Diane Bernbaum

Diane Bernbaum
Yom Kippur Drash 5765/ September, 2004

What is sacred space? Like a good wife, I asked my husband for a definition. But unlike other wives, I have a husband who wrote a book on the subject. His answer was: Sacred space is where you feel yourself in the presence of a deeper reality, in the presence of God.

It seems to me we can begin to look at Sacred Space in two ways: first, space that was given to us by God as sacred and second, space which we humans imbue with a sacredness just as Aaron did with his incense and blood 3000 plus years ago.

It is not uncommon for someone to say that they only feel or especially feel a sense of the sacred when they are outdoors. For some people this is because looking at nature, even at one flower, shows that something so complex and beautiful must have been created by a Supreme Being.. For others, looking up at a thousands of stars in the sky gives one a feeling of utter insignificance, another feeling one has at times in a sacred space. For many, the outdoors envelopes one in a blanket of mystery, of awe, of the unknown, of a sense of something larger than oneself. Some cultures and religions designate places of the landscape, especially obvious ones like mountains, as sacred. Others encourage worship outdoors. Sometimes it is a particular spot on the natural landscape that is looked at as being sacred. Sometimes it is solely that being in a natural setting brings one to a spiritual frame of mind.

Last Yom Kippur, probably due to Margo’s good example, I actually got back here after the break in time to hear the reading of the book of Jonah, the core of the Mincha service. In her introduction, Wendy Rosov talked about being in Alaska, camping on uninhabited islands in the wilderness with a bunch of rabbis on a retreat where they meditated and kayaked. I was entranced. It sounded like an unattainable goal, to be able to participate in a retreat like that which combined so much that was at the core of my being: wilderness camping and Judaism. But I wasn’t a rabbi, so I thought the opportunity would never come my way. And then the unimaginable happened. Through a series of phone calls, e-mails and an offhand remark, I was invited to participate this summer, along with my husband, Ed. If you’ve been to Alaska. If you are a backpacker. If you’ve ever sat on a rock…or in your backyard…and seen the perfect sunset. Or stared out the door of your tent at the perfect sunrise. If you’ve collected rocks and shells and feathers on a beach. If you’ve even been in the middle of a body of water in a kayak, just drifting, watching the patterns of the reflections on the water. Or heard a whale breathe. If you’ve ever seen eagles soaring, looking for a salmon to catch. Or just sat quietly alone in the woods ……Then you have a glimmer of what that week was like.

On the first or second day, Sheila Weinberg, one of the rabbis with us, read to us from Genesis the story of Jacob’s dream of a ladder stretching to heaven with angels walking up and down. Jacob awoke from his sleep and said, “surely the Lord is present in this place, and I, I did not know it!” Shaken, he said, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the abode of God.

From then on each day, no matter if we were davening shacharit or mincha, or just paddling around in kayaks, someone would be inspired to start chanting a line from that verse, using a melody that the hazan in our group had taught us: Ma Norah haMakom haZeh, “How awesome is this place.” It sounds so simple and so obvious. That one line found its way into our davening every day, which is saying a lot, because we would usually spend our days mostly in silence, occasionally communally chanting only a line or two of a particular prayer. Yet we were impelled to say over and over: “Ma Norah haMakom haZeh” “How awesome is this place.” We were camping on pristine islands, where the only sign of human life might be a float-plane overhead or a fishing boat on the horizon. We were truly aware of the awesomeness of God’s natural sanctuary and God’s presence, with the same sort of awe that the High Priest might have been awed with God’s presence in that far away Holy of Holies.

What we generally refer to as sacred places, whether they are houses of worship, places like the sites of the burning bush or Jacob’s dream or the High Priest’s sprinkling of blood and incense, or our favorite spot outdoors, are places where we are encouraged to pay attention. They are really only gateways, places to get our foot in the door. We may find that every place is sacred if we only look.

May we all find our Sacred Space on this Yom Kippur and in the year ahead.

Gamar Hatima Tova