It talks about the trees of the Lord being "satiated," specifically mentioning the cedars of Lebanon.
"The trees of the Lord are satiated, the cedars of Lebanon that He planted." What does it mean to be satiated? And why those particular trees?
Rabbi Chanina offers a powerful idea: that the cedars were created solely for the honor of God. That’s it. Their very existence is a form of praise. He connects this to the verse itself, "The trees of the Lord are satiated, the cedars of Lebanon."
But here's where it gets even more interesting. Rabbi Chanina goes on to say, "There is no Lebanon except for the Temple." Hold on, what? How does a mountain range become a building? Well, "Lebanon" becomes a metaphor. He’s drawing a link between the cedars, the mountain they grow on, and the Temple in Jerusalem. He’s referencing the verse "This good mountain and Lebanon." The magnificent cedars of Lebanon, those towering symbols of strength and beauty, are inextricably linked to the Temple, the place where God's presence was most keenly felt.
Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish takes this idea of things being created specifically for the Temple even further. He argues that gold suitable for creation didn’t even exist until it was needed for the Temple. He says, "Gold that is fit for creation did not exist, but it was created for the Temple, as it says, 'All the gold that was used for the work.'"
It’s a concept, isn’t it? That something as fundamental as gold was, in a sense, brought into being for a specific, sacred purpose. He backs this up with another verse: "And the gold of that land is good." And just like Rabbi Chanina, he equates "good" with the Temple, citing "This good mountain."
So, what’s the takeaway here? Are we just talking about trees and gold? Not at all. This Midrash is inviting us to consider the purpose of things. It's suggesting that certain elements of creation are intrinsically linked to the divine, that their very existence is an act of devotion.
And maybe, just maybe, it's asking us to consider our own purpose. Are we, like the cedars of Lebanon, here to bring honor to God? Are we, in our own way, meant to contribute to something sacred and meaningful? It’s a question worth pondering, isn't it? A question that echoes through the ages, carried on the wind rustling through the cedars of Lebanon.