The Keruvim: Instruments of Emuna and Bitachon

One of the more fascinating and enigmatic ornaments discussed in parshat Teruma is the keruvim (the winged angelic figures made of gold) that stood on top of covering for the aron (ark) containing the luchos (Shemos 25:18).

What is striking about the command to fashion the keruvim, as Abarbanel points out, is that the Torah forbids the creation of carved idols (Shemos 20:4). So how could Hashem direct the creation of such figures? Was this not a contradiction of the prohibition against fashioning idols? Abarbanel and other commentators respond that the keruvim was not intended to serve as an intermediary (as, for example, the “egel” – the Golden Calf – was intended), but rather was intended to inspire a stronger connection and closeness to Hashem. How did the keruvim accomplish this?

A finer understanding of the significance of the keruvim can perhaps be gleaned from the fact that the term “Keruvim” also appears in Bereshit, after Adam and Chava are banished from Gan Eden. At that point, Hashem erects “the keruvim” and the “flame of the sword that revolves” to guard (“lishmor”) the path to the Tree of Life (Bereshit 3:24). Let us digress to explore what the “keruvim” represent in this context, and thereby perhaps shed light on the “keruvim” in the context of the mishkan.

On the above pasuk in Bereshit, Rav Hirsch comments that “lishmor” doesn’t necessarily mean to “guard” but rather to “preserve” – to keep open – the path to the Tree of Life, which represents truth, i.e., recognition of Hashem’s presence in both personal and world affairs.

As Rav Hirsch further elaborates, the “revolving sword” represents the recurring trouble and pain of mankind (world history) in the form of war and destruction that prevents mankind from finding eternal bliss (“life”). On a more personal level, it represents individual periods of dissatisfaction, disappointment, pain and suffering that detract from our own joy in life.

An immediate manifestation of the “revolving sword” is seen shortly after Adam’s expulsion from Gan Eden, when we read about fratricide – Kayin’s murder of Hevel. (Bereshit 4:8). Kayin’s terrible sin was at the same time both a personal tragedy (brother killing brother), but also a tragedy for mankind – the first murder in history.

Why did Kayin murder Hevel? Because he was jealous of Hevel’s apparently closer connection to Hashem. Hashem accepted Hevel’s offering, but not Kayin’s (not sure if anyone else makes this observation, but IMHO “Kayin” seems to be shorthand for “Kinat Eyin” – jealousy of the eye).

In Pirkei Avos (4:28), Rabbi Eleazar ha-Kappar states, “Jealousy, lust, and ambition remove man from the world.” For those who believe in Hashem, jealousy is irrational since it is ultimately Hashem who decides what each person is entitled to, and if someone has something you don’t, then it wasn’t meant to belong to you in the first place.

Chazal have also noted that “jealousy” in the sense of coveting material acquisitions is ultimately futile (“hevel”) because “no man dies with even half of his desires fulfilled.” (see discussion of Rabbi Dessler, volume 1, page 134 of “Strive for Truth” on the futility of materialism).

Hashem actually touches on these points when addressing Kayin prior to the murder of Hevel after Hashem observes Kayin’s disappointment stemming from rejection of his offering:

“...la’petach chatat rovetz, ve’aylecha teshukato, v’ata timshal bo” – “...sin is crouching at the door. It lusts after you, but you can dominate it.” (Bereshit 4:7) (Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan transation).

As Rav Hirsch explains, the “yetzer hara” (evil inclination) is always present (generating such negative feelings as jealousy), but individuals have the power to master and regulate their yetzer hara, and even channel it towards a positive purpose. That is, each individual has the capability to prevent the “yetzer hara” from overpowering him or her in moments of pain and disappointment, and instead harness negative impulses for good.

In sum, the “revolving” sword represents impulsive and negative reactions to insecurity, disappointment, pain and suffering –which in the extreme, the Torah says, can even lead to murder. The “keruvim,” on the other hand, represent recognition of Hashem’s providence in the world, and thus the futility of jealousy, and coveting of material goods, honors and other benefits that belong to others.

Let us return now to the “keruvim” of the mishkan. The gemara in Chagiga (13b-14a) states that “Keruvim” derives from the phrase “ke ravia” – which translates in Aramaic to “like infants.” Indeed, tradition has it that the faces of the keruvim were those of infants (Abarbanel, Torah Temima, Rashi on Divrei Hayamim 3:10).

There are many explanations of the significance of the Keruvim taking the form of children’s faces. As but one example, Rav Hirsch explains that just as the wings of the Keruvim protect the Torah (represented by the luchos ¬¬(Tablets) inside the Aron (ark)), so too Bnei Yisroel is charged with safeguarding the Torah. And the linchpin of this responsibility is education of the young because it is through teaching Torah to children that our legacy is passed from generation to generation. Indeed, the Gemara Shabbos states that it is the “tinoket shel beit rabban” – the Torah study of the young children – that safeguards the world from destruction.

But what is the connection between the keruvim resembling infants and our earlier observation that the keruvim represent recognition of Hashem’s hashgacha?

As we’ve stated in the past, our own personal relationships can serve as models for our relationship with Hashem.

As parents, we ask our children to trust us to do what is right for them. The most extreme form of such trust exists when a child is a newborn – completely helpless – and fully trusts his or her parents to attend to his or her every need in the most appropriate and beneficial way. And of course, sometimes doing the right thing for a child involves pain such as medical procedures and treatments, or even minor discomfort such as changing a diaper (it is rare, in my experience, for a newborn not to cry when their diaper is being changed). In all such instances, we are implicitly asking our child to trust us that the benefit of the activity justifies the pain.

Isn’t this precisely what Hashem asks of us? In our understanding of Hashem’s calculations, we are like newborns in the hands of parents. Just as a newborn has absolutely no comprehension of his or her parent’s actions, so we often completely fail to comprehend the benefit of the situations and circumstances that Hashem decrees for us. But like newborns, we must trust that Hashem is doing what is best for us.

This is the message that emerges from the keruvim mentioned in Bereshit, and then again in Shemos (parshat Teruma) where the figures are described as having the face of infants – i.e., not to succumb to the natural inclination to lash out in anger at times of disappointment or pain, but instead to trust fully in Hashem’s goodness even when we don’t immediately perceive the goodness in our most difficult moments.