anywhere with the same effectiveness? This week’s Torah portion brings a discussion among the commentaries that addresses this very idea.

As we conclude the book of Shemot(Exodus), we reflect on its central theme: the Mishkan (lit. “dwelling place”) — the portable sanctuary of the Jewish people, later replaced by the Mikdash (lit. “holy site”). The word “sanctuary” often evokes peaceful refuge — quiet spaces, soothing sounds or the harmony of nature. However, a holy sanctuary involves something more structured, governed by specific guidelines and precise requirements designed to create an ideal channel for divine presence.

The Hebrew word for “holy” (kadosh) connotes separation, designation and distinctiveness. For holiness to enter — or “descend” — into our physical world, it must be activated through specific human action. Thus came the divine instruction in the second year of the Jews’ journey: “Make Me a sanctuary, and I will dwell in your midst.” (Exodus 25:8)

The construction of the Mishkan, therefore, required specific materials — multicolored curtains, loops of blue wool, acacia planks covered in gold, red ram’s skins, silver sockets — and precise measurements. Only through this intricate process did the Jewish people merit an exceptional elevation.

Years later, a magnificent structure stood atop a hill in Jerusalem, becoming the focal point of Jewish life and the meeting place of heaven and earth. Nearly two-thirds of the Torah’s mitzvot are tied to its existence, and its destruction remains the great tragedy of Jewish history. Today, its last remaining wall, the Kotel, is a sacred site for millions.

What made this physical structure so significant?

The primary purpose of the sanctuary and later the Temple, according to the biblical commentator Ramban (Nachmanides), was to house the Shechinah, the divine presence. The key vessel within this structure was the Ark of the Covenant, placed in the innermost chamber: “I will arrange My meetings with you there, and I will speak with you from atop the ark cover….” (Exodus 25:22)

He explains that before the giving of the Torah, the heavenly and earthly realms were entirely separate, like distant countries with no means of travel between them. The Sinai revelation unlocked that barrier, introducing the possibility for a higher level of divine light to permeate the physical world. However, while Sinai was a fleeting moment of open revelation, the sanctuary allowed that presence to remain — covertly yet continuously.

A conduit or a container?

Maimonides offers a different perspective. In the Mishneh Torah, he describes the Temple as a place for offerings and festival celebrations. While Nachmanides focuses on a home for the Shechinah, Maimonides emphasizes human action. Are they arguing about the function and capability of the sanctuary, or is the latter work simply discussing what is most relevant for a book of instructions?

Some suggest that this different approach stems from the premise explained in Maimonides’ philosophical writings, where he clarifies that, despite scriptural descriptions of the divine presence “filling” and “dwelling” within the Temple, one should not mistakenly imagine that G-d’s presence actually resided within the physical boundaries of the Temple walls. This is because the Creator cannot be confined to specific physical locations. Rather, the Temple served simply as a conduit for transmitting G-d’s revelation to the people of Israel.

An analogy: When grappling with a complex idea, the brain acts as an internal screen where thoughts and images appear. To express these ideas in writing, the hand moves in a coordinated way to form letters and words. We often say that thoughts “enter” the mind, but we wouldn’t say that understanding “enters” the fingers — since the hand has no direct relationship with abstract thought.

In this view, Maimonides sees the Temple more like the hand — a chosen instrument for transferring something inherently beyond physical space to the people. Similarly, Jewish tradition states that prophecy is most common in the Land of Israel — not because the soil or air itself carries prophetic power, but because the spiritual conditions in this designated “Holy Land” foster a heightened state of awareness, like an area with “good reception.” Nachmanides, however, sees the Temple not as a mere conduit but as a specially designed vessel — more like a brain than a hand — uniquely suited to contain the Shechinah.

Both perspectives, however, agree that the Temple facilitated an ongoing connection between the Jewish people and a higher dimension: “I will dwell in their midst.” Their debate centers on whether the primary function of the Temple was to set the stage for the desired human action or to create a framework where holiness could reside permanently among the people.

The esoteric works of Chassidus, however, reconcile the seemingly opposing views of two classical giants by explaining that they describe different levels of the divine presence. One level, the essential enlivening force, is all-pervasive but too lofty to be confined within space — it permeates but remains hidden — so it cannot be said to occur more in one physical spot than another. The other, a ray or lower level of the Shechinah, is filtered and revealed within this realm, making it more accessible in certain areas on earth.

Your personal sanctuary

Although we no longer have a grand central sanctuary, we can still establish our own sacred spaces — places to pause, reflect, rise above the daily grind and reconnect. Each synagogue is called a miniature Temple, and when certain guidelines are enacted — the traditional words of prayer are spoken, there is a quorum of 10 and so forth — the Shechinah enters that place in a heightened way. So, while G-d is indeed everywhere, certain structures and practices create conditions for more potent revelations and open lines of communication.

But the concept extends beyond communal prayer. Every person can create a personal sanctuary — a designated space at home, in an office or wherever they feel most at peace — for reflection, prayer and spiritual growth. The foundation is simple: a mezuzah, a shelf with holy books and a tzedakah (charity) box — all of which transform the spiritual atmosphere of the space. The next step — the absorption of holiness — happens through using that space: setting aside time for learning, prayer or a mitzvah.

In this way, each of us can sanctify a corner of our world, creating a personal space for the divine presence — our own counterpart to the sanctuary we once had and long for.

Rabbi Dan Lewin is director of the nonprofit Maayan Chai Foundation. For information, visit www.maayan-chai.org.