Timeless Torah

Enter a Synagogue and there are various artifacts one can expect to find. Such a collection would certainly include an Ark where the Torah scrolls are kept, a Bimah, an eternal light, and so forth. Venture out of the Sanctuary into the kiddush room and you will see a silver wine cup, two challahs, etc. All of these are reminiscent of our people’s first Temple, the desert Mishkan. This travelling exhibit of G-d’s Presence similarly featured and Ark, a Menorah, an altar, and a table of challohs.

Conversely, there are other items one does not imagine bumping into; foremost in this list would be any three dimensional figure that could possibly be misconstrued as an idol. Nonetheless, within the most sacred spot of the Mishkan and atop its most holiest object, two angel-like figurines were proudly displayed with their wings spread out at full span.

These cherubs that adorned the Aron Kodesh in the Holy of Holies, possessed the faces of innocent children, specifically a young girl and boy. The Aron, containing the most sacred of our physical entities, the Tablets upon which were engraved the Ten Commandments as well as the shattered pieces of first Luchos smashed after the Golden Calf, was the repository of of our national mandate and destiny. No wonder that the honor guard chosen to oversee its continued safety was represented by (models of) children.

As the Midrash clearly points out, G-d had demanded a group to guarantee future loyalty on the part of the Jews to the Torah way of life. At first, the fledgeling nation had offered its Patriarchs (Abraham...) and then its Sages (Moses...) as security for the preservation of Torah. G-d had rejected both offers and only after the children were enlisted as the guarantors, did Hashem convey to us His most precious gift. Therefore, it makes sense to have children atop the Ark, rather than figures of old, bearded Rabbis.
Cherubs, however are not always depicted as innocent and tender waifs. Indeed, the first reference to cherubim in the Torah occurs in the first portion of Genesis where they did not appear as cute and vulnerable youngsters. Here, they are depicted as menaacing soldiers whose purpose was to deny Adam and Eve reentry into the Garden of Eden after their expulsion. As the verse relates, “G-d placed the cherubim and the flame of the ever-turning sword to guard the entrance of Gan Eden.”
The apparent contrast between the two groups of cherubim is striking. How is it possible that the very same beings who guard the sanctity, chastity, and purity of the Torah could be wielding fiery swords at the gates of Paradise? Is a cherub an symbol of peace, love, and tranquillity or is it an icon of destruction and mayhem? It should not represent both, and yet it does.
What follows is a true story. Some years ago a Rabbi in Mimai Beach was lecturing to a group of senior citizens about the life of the Chofetz Chaim. “This great Sage,” he explained, “impacted the lives of thousands of Jewish souls with his simple, down-to-earth approach. He published scores of books that applied to everyday living and mastered the art of the parable, imbuing profound Jewish concepts with simple tales.” The Rabbi proceeded to recount a well-known tale that had circulated in the halls of yeshivos the world over.

Once the Chofetz Chaim was informed that a particular boy in his yeshiva was smoking on Shabbos. The Mashgiach (dean of ethics) decided that the boy must be ousted from the school. The Chofetz Chaim however asked to speak to the student before the eviction was completed. The young man entered the Chofetz Chaim’s study and was there for only about 15 minutes. No one knows what the Chofetz Chaim told him, but the story is that not only did the boy decide to remain a Shabbos observer the rest of his life, he also became a strong supporter of Torah institutions.

The speech ended. The crowd shuffled out. But one elderly man remained fixed in his chair, his face ashen and his eyes focused directly at the Rabbi. Slowly he got up and approached the lectern. “Where did you hear that story?” he demanded, “And do you know who that boy was?” The Rabbi shook his head, not imagining where the conversation was leading. “It was me!” cried the old man. “Do you want to know what the Chofetz Chaim told me?”

The man stared past the the Rabbi obviously recalling and reliving that scene from so many years ago. “The Chofetz Chaim said absolutely nothing.” As his mind raced back more than half a century the old man repeated the words again. “Absolutely nothing. He just held my hand, the one that had recently held the cigarettes, and began to cry. Then the Chofetz Chaim slowly began to whisper the words ‘Shabbos, Shabbos’ over and over in a broken voice, to a melody that seared my heart. And his words mingled with the tears that were dripping on my hand that had held a cigarette just hours earlier.
“He sat there without looking at me. Crying. He felt the pain of the desecrated Shabbos. And I felt his pain, too. Just being there with him for those 15 minutes changed the hand that held the cigarette to the hand that would hold up the Torah.”

The same cherubim that flashed swords were not doomed to that position. Change is possible, if only they can be placed near a holy Aron where they will learn to cherish its contents and values. Young children are affected by their whereabouts. Place them as a guards and they will brandish swords. Put them with the Aron Kodesh, let them feel the sanctity and they will become the winged cherubim we all hope our children will emulate.