The Proper Attitude Toward the Temple in Our Times (Column 412)

With God’s help

Disclaimer: This post was translated from Hebrew using AI (ChatGPT 5 Thinking), so there may be inaccuracies or nuances lost. If something seems unclear, please refer to the Hebrew original or contact us for clarification.

The phenomenon of ascending the Temple Mount and the hope of reestablishing the Temple (including practical actions to advance the matter) has gained momentum in recent years. In some cases, these actions are aimed at political goals unrelated to the Temple itself (demonstrating Israeli sovereignty on the Mount as part of the struggle with the Palestinians and Muslims), but I get the impression that more and more people are striving to build a Temple for religious reasons. At first glance, this is a Torah commandment incumbent upon us and binding on any Jew committed to mitzvot and to halakhah. And yet, not a small portion of the public—including the vast majority of its spiritual leadership, and including your humble servant—finds itself indifferent to the subject and not taking part in this war effort. As noted, some of those who do take part are not necessarily motivated by the desire to fulfill the commandment of building the Temple and by halakhah.

I ask myself whether this is merely indifference and corner-cutting on my part. Perhaps. But my very non-objective feeling is that there is something more here. A few weeks ago I was asked about the proper attitude toward the Temple at this time and in general, and a short discussion developed on the topic. I was asked there to describe my position and explain it. I did so briefly there, and here I will expand and detail a bit more.

Preliminary Note: Democratic Considerations

The discussion here will focus on whether these activities have religious or other value, and whether there is an obligation to take part in them. But first I must clear the democratic issue off the table. More than once I’ve expressed my firm view that the state must allow freedom of worship to anyone who desires it, on the Temple Mount or anywhere else, and it is a scandal that it does not allow this. But this claim is not based on the notion that there is a commandment or religious value in it, rather on considerations of freedom of worship as required in a democratic state.

Similarly, I find it intolerable that the state does not allow acts with which I disagree, such as prayer at the Western Wall by Reform Jews or by Women of the Wall as they understand it, immersion of unmarried women in mikva’ot built and maintained by the state or its institutions, marriage according to people’s own understanding and faith, adoption or surrogacy for same-sex couples, and the like. Most of these actions do not really fit my views (some are even halakhically prohibited, or at least assist such prohibition), but regardless of that I think the state should not take a position on their value, but rather allow each person to act as they understand. As I understand it, the values of democracy and liberty can reside alongside full religious commitment. These are two parallel value systems to which I am committed, and even if there is a conflict between them, this does not mean that one automatically overrides the other or that I am not bound by the other. I elaborated on this in the third book of my trilogy, and I will not enter into it here.

Of course, what I say here applies only so long as no one else is directly harmed. A person does not have the freedom to harm another person. For example, the freedom of people not to vaccinate certainly does not permit them to harm others who try to avoid infection with COVID. Without entering into who is right here, the state can decide and require one side to waive or pay a price. But it is important to clarify that the term “harm” here does not mean that someone is offended by my actions or worried about my transgressions. Those who are offended on behalf of the Western Wall or on behalf of God, or who are hurt because another does not keep Shabbat for their sake, should take a pill and relax.[1] I refer here only to harm to the interests of the other person himself, and not to his paternalism over his fellow.

Just as I want everyone to be allowed to ascend the Temple Mount and pray there, I also want the state not to take a position on questions of religious outlook, and certainly not to impose its position on those who disagree (even in cases where this is the opinion of the majority. At least in some of the cases I described, this is apparently not the majority view, and the state imposes the minority’s view on the majority). Just as I would not want something contrary to my positions imposed on me, I expect that nothing should be imposed on others merely because it accords with my positions. And no, this is not a pragmatic claim (i.e., out of fear that something will be imposed on me) but a moral one: the moral imperative says that it is not right to coerce people (and as the categorical imperative teaches, the fact that I would not want compulsion imposed on me is only the indication of that. See more on this in column 122 and much more).

Let us now return to the question of the religious attitude toward the Temple and the Temple Mount as such, regardless of democratic considerations. At first glance this is a mitzvah and a clear religious value. No wonder the question arises how (and whether) one can remain indifferent and not act actively for the matter.

Initial Feelings—and Their Undoing

First, the emotions. I have already written in the past that the image of a functioning Temple—a splendid place where dozens and hundreds of animals are offered daily, and priests dressed in priestly garments walk there, sunk up to their knees in blood (see Pesachim 65b)—is essentially a mass slaughterhouse, or Auschwitz for animals; it does not exactly gladden my heart. It is not, for me, a pleasant or yearned-for picture. It is very hard for me to identify with it, certainly to long for it and to take active steps toward its restoration. On another look, these are not only feelings and emotions, but values. I oppose the slaughter of animals for no reason, certainly when it entails great suffering for them. And in general, such a picture does not strike me as an ethical and spiritual pinnacle.

Beyond all that, is my spiritual world really supposed to depend on this mass slaughter? What is lacking in my religious world today, without all this bloody commotion? Is it not enough for me to observe commandments, advance moral values, engage in rational thought and religious faith, learn Torah and practice acts of kindness (and also enjoy a few “secular” pleasures like watching the NBA, reading a book, or a good film)? What exactly is the Temple supposed to add to this pastoral picture? It will likely inject into it a lot of noise and tumult, and also a great deal of mass ecstasy and herd behavior to which I do not particularly yearn. Perhaps there will be sublime religious experiences there, but I do not miss those much either (a dyed-in-the-wool Litvak that I am). On the contrary: in my view, work on the experiential plane belongs to our lower side (far down the evolutionary ladder, somewhere deep in our primal layers). So why do I need this? Were I not afraid to say so, I would say that I ought to thank God for having spared us all that (it might even be worth adding a psalm of thanksgiving to the dirges of Tisha B’Av for the destruction. It now occurs to me that this might be a possible meaning of the surprising tune that joins the piyyut “Eli Tzion ve-Ariyah” toward the end of the kinot…).

But none of this is supposed to stand against the dozens of explicit commandments in the Torah agreed upon by all. A significant portion of halakhah and of what we study daily is dedicated to the sacrificial service and the laws connected to it. Am I not obligated, as one committed to halakhah, to swallow hard and enforce truth upon feeling (and even upon moral values)? The Torah speaks here in a clear and unambiguous voice, and it is very difficult to insert into it a conception that is averse to sacrifices. Even the prophets who cry “Why do I need your many sacrifices?” and place morals at the center—seemingly pushing Temple ritual and sacrifice to the margins—do not actually nullify the value of the service. They only protest against those who see it as the whole picture or as a substitute for the other commandments. Our Sages teach that “the world stands on three things: on Torah, on the service (that is, the sacrificial service, of course), and on acts of kindness.” Does all this not require me to overcome the feelings I described, and even the values underlying them, and to act for the restoration of the Temple and the renewal of the service in it?

Moreover, I have often told myself that my alienation and lack of identification with all matters of sacrifices and the Temple derives from my present point of view. Today it seems unlikely to me that the Temple is supposed to add anything to me, especially as I am entirely alienated from religious experiences and their spiritual value. It may be that when I find myself in a world where there is a functioning Temple, I will feel the meaning and spiritual benefit of its existence and of the service conducted there, and then I will understand why it is so important and central in halakhah and beyond. My current vantage point is a product of the landscape of my birth, and it is not necessarily correct to draw conclusions from it about realities and situations unfamiliar to me. In the halakhic context as well I have written more than once that it is difficult and improper to judge people or actions that take place in a reality unfamiliar to me (see on this, for example, here). So perhaps it is not right to judge the place and significance of the Temple in our religious lives from a contemporary point of view formed and crystallized in a completely different world?

Meta-Halakhic Considerations

R. A. I. Kook wrote his vision of vegetarianism, in which he argues—or perhaps hopes and assesses—that in the future, even when the Temple is rebuilt, no animal sacrifices will be brought there, only offerings from plant life. It is quite clear that he too was motivated by the same feelings I described above. It seems that the reservations toward Temple service and blood are not unique to me. I am in good company.

It seems that he assumes that at times the world advances beyond what prevailed in the past; that is, contrary to the common view, the present is not always necessarily degraded relative to some past utopia (as opposed to the classicist “decline of the generations”). Even if in the past there was a need for sacrificial service and it was not too grievous an affront to morality and faith, it may be that today we have progressed and it is no longer necessary, and perhaps even forbidden. It is well known that a similar idea already appears in the Rambam at the end of the Laws of Me’ilah, where he explains that the need for sacrifices was to wean people from idolatry, implying that in a more rectified world this would not be necessary.

R. Kook’s assumption is that sometimes God arranges reality (or it simply develops on its own) into a better state, and the past is not always ideal. Thus, for example, the disappearance of slavery can certainly be considered an improvement and not a deterioration of our condition. I do not generally rely on the views of earlier sages, great as they may be, but if the concern gnawing at me is that such conceptions reflect a lack of fear of Heaven, then there is not bad evidence here that this is not necessarily so. Needless to say, the overwhelming majority of the sages of Israel, across the spectrum, do not share in efforts to establish a Temple and ascend the Temple Mount. Again, I do not see them as an authoritative source, but I think this is an indication that these feelings are not mine alone. Even if they cloak it in arguments about an unworthy generation, lack of power, concerns of impurity at the holy site, and the like, the inaction and lack of cooperation with the current generation’s it’aruta d’letata (initiative from below) demand explanation. To my mind it is reasonable that there is in it something of the feelings I described.

Moreover, this spiritual improvement can come about by crooked paths. That is, even if a given state of affairs arose for reasons that seem problematic to us, that does not mean it is not a good state, and even better than its predecessors. Much has been written about the twisted emergence of kingship in Israel (David descends from Ruth, whose relationship with Boaz and, of course, her lineage, were highly questionable), and some have gone so far as to say that this is how it should be (to ward off the evil eye). There are other examples. For instance, the Talmud, and the Rambam after it, write that disputes arose in Israel because the students of Hillel and Shammai did not serve their teachers sufficiently. In Pachad Yitzchak – Hanukkah, R. Hutner writes that although the disputes arose in a problematic way, the outcome is blessed (see Chagigah 3a–3b and much in praise of dispute). He likewise writes about the encounter with Greece that paved the way for the Oral Torah (Greek logic and reason served the Sages in building the Talmudic give-and-take of the Oral Torah—“the beauty of Japheth shall dwell in the tents of Shem”). Zionism arose because of pogroms, blood libels, and other troubles of exile. The establishment of the state occurred in large measure following the Holocaust. Does that invalidate it? The state and Zionism were brought about by an explicitly secular movement. Does that necessarily invalidate them? Many Haredim claim yes, but they assume that if the path is problematic, that invalidates the result—and that is not so. Even in halakhah there are not a few prohibitions whose product is not prohibited (such as the fruits of grafted trees).

So too in our case. Even if the disappearance of the Temple and sacrifices occurred in ways that seem to us crooked—destruction and exile decreed upon us as punishment for our sins—positive results can also reach us by that route. A state in which there are no sacrifices and no Temple is not necessarily worse than what existed in the past, even if it arose out of destruction visited upon us as punishment for our sins. Following the destruction we found substitutes—such as prayer, Torah study, the development of halakhah and the Oral Torah, and more—that it is doubtful could have come about in a world with a Temple and prophecy and the people dwelling in its land. These substitutes may render the Temple superfluous (at least in its previous form). Does this mean that these substitutes are necessarily inferior? In short: bad causes do not necessarily produce bad results.

In passing I note that the Rambam and R. Kook apparently were not overly troubled by the claim I raised above—that their views took shape in an era without a Temple and without sacrifice. That did not prevent them from holding that sacrifices are something that ought to change. Did it not occur to them that perhaps when there is a Temple their view will change? Perhaps then they will experience and understand the important value and great contribution of sacrifices, which is not now clear to them? It seems that if at present it appears to them that these things do not contribute, then that is their present stance. It may be that in the future it will change, but in the meantime we are supposed to act on the basis of our current position. “A judge has only what his eyes see.”

Offerings from Plant Life

Everything I have written here is not a halakhic argument but a meta-halakhic and conceptual description. Yet, as I mentioned, on the halakhic plane there is a commandment to build a Temple, and of course many commandments of sacrifice. How can these trends be addressed halakhically? At first glance, even if in our view the state without a Temple is better and the commandments of sacrifices and offerings were meant for more degraded generations, there is still no halakhic mechanism that exempts us from so many Torah commandments. One may wonder what R. Kook, who wrote that in the future offerings will be from plant life,[2] would say to this. Where did the dozens of commandments concerning animal sacrifices go?

First, our Sages already tell us that commandments will be nullified in the world to come. The eternity of the Torah does not necessarily refer to the stages of redemption, but perhaps only to the world as it is today. At the stage of redemption, things can change. Beyond that, the Sages often reinterpreted verses by midrash and took them out of their plain sense, and there is no principled impediment that in the future something similar will be done, so that it will be decided that offerings are brought from plant life. If “an eye for an eye” can mean monetary compensation, then sacrificial offering can be from plant life. If the “rebellious and wayward son” case is made applicable only when impossible conditions obtain (his parents are of equal height and their voices identical), then offerings from animals can be made applicable only when the skies are the color yellow. A Sanhedrin established in the future can interpret the Torah, as its predecessors did in Talmudic times, and there is no limit to their ability to change halakhah. Beyond that, there is a Tannaitic dispute whether we do or do not derive law from the reasons for the commandments (doreshin ta‘ama d’kra). In practice we rule that we do not, but when a Sanhedrin is reestablished it can disagree with its predecessors and do derive law from the reasons. Indeed, as R. Kook writes in his book LeNevukhei HaDor, it can annul the halakhic stance that we do not derive law from the reasons. Note that once we derive the reasons, the Rambam’s rationale for the commandments of sacrifices cited above can become a halakhic anchor establishing that offerings come only from plant life.

All this may happen in the future, when there is a messiah and a Sanhedrin. What about now? True, we have no Temple and thus there is no dilemma of sacrifices, but striving to build a Temple is relevant even today. The commandment to build a Temple still exists and is relevant now. We do not have a Sanhedrin to change this commandment, and as long as it has not been changed, at first glance we are obligated to act for its fulfillment even if we lack identification with it. Does this mean that each of us is supposed to act actively toward restoring the Temple?

The Commandment to Build the Temple

There are midrashim that determine that the future Temple will descend from heaven and not be built by us. The well-known words of Rashi, Tosafot, and the Ritva in Sukkah 41a (s.v. “I nami”) all write that the future Temple will descend built and complete from heaven and not be built by human hands. See also the comment of the Arukh LaNer there. All this is stated despite there being a halakhic commandment of building a Temple that is incumbent upon us (and many pilpulim have been offered to reconcile their view).

Many to this day see in this a reason not to act actively to establish a Temple, despite the commandments. In light of what I wrote above, it may be that the meaning is that we leave this decision in Heaven’s hands. If they decide to send down a Temple, then apparently our current position is mistaken. If and when there is a Temple, we will understand that our present stance was based on an incorrect premise and on partial information. But it is possible that Heaven will decide not to send it down, and then that will be a de facto confirmation of the correctness of our present position.

Another aspect is the entity upon whom the obligation to build a Temple falls. Simply put, this is a commandment incumbent upon the king—that is, upon the public. The current situation is that the Jewish public is not really interested in this. In such a situation, it is not proper for individuals to do so on their own initiative in its stead, since they are not the ones commanded in the mitzvah (and if they do, they must pay the public a fine of ten gold coins for “stealing a mitzvah”).

However, in my essay on Parashat Nitzavim–Vayelekh, Mida Tova 5767, I noted that with commandments incumbent upon the public there is a responsibility upon individuals. I brought there from the Sefer HaChinukh (Mitzvah 612) who wrote that the commandment is incumbent upon the public, yet if an individual remained at home and did not go up to Jerusalem he has neglected this positive commandment. I wondered there how it can be that the positive commandment is fulfilled by those obligated in it (the majority of the public who arrived and fulfilled the Hakhel ceremony), and yet a person can be culpable as one who has neglected this commandment. If the commandment was fulfilled, how can one be faulted for neglecting it? I explained there that although the commandment is incumbent upon the public and it is the public that fulfills it, the responsibility that the commandment be fulfilled rests on each individual. Therefore, an individual who remained at home did not fulfill his responsibility, and then, even if the commandment was fulfilled by the public, he is considered as neglecting a positive commandment. The conclusion is that even if the public does not fulfill the commandment, individuals are not exempt from their responsibility to see to it that it be carried out. If so, with regard to building the Temple, one can argue that even if the public is commanded, individuals have a responsibility to ensure that the public fulfills its duties.

Now I wish to argue more. My claim is that today there is no “public” at all that can be considered as Klal Yisrael. There are Jews of many kinds, but most are not committed to the Torah, and therefore it is difficult to relate to them as a Jewish collective and a Jewish public obligated in our communal commandments. In a situation where there is no Jewish public (Klal Yisrael has ascended on high and become an ideal), the description that the public does not want to fulfill its duty is not exhaustive. The more accurate description is that there is no public at all that is obligated. In such a situation it is doubtful to what extent communal commandments apply, and consequently there is great doubt as to the extent of individual responsibility to ensure that the public carries out its (non-existent) duties.

Incidentally, in my opinion the same applies to conquering the land. Even according to the Ramban (positive commandment 4 in his additions to the Sefer HaMitzvot), where he determines that there is a commandment to conquer the land, it may be that today there is no such commandment—not only because the public is not interested in it, but also because the entity commanded (the public) does not exist.

Practical Summary

My starting point is that I do not have great longing for a state of affairs in which there is a functioning Temple. In my eyes it is also not a desirable condition ethically and spiritually. I may be mistaken because I have not experienced it, but until proven otherwise my position stands (following the Rambam and R. Kook). Admittedly, this is only the meta-halakhic plane. As for the halakhah obligating us to build a Temple, we saw several considerations why it is not necessarily relevant to us today. These are, of course, not decisive arguments, and one can quite easily challenge and dispute them. After all, we are dealing with Torah commandments agreed upon by all, and it is hard to nullify them on the strength of mere reasoning.

However, here our fundamental lack of desire returns. As noted, my thinking on the subject is based on the assumption that I do not see in this a great lack, and I do not see in the Temple and sacrifices an added value for our service of God and our spirituality. In such a state, even if I cannot, on the strength of mere reasoning, nullify Torah commandments, it is still reasonable within halakhic discussion to choose the interpretive path that exempts me from active involvement for these commandments (establishing a Temple and offering sacrifices). If God wishes—it will happen, but I will not act to bring it about; in the spirit of “yeitei v’lo achmineih” (“let it come, but may I not see it”). To put it in the style of the early authorities in Sukkah cited above: I leave the matter to Heaven. If God decides that it is proper even in our day, let Him send down a Temple from heaven. And in general, each person chooses the missions to which he devotes his efforts (after all, one cannot do everything). So for one who feels as I do, it is only natural that the mission of promoting the building of the Temple and the offering of sacrifices will not be the one he chooses to focus on, even if he had no way to challenge it.

It may be that after a Temple is established and I experience its significance directly, I will realize that I am mistaken. Perhaps I will then see that the contribution of the Temple and sacrifices to the service of God is essential and unparalleled. In such a case I will presumably change my position (I hope). But as long as this is my current vantage point, my attitude to the issue is derived from it and not from what might change in it if and when the situation changes. A judge has only what his eyes see.

[1] Incidentally, in a debate with Mordechai in the talkbacks after column 410, the argument arose that the custom of the place at the Western Wall is to pray separately and in the Orthodox rite, and therefore it is legitimate not to allow Reform Jews to pray there as they understand. By that logic, the custom of the place at the Temple Mount, Rachel’s Tomb, the Cave of the Patriarchs, and the like is Muslim prayer only, and therefore it is legitimate not to allow Jews to ascend there and certainly not to pray there. I see no difference (yes, yes, I know: a Jewish state. And democratic…).

[2] Incidentally, there is such a midrash of our Sages as well.