A laughing matter

The Talmud tells a haunting story. After the destruction of the Second Temple, Rabbi Akiva and several other sages traveled up to Jerusalem. When they reached the Temple Mount, they saw a fox emerging from the place where the Holy of Holies once stood. The other sages began to cry, but Rabbi Akiva laughed.

They turned to him in disbelief. “Akiva, why are you laughing?” And he answered, “Why are you crying?”

Their tears were understandable. This wasn’t just a ruined building, the Temple had been the spiritual heart of the Jewish people, and the Holy of Holies represented the deepest point of connection between the Jewish people and G-d. To see a fox, an animal that symbolizes worldly cunning and survival, wandering freely through that sacred space felt like the ultimate desecration. If even this place had become a habitat for wildlife, what hope was left?

But Rabbi Akiva saw something they did not.

When the Torah commands the Jewish people to build a sanctuary, it says, “They shall make for Me a sanctuary, and I will dwell within them.” Not “within it,” but “within them.” Our sages explain that the Divine Presence was never meant to be confined to stone walls. The real sanctuary is inside each and every Jew.

That is why Rabbi Akiva could laugh. If holiness only lived in a building, then its destruction would signal the end of the story. But if holiness lives within people, then no fox and no empire can touch that inner core.

In fact, Rabbi Akiva believed the opposite. Sometimes when things look darkest, that’s when clarity finally breaks through. As long as the damage feels partial, we can tell ourselves that everything is basically fine. We can ignore subtle drift and quiet disconnection. But when the contrast becomes stark, when you see a fox walk out of the Holy of Holies, you can no longer pretend; that’s when you wake up.

We all have moments when the “fox” wanders into our own inner sanctuary. Life gets busy, career pressures mount, the news cycle overwhelms us, and social media fills every quiet second. Judaism becomes something we identify with, but maybe we don’t actively live. We assume that deep down we’re still connected, and we are, but that connection can sit dormant.

Then something happens. A surge of antisemitism, a frightening event in Israel, a personal loss, or simply a quiet sense of spiritual emptiness despite material success. Suddenly we feel the gap. We feel that something sacred has been neglected and it can make us sad, even discouraged.

Rabbi Akiva teaches us not to stop at tears.

Feeling that ache is not proof that the sanctuary is gone. It’s proof that it’s alive. You don’t mourn something that means nothing to you; the pain is evidence of connection. And more than that, it’s a call to action.

Instead of saying, “Look how far we’ve fallen,” we can ask, “What small step can I take today?”

Being proactive in Judaism doesn’t mean overnight transformation. It means lighting Shabbat candles even if you’ve never done it before. It means putting on tefillin once a week. It means carving out ten minutes to learn something Jewish. It means inviting a friend to a Shabbat dinner. It means checking in on someone who feels disconnected and reminding them they belong.

And it also means reaching outward. Rabbi Akiva’s laughter was not private optimism; it was a challenge. What good are tears alone? Judaism survives not through nostalgia, but through action. So, if the inner sanctuary exists within every Jew, we have a responsibility not only to nurture our own, but to help others rediscover theirs.

The dark moments of our history do not have to define us; they can be the very catalyst that pushes us to rebuild. Not just a structure in Jerusalem, but living sanctuaries in our homes and our communities.

Rabbi Akiva did not deny the destruction. He simply refused to believe that it was the final word.

The fox may walk through the ruins, but the sanctuary within us is still standing. What we choose to build next is up to us. And every small act of light we choose adds another stone to its rebuilding.