The Aesthetic In Judaism

It is a way of speaking about the unspeakable. The poetry of the Psalms is a case in point. But more than this, the poet is the one who shapes the religious imagination of a people. The poet is the one who celebrates the world as creation, as the work of the Creator, who sees the divine presence in every leaf, every tree, every flower, every bird, every creature.

For Wyschogrod, the absence of great Jewish artists is a symptom of a deeper malaise. Jews, he says, are the people of the book. But they are also the people of the image. The image of G-d, in whose likeness we are created. The image of the Torah, which is described in the Midrash as black fire on white fire. The image of the Temple, which was not only a place of sacrifice but also a place of beauty and artifice.

Art, says Wyschogrod, is the way we express our sense of the infinite within the finite, the eternal within the temporal. It is the way we bring the hidden presence of G-d into the world of space and time. That is why the priestly vestments were to be “for dignity and beauty.” They were to be a way of honoring the service of G-d in the mikdash, the sanctuary.

So the Torah, which is often skeptical about appearances, here makes an exception. The service of the Tabernacle and Temple was to be a celebration of beauty, a way of bringing the divine presence into the material world, a reminder that the G-d of Israel is the G-d of all creation, and that the beauty of holiness is itself a way of honoring the Creator who made a world that is “very good.”

It was Maimonides who said that when the Temple was destroyed, the divine presence did not leave the world. It simply went into hiding, waiting for us to build a mikdash me’at, a “small sanctuary,” in our homes and communities. That is what we are called on to do, each of us in our own way, through acts of kindness, hospitality, charity, justice, compassion, and above all, through the beauty of our deeds, our words, and our lives.

That is how we bring the divine presence back into the world, until the day when G-d will reveal His presence once more, and rebuild His Temple in Jerusalem. May that day come soon and in our time.

© 2020 The Office of Rabbi Sacks. All rights reserved. Not to be reproduced without permission.

For more thoughts from Rabbi Sacks, please visit www.rabbisacks.org

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Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks z”l was an international religious leader, philosopher, and respected moral voice. The author of over 35 books, Rabbi Sacks was equally at home in the secular and religious worlds. He held professorships at several academic institutions including Yeshiva University, King’s College London, and New York University. Rabbi Sacks served as the Chief Rabbi of the United Hebrew Congregations of the Commonwealth from 1991 to 2013. He died in November 2020. www.rabbisacks.org

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Published with permission from the Office of Rabbi Sacks.

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FOR MORE THOUGHTS FROM RABBI SACKS, PLEASE VISIT:Â www.rabbisacks.org

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Photo Credit: Courtesy

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Why is the Torah so specific and emphatic, in this week’s parsha, about the clothes to be worn by the Kohanim and the Kohen Gadol?

“These are the vestments that they shall make: a breastplate [chosen], an apron [ephod], a robe, a knitted tunic, a turban, and a sash. Make them as sacred vestments for Aaron and his sons so that they will be able to be priests to Me.” (Ex. 28:4)

In general, Judaism is skeptical about appearances. Saul, Israel’s first king, looked the part. He was “head and shoulders” taller than anyone else (1 Samuel 9:2). Yet though he was physically tall, he was morally small. He followed the people rather than leading them. When G-d told Samuel that He had rejected Saul, and that Samuel should anoint a son of Yishai as king, Samuel went to Yishai’s home and saw that one of his sons, Eliav, looked the part. He thought he was the one G-d had chosen. G-d, however, tells him that he is mistaken:

But the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” (1 Sam. 16:7)

Appearances deceive. In fact, as I have mentioned before in these studies, the Hebrew word for garment, begged, comes from the same Hebrew word as ‘to betray’ – as in the confession ‘Ashamnu bagadnu,’ ‘We are guilty, we have betrayed’. Jacob uses Esau’s clothes to deceive. Joseph’s brothers do likewise with his bloodstained cloak. There are six such examples in the book of Genesis alone. Why then did G-d command that the Kohanim were to wear distinctive garments as part of their service in the tabernacle and later in the Temple?

The answer lies in the two-word phrase that appears twice in our Parsha, defining what the priestly vestments were to represent: le-kavod ule-tifaret, ‘for dignity [or ‘honor’] and beauty’. These are unusual words in the Torah, at least in a human context. The word tiferet – beauty or glory – appears only three times in the Torah, twice in our parsha (Ex. 28:2, Ex. 28:40) and once, poetically and with a somewhat different sense, in Deuteronomy 26:19.

The word kavod – ‘dignity’ or ‘honor’ – appears sixteen times, but in fourteen (2×7) of these cases the reference is to the glory of G-d. The twice they appear in our parsha are the only occasions in which kavod is applied to a human being. So what is happening here?

The answer is that they represent the aesthetic dimension. This does not always figure prominently in Judaism. It is something we naturally connect with cultures a world apart from the Torah. The great empires – Mesopotamia, Egypt, Assyria, Babylon, Greece and Rome – built monumental palaces and temples. The royal courts were marked by magnificent robes, cloaks, crowns and regalia, each rank with its own uniform and finery. Judaism by contrast often seems almost puritanical in its avoidance of pomp and display. Worshipping the invisible G-d, Judaism tended to devalue the visual in favor of the oral and aural: words heard rather than appearances seen.

Yet the service of the Tabernacle and Temple were different. Here appearances – dignity, beauty – did make a difference. Why? Maimonides gives this explanation:

In order to exalt the Temple, those who ministered there received great honor, and the priests and Levites were therefore distinguished from the rest. It was commanded that the priest should be clothed properly with the most splendid and fine clothes, “holy garments for glory and for beauty” … for the multitude does not estimate man by his true form but by … the beauty of his garments, and the Temple was to be held in great reverence by all. (Guide for the Perplexed, III:45)

The explanation is clear, but there is also a hint of disdain. Maimonides seems to be saying that to those who really understand the nature of the religious life, appearances should not matter at all, but “the multitude,” the masses, the majority, are not like that. They are impressed by spectacle, visible grandeur, the glitter of gold, the jewels of the breastplate, the rich pageantry of scarlet and purple and the pristine purity of white linen robes.

In his book The Body of Faith (1983), Michael Wyschogrod makes a stronger case for the aesthetic dimension of Judaism. Throughout history, he argues, art and cult have been intimately connected, and Judaism is no exception.

“The architecture of the Temple and its contents demand a spatial thinking that stimulates the visual arts as nothing else does. It must be remembered that among the many artIfacts past civilizations have left behind, those intended for ritual use almost are always the most elaborate and aesthetically the most significant.”

Wyschogrod says that postbiblical Judaism did not, for the most part, make outstanding contributions to art and music. Even today, the world of religious Jewry is remote from that of the great writers, painters, poets and dramatists. To be sure, there is a wealth of popular religious music. But by and large, he says, “our artists tend to leave the Jewish community.” This, he believes, represents a spiritual crisis.

“The imagination of the poet is a reflection of his spiritual life. Myth and metaphor are the currency both of religion and poetry. Poetry is one of the most powerful domains in which religious expression takes place. It is a way of speaking about the unspeakable. The poetry of the Psalms is a case in point. But more than this, the poet is the one who shapes the religious imagination of a people. The poet is the one who celebrates the world as creation, as the work of the Creator, who sees the divine presence in every leaf, every tree, every flower, every bird, every creature.

For Wyschogrod, the absence of great Jewish artists is a symptom of a deeper malaise. Jews, he says, are the people of the book. But they are also the people of the image. The image of G-d, in whose likeness we are created. The image of the Torah, which is described in the Midrash as black fire on white fire. The image of the Temple, which was not only a place of sacrifice but also a place of beauty and artifice.

Art, says Wyschogrod, is the way we express our sense of the infinite within the finite, the eternal within the temporal. It is the way we bring the hidden presence of G-d into the world of space and time. That is why the priestly vestments were to be “for dignity and beauty.” They were to be a way of honoring the service of G-d in the mikdash, the sanctuary.

So the Torah, which is often skeptical about appearances, here makes an exception. The service of the Tabernacle and Temple was to be a celebration of beauty, a way of bringing the divine presence into the material world, a reminder that the G-d of Israel is the G-d of all creation, and that the beauty of holiness is itself a way of honoring the Creator who made a world that is “very good.”

It was Maimonides who said that when the Temple was destroyed, the divine presence did not leave the world. It simply went into hiding, waiting for us to build a mikdash me’at, a “small sanctuary,” in our homes and communities. That is what we are called on to do, each of us in our own way, through acts of kindness, hospitality, charity, justice, compassion, and above all, through the beauty of our deeds, our words, and our lives.

That is how we bring the divine presence back into the world, until the day when G-d will reveal His presence once more, and rebuild His Temple in Jerusalem. May that day come soon and in our time.

© 2020 The Office of Rabbi Sacks. All rights reserved. Not to be reproduced without permission.

For more thoughts from Rabbi Sacks, please visit www.rabbisacks.org

———————————————————————————————————————————————

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks z”l was an international religious leader, philosopher, and respected moral voice. The author of over 35 books, Rabbi Sacks was equally at home in the secular and religious worlds. He held professorships at several academic institutions including Yeshiva University, King’s College London, and New York University. Rabbi Sacks served as the Chief Rabbi of the United Hebrew Congregations of the Commonwealth from 1991 to 2013. He died in November 2020. www.rabbisacks.org

Â

Published with permission from the Office of Rabbi Sacks.

Â

FOR MORE THOUGHTS FROM RABBI SACKS, PLEASE VISIT:Â www.rabbisacks.org

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