The Guards Who Didn’t Guard
After Korach’s failed rebellion and the devastating plague that followed, the Jewish people despairingly declare that they are all destined to perish. It seemed that the Mishkan’s sanctity and the exclusive role of the kohanim in serving there would cause too many Jews to die if they failed to respect its boundaries (Bamidbar 17:27-28).
Hashem responds with the formal commandment of Shmirat HaMikdash, the mitzvah of the kohanim and leviim to guard the Temple. In its simple context, it seems clear that this mitzvah is intended to prevent zarim – non-priests – from entering and serving in areas off limits to them. This is why Hashem gives this commandment directly after the Jews express their fear over the demanding laws of kedushat haMikdash.
But upon inspecting the laws of this mitzvah, it becomes exceedingly difficult to understand how it fulfilled a practical safeguarding role. First, if the goal of the mitzvah was to keep non-kohanim out of the Mikdash, we would expect the kohanim and leviim to be stationed at the gates alone. Yet, the mishna in Tamid explains that leviim were also posted at the corners of the Mikdash. The corners of the walls weren’t exactly access points for would-be intruders. So why station guards there if their job was merely to ensure people didn’t enter further than they should?
Additionally, many Rishonim assume that this mitzvah only applies at night (see Rambam, Beit HaBechirah 8:2). But as Rav Asher Weiss notes (Minchat Asher, Bamidbar 2), the gates of the Mikdash were already locked at night! There was no practical concern that anyone would enter the Mikdash. In fact, the only practical concern for unauthorized entry existed during the day, when tens of thousands of people ascended to the Har HaBayit.
Even more surprisingly, the Rambam (Beit HaBechirah 8:1) and Ramban (Bamidbar 1:53) both explicitly say that this mitzvah is not intended for practical guarding. Rather, as Chazal explain in the Sifrei, the palace of a true king is always guarded, even if the king needs no physical protection. The purpose of guards is not security. This mitzvah is about projecting the glory and majesty of the Mikdash.
So on the one hand, the simple meaning of the Torah suggests that the kohanim and leviim possess a mitzvah to keep out strangers and prevent inappropriate entry. And yet, the Torah sheBa’al Peh clearly presents a different approach, focusing instead on the glory of the Mikdash. How can we resolve this tension?
Perhaps this tension reveals a deeper dimension of how this mitzvah protects the Mikdash. Physical protection, by definition, is limited. Attempting to physically bar entry can only work so long as there isn’t sufficient desire to breach those barriers. But as the American people have learned over the past few years, even “sacred” buildings can be overrun when enough people decide that the guards will not stop them.
Instead, the Torah takes a different approach to protecting the Mikdash’s sanctity. Through the ceremonious mitzvah of guarding the Mikdash, the temple projects mystique, royalty, and awe. When the kohanim treat the Mikdash as a heavenly palace, the populace takes notice. The guards serve as a silent declaration that this is no ordinary place. The people begin to view Yerushalayim differently. The fear and awe of this awesome place enters their heart. They intuitively understand that not everyone belongs there.
As we enter chodesh Tammuz and the mourning period for our incomplete Jerusalem, it behooves us to think about what message our behavior toward the Old City and Har HaBayit projects to the outside world. When we treat the city with deliberate and ceremonious care, we project a spirit of awe and majesty worthy of Jerusalem’s sacred center. But flippant tourist behavior doesn’t send that message.
Perhaps that is the Torah’s lesson. The greatest guardian of holiness is not locked gates but reverent hearts. The kohanim guarded the Mikdash because awe itself is a form of protection. If we hope to rebuild the Beit HaMikdash, our task begins by restoring that sense of awe: through the way we speak about Yerushalayim, the way we walk in her streets, and the way we approach the Har HaBayit.