And, surprisingly, it's a concept we find echoed even in the most sacred of texts when describing the relationship between God and the tribes of Israel.
Sifrei Devarim 352 paints us a picture. Imagine a king with many sons. As they mature, they naturally branch out, pursue their own paths. But there's always one, isn't there? The youngest. The one who remains closest to the father. They share meals, laughter, companionship. He leans on his father for support, a constant presence in the king’s life.
This, the text tells us, is like the relationship between Jacob, his youngest son Benjamin, and ultimately, God.
Benjamin, the tzaddik (righteous one), was the baby of the family. Jacob, his father, cherished him. They ate together, they drank together, and Jacob leaned on Benjamin for support as they went about their daily lives. The bond was undeniable.
And here’s where it gets truly amazing. The text continues, “Where this tzaddik reposed his hands, there will I repose My Shechinah.” Whoa. Let’s unpack that.
Shechinah, in Jewish mystical thought, refers to the dwelling or settling of the divine presence. It’s that palpable sense of God being right there. So, God is saying, in essence, "Because of this special relationship, this deep connection, I will make my presence known where Benjamin’s influence rests."
This brings us to the verse, "and between his (Benjamin's) shoulders does it (the Temple) rest." (Deuteronomy 33:12). The Temple in Jerusalem, the holiest site in Judaism, was built in the territory allotted to the tribe of Benjamin. Because of Benjamin's special connection, his righteousness, God chose his land as the place for the Temple. A place to dwell.
Think about the implications. It wasn't just about geography. It wasn't random. It was about relationship, about connection, about the merit of a tzaddik so beloved that it created a conduit for the divine.
The story invites us to consider our own relationships, and how they can create spaces where the divine can dwell. Are we cultivating connections that foster holiness? Are we striving to be, in our own way, a ‘Benjamin’ – someone whose actions create a space for God's presence in the world?
It’s a powerful thought, isn’t it?