When Jews Gather, the Sanctuary Lives©

Who in here knows the name of the largest synagogue in the country? Don’t yell it out, just raise your hand. 

To prepare for this sermon, I asked Rabbi Google, not his chevrutah, Rabbi ChatGPT: What is the largest synagogue in the United States of America? 

The answer: Temple Emanuel. Located on Fifth Avenue in the heart of New York City, Temple Emanu-El is considered one of the most beautiful and largest synagogues in the world. The sanctuary alone seats about 2,500 worshippers, even larger than nearby St. Patrick’s Cathedral. The space stretches 100 feet wide, 175 feet long, and rises 103 feet high. Remarkably, its steel frame supports the entire hall without a single interior pillar, allowing every seat a clear view.

So I went to check out Rabbi Google’s chevrutah. Instead of giving me an answer, it asked me a question, which depends on what you mean by the largest synagogue in the United States. Do you mean by the size of the building, or by the number of member units in the community? 

Rabbi ChatGPT is clearly an upgrade from Rabbi Google, because, of course, a rabbi should always answer a question with a question. 

I answered, of course, which one has more membership units, in other words, people. And Rabbi ChatGPT gave me an answer: Temple Israel in West Bloomfield, Michigan. Approximately 3,500 membership units, with an estimated 12,000 individual members. 

But the building, while impressive, is no Temple Emanu-El, built by renowned architects and artisans from across the globe, using marble, mosaic, stained glass, bronze, and wood. 

So which one is it? The building or the people? 

And by the way, you should be confused. Because for weeks we’ve been reading about the Mishkan, the physical dwelling place for God in camp, and this week, we’ll be reading it all over again, every piece that goes into the Mishkan in parashat Pekudei, from gold, silver, dolphin skin, crimson yarn, and everything in between. 

And yet, we all know something deep down as Jews. Before we had the Tabernacle, we were a people.

And this week, that truth stopped being an abstract idea and became painfully real when our people were threatened in their Mishkan. 

Earlier this week, a man drove an explosive-laden car into the entrance of Temple Israel in West Bloomfield, Michigan, attempting to reach the synagogue’s Early Childhood Center before being stopped by a security guard.

Thankfully, everyone at Temple Israel is relatively safe. There was a brave security guard who risked his life and was injured to neutralize the terrorist who drove his explosive-laden car into the front door of Temple Israel, attempting to drive the car into the Early Childhood Center. But it could have ended differently. I had a friend whose family is at the synagogue. Their sibling is a doctor at the local hospital. They told him to prepare to receive at least 38 gravely wounded children from his own Temple’s preschool.

After five synagogues were attacked this week around the world, we must see that it is not our buildings that are under attack, but rather our gathering as Jews in our holiest of moments. 

On Thursday, as I was learning about the news and thinking about our own security protocols, I thought back to 2006. During our honeymoon year, Alissa and I spent Shabbat in Rome, Italy. 

And of course, when a rabbi or a rabbinical student travels somewhere, one of the first things we do is visit the local synagogue. So we went to the Great Synagogue of Rome, one of the world’s most famous synagogues, known for its aluminum dome visible from a long distance. I have never seen a synagogue this large, yet I had to register a day in advance to attend services. When we arrived, we walked through metal detectors and past armed security, and even had an interview. 

I remember thinking at the time: beautiful building, but how can anyone get in to actually pray? This is the danger we are facing. 

We are not a building people, we are a ‘people’ people, and if we can’t gather in safety together, what will we do? 

And so I want to return to the OG Source of all answers: The Torah, and this week’s parashah, for some guidance: 

וַיַּקְהֵל מֹשֶׁה אֶת־כל־עֲדַת בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל וַיֹּאמֶר אֲלֵהֶם אֵלֶּה הַדְּבָרִים אֲשֶׁר־צִוָּה יְהֹוָה לַעֲשֹׂת אֹתָם׃

Moses then convoked the whole Israelite community and said to them:

These are the things that the LORD has commanded you to do:

שֵׁשֶׁת יָמִים תֵּעָשֶׂה מְלָאכָה וּבַיּוֹם הַשְּׁבִיעִי יִהְיֶה לָכֶם קֹדֶשׁ שַׁבַּת שַׁבָּתוֹן לַיי כל־הָעֹשֶׂה בוֹ מְלָאכָה יוּמָת׃

On six days work may be done, but on the seventh day you shall have a sabbath of complete rest, holy to the LORD; whoever does any work on it shall be put to death.

לֹא־תְבַעֲרוּ אֵשׁ בְּכֹל מֹשְׁבֹתֵיכֶם בְּיוֹם הַשַּׁבָּת׃ {פ}

You shall kindle no fire throughout your settlements on the sabbath day.

וַיֹּאמֶר מֹשֶׁה אֶל־כל־עֲדַת בְּנֵי־יִשְׂרָאֵל לֵאמֹר זֶה הַדָּבָר אֲשֶׁר־צִוָּה יְהֹוָה לֵאמֹר׃

Moses said further to the whole community of Israelites:

This is what the LORD has commanded:

קְחוּ מֵאִתְּכֶם תְּרוּמָה לַיהֹוָה כֹּל נְדִיב לִבּוֹ יְבִיאֶהָ אֵת תְּרוּמַת יְהֹוָה זָהָב וָכֶסֶף וּנְחֹשֶׁת׃

Take from among you gifts to the LORD; everyone whose heart so moves him shall bring them—gifts for the LORD: gold, silver, and copper;

The rest was very repetitive; you read it. But, what did it begin with? Moses gathers everyone together, he communities them is that would be a verb, and he says, these are the things God wants you to do:

• Keep Shabbat

• Build me a sanctuary where you will observe it together as one people 

Shabbat wasn’t just about rest; it was about Temple Worship. The very categories of work we stop doing on Shabbat come from the work of building the Mishkan. We call them the AV Melachot, or the 39 things that were done to create the Mishkan. 

The work of the Mishkan could not be done alone; you needed a team of people to build, offer gifts, and offer sacrifices on behalf of the entire people, but together, as one. 

This is how we build things in Judaism: together, as a community. 

We gather to celebrate Shabbat; we gather to send our kids to learn Torah at Jewish schools; we gather to learn Torah as adults; we gather, and now we have to be scared. 

I was with some community organizers - they asked us to answer a question: what’s making you angry in your community, in your congregation? In other words, what are you angry about? 

I didn’t answer. I was with a Catholic priest, and I wanted to listen. He said, teen issues, mental health, distance between parents and their children. If I were to answer on your behalf, I would say, yes, that, and antisemitism. 

It’s not always visible. But like a shadow, it can appear at any moment, in real life or online. But it hits us different when the violence is in the one place where we are supposed to feel safe: our sanctuaries. That’s why this attack, for me, was significant: the fifth synagogue attacked this week.

Shabbat is meant to be at home; we have said that for years. 

But Shabbat is not just about resting at home and having whoever you want over for a meal. It is about sharing sacred space with other Jews in one space that we own together because we are engaged in the holy work of the Temple.

The service of the hand became the service of the heart.

What we are doing today, therefore, is important, and we can’t do it alone.

We need a minyan, we need a space. 

What’s my response to yet another desecration of God’s house? 

The real desecration would be letting that space be empty on the holiest day of the week, Shabbat. 

As we end one of the Torah's books, a book whose ending focuses on creating physical sacred space, the whole next book is about what happens inside that space. 

The sanctuary was a container for something fragile and powerful: a Jewish people willing to stand together in sacred time and sacred space. 

So let me return to the question I started with: What is the largest synagogue in America? Is it Temple Emanu-El with its soaring ceilings and magnificent architecture?

The answer: it only matters how full of people that building is, and especially on the holiest day of the week: Shabbat. 

I can picture the square aluminum dome in Rome when I close my eyes; that’s how distinct it is, but that’s not what makes the synagogue special. 

What makes it special is that Jews have been praying in Rome for more than two thousand years, and they’ve been praying there since 1870. That community survived the Roman Empire, the medieval ghetto, fascism, deportations and genocide during the Holocaust, and terror attacks in modern times.

And yet every Shabbat, Jews still walk through those doors in Rome to pray. 

Holy spaces will inevitably be attacked; some may even be destroyed, but a people that continues to gather together, every week, for thousands of years, across the entire face of the world, through space and time, is truly indestructible. 

And so every time we walk through these doors on Shabbat, we are doing something quietly defiant and profoundly holy. That’s why you being here is so important. 

We are becoming what Moses created in this week’s parashah:

וַיַּקְהֵל מֹשֶׁה אֶת כל עֲדַת בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל

Moses gathered the entire community of Israel.

And when we gather like this, week after week, generation after generation, we remind the world, and we remind ourselves, that the greatest sanctuary God ever built was never made of marble or mosaic.

It was made of us.