There’s a very famous story; maybe you’ve heard it before. A father and son go on a picnic and get lost in the forest—a big, gigantic forest. The more they try to find their way out, the deeper and deeper they get into the forest. There’s no path, no sun, no light. They don’t know where they’re going, and they’re lost. So what do they do? Day after day, they eat the berries of the field and the grass, and drink from the streams. As you can imagine, eating these wild berries hurts their stomachs. It’s painful. It’s very difficult. Eating the grass and shrubs is very, very hard. Every day, the son complains, “Daddy, Daddy, my stomach hurts. My stomach hurts.” What should he do? They’re lost. They can’t get out.
One day, the kid wakes up and says, “Daddy, my stomach doesn’t hurt anymore. I can eat the berries. It doesn’t bother me.” The father sat down and started crying. The kid said, “Daddy, I thought you’d be so happy. My stomach doesn’t hurt.” The father says, “Son, look what became of us. We got used to eating animal food.” Most of us living in the world today have gotten used to mediocrity. We’re growing up in a world that, at best, is second-rate, and we accept life as it is. That’s the way it should be. Don’t get me wrong. God bless America. But our body is supposed to be shining. Adam had a shine. He was like a lamp with the soul inside of him shining through his skin. He lived for 800, 900 years. Okay, after the flood, he lived for 120 years. Now, after 2,000 years, with all the medical advancements, the lifespan of the average person is 85, 90. And we think, “Wow, that’s great. We’re living to 90 years old.” Excuse me. What about the other 30 years we’re supposed to live? We don’t realize life is mediocre. Things could be so much better.
Have any of you ever cooked a lobster? Good. No. Good, I’m glad. I’m glad. Even for somebody else. You never cooked a lobster. You’re not here to cook a lobster. You take them out of the tank and put the lobster into cold water. Then you turn on the heat. Turn on the flame. The lobster swims around. He goes, “Okay, it’s not bad. All right, well, it’s getting a little hot in here, but I’m okay. I’m okay.” All of a sudden, the water starts boiling, and he’s cooked. That’s this world today. Things are getting hotter and hotter and worse and worse. They’re so bad, and we don’t even see it. We don’t see it. We think this is the way life is supposed to be. It’s not.
Anyone ever see a king? Ever see a queen? Maybe you’ve seen pictures of Queen Elizabeth of England. But have you ever seen a king? Ever met a king? Ever met King Hussein? Nothing. I’ve been to what’s called the Kingdom of Cambodia in Southeast Asia. I’ve been there a dozen times. I never met the king, although the king has come to Chabad when they said the Torah. I never met the king. Could you imagine? You live in a small village, and you get word that the king is coming to visit. Could you imagine the excitement everybody in the village would have, knowing the king is coming to see us? Could you imagine what that would be? What the excitement would be?
Imagine if we had a king in the United States. He thinks he’s king, but he’s not king. Let’s say we had a real king ruling the United States, and he decides he’s going to build his palace in Prospect Park. He takes over half the land. He has the moat. He builds a gigantic palace. He spends millions and billions of dollars decorating the entire area. Approaching Prospect Park, imagine what Ocean Parkway would look like. The lights would be in sync. You’d be able to drive. You’d have diamonds. You’d have jewels. You’d have the royalty of people coming to see the king. It’d be wonderful. You’d spend millions of dollars beautifying Brooklyn. Imagine if you had a king in Yerushalayim. What would Jerusalem look like? Imagine Beit HaMikdash: the beautiful Mediterranean sky, the sapphire, the diamonds, the marble. Imagine if you had all the money in the world. How magnificent that would be. Imagine if that king, Beit HaMikdash, was Hashem. Imagine what that world could be. You say it in Yom Kippur. Hashem is back as our king. Imagine what living in that world would be.
You might be familiar with one of the prophets called Haggai, one of the Trei Asar prophets. Not many people are familiar with his history. He lived between the time of the first Beit HaMikdash and the second Beit HaMikdash. More than anyone else, he was credited with encouraging the people to rebuild the second Beit HaMikdash. He came back to Yerushalayim and said they weren’t building, even though we had permission from the king to build a Beit HaMikdash. He asked, “Why aren’t you building?” Then he said, “Let me ask you a question. Are you planting your fields and not getting the same return? Are you wearing your clothes, and your clothes aren’t keeping you warm? Are you drinking your wine and eating your meat, and it doesn’t have a taste? Are you going to work every day and coming back with an empty bag with holes in it?” He said, “You know why? Because we don’t have the Beit HaMikdash.”
He said, “The Nisuch HaMayim (water libation) that we did—what was that for? That water in all our fields. Give us all the produce. Give us all of our food. The meal offering that we offered gives us our animals. That gives us the food. That gives us the grain. The clothing of the Kohen Gadol (High Priest) protected our clothes. That gave us the chashivut of all of our clothes. That it should keep us warm. It should decorate us. The Bedek HaBayit (Temple upkeep), the money we gave to the Beit HaMikdash, was like money in our pockets. Gentlemen of Eretz Yisrael, you don’t know what you’re missing. You don’t have the Beit HaMikdash.” They listened to him and rebuilt it based on Haggai. And we had the Beit HaMikdash in Hashem’s palace in our midst. We had an intimate relationship with Hashem, the King.
We say it every Friday night: Shir HaShirim, the passionate love song between husband and wife. Hashem is our husband. We are the wives. And then Beit HaMikdash was destroyed. It’s interesting that the destruction of Beit HaMikdash was brought down in Masechet Gittin, which is divorce. We no longer had Hashem. He’s no longer with us. He left. He went back. If we’re not longing to rebuild the Beit HaMikdash, we’re missing out on what we could have. And we don’t know what that is. We don’t know what a treasure that was for us.
I’ll tell you another story. I’ve got another father. A young married father with one young son. Every Friday night, before shul (synagogue), he’d go to the store and buy his wife a bouquet of flowers. She’d be so excited. She’d take the flowers, take her crystal vase, put it on the table, and put the flowers in there. It was absolutely beautiful. Beautiful. Kavod (honor) for Shabbat. The young son said, “Daddy, I want to do that too. I want to give Mommy flowers.” So what did he do? He went out to the front garden and picked a flower. He took some grass. He took one of the dandelions, put it in his hand, and said, “Mommy, here are the flowers.” And she goes, “Oh, that’s so wonderful. That’s so beautiful. Thank you so much.” She took a little styrofoam cup, filled it with water, put the grass and the dandelion in the cup, and put the cup right next to her husband’s flowers.
Friday night, when they made Kiddush (blessing over wine), the little boy was sitting there and saying, “Look how beautiful my flowers are.” Every week, the father would buy flowers, and every week, the little boy would go to the garden, pick a flower, and give it to his mother. And the next week. And the next week. And the next week. And the next week. Then one Friday, the friend is over. It’s getting dark, and it’s almost time for Shabbat. He goes, “Oh, wait a minute. I’ve got to get the flowers for my mother.” He goes to the garden, grabs some grass, says, “Here, Ma, here’s the grass,” and runs back. He says, “Wait a second. Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me. If it’s too much for you, you don’t have to do it every week.” He goes, “Okay, Ma. See you.”
Who lost out? Who lost out? She took the styrofoam cup. She threw it in the garbage. Did she lose? He lost. He lost that opportunity to get closer to Hashem. We have opportunities every day to get closer to Hashem: through learning, through praying, through speaking to Him, asking Him, recognizing Him, thanking Him. All those different chances that we have to get closer to Hashem. Sometimes it becomes routine. It becomes rote, like bringing the flowers every Friday night. We get tired of it. We don’t focus. It’s not important to us.
Imagine if we were able to energize ourselves and really have an intense Jewish experience. It’s not so long ago. Think about Yom Kippur. Think about Ne'ilah. Now the Chazzan (cantor) is up there, and he’s singing, “Baruch Shem kevod malchuto le'olam va'ed (Blessed be the name of His glorious kingdom forever and ever), Shema Yisrael (Hear, O Israel), Karati bechol lev (I called with all my heart).” And we’re screaming at the top of our lungs, escorting the Shekhinah (Divine Presence) back to Shamayim (Heaven). And we’re crying, “Please, Hashem, take care of us. Forgive us for our sins. Give us a good year.” This emotion that we feel is the highest point of the year. It doesn’t get higher than that.
Imagine having that feeling all the time. Imagine that intense feeling of closeness to Hashem. Imagine if we could take that feeling and communicate it to our friends who may not be as close to Hashem as they’re supposed to be. We can bring them back. We can make them feel that we’re close to Hashem, and we can make them feel close. And all of the Jewish people of the world start recognizing Hashem: He is our God. He is the God of the Jewish people. And all 15 million of us, we all become observant Jews. And Hashem says, “Now is the time to rebuild the Beit HaMikdash.” Imagine if we could do that. Imagine what that world could be.