And it turns out, according to some ancient Jewish texts, the answer might be closer – and more dangerous – than we think.
Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi, a sage from the Talmudic period, makes a startling claim in Vayikra Rabbah, the midrash on Leviticus. He says that if the nations of the world had truly grasped the immense benefits the Ohel Mo'ed (אֹ֣הֶל מוֹעֵד֙), the Tent of Meeting, provided them, they would have surrounded it with encampments and fortifications, protecting it at all costs. Now, that's a bold statement. What exactly was so special about this Tent?
The answer, it seems, lies in the raw, unfiltered power of the Divine voice itself. The text goes on to explain that before the Mishkan (מִשְׁכָּן), the Tabernacle, was erected, the nations of the world could actually hear the voice of God. But instead of being a blessing, it was… well, let's just say it had some rather unpleasant side effects. Apparently, they would be afflicted with diarrhea! Yes, you read that right. The divine speech was so overwhelming, so intense, that those who heard it would lose control of their physical faculties.
It’s a rather… visceral image, isn’t it? But it drives home a powerful point: that direct, unmediated contact with the Divine can be a dangerous thing.
The proof-text cited is from Deuteronomy 5:23: “For who of all flesh that heard the voice of the living God [speaking from the midst of the fire like us, has lived?]" In other words, the implication is that nobody can hear the voice of God directly and survive unchanged.
Rabbi Simon takes this idea even further. He suggests that the Divine speech emerged with two distinct natures: an elixir of life for Israel, and an elixir of death for the other nations. Talk about a double-edged sword! He then quotes Deuteronomy 4:33: “Has a people heard the voice of God as you heard, and lived?” The implication being: you heard and lived, but the others? Not so much.
It makes you wonder, doesn't it? What was it about the Israelites that allowed them to withstand the power of the Divine voice, while others couldn’t? Was it a matter of spiritual preparation? Divine favor? Or something else entirely?
Finally, Rabbi Ḥiyya offers a crucial detail. He explains that when God spoke "from the Tent of Meeting," the voice would stop there. It wouldn't emerge outside. The Tent, in essence, acted as a buffer, a filter, protecting the world from the full force of God's unbridled power.
The Tent of Meeting, therefore, wasn’t just a place of worship. It was a vital shield, a necessary intermediary between the human and the Divine. It reminds us that sometimes, a little distance can be a good thing. That even the most beautiful and powerful forces need to be approached with respect, caution, and perhaps, just a little bit of… insulation.
So, the next time you find yourself yearning for a direct connection to the Divine, remember the story of the Tent of Meeting. Remember the nations afflicted with… well, you know. And be grateful for the structures, the traditions, the interpretations that help us to approach the Holy in a way that is both meaningful and, dare I say, a little less… messy.