Yearning for home

There’s something about Jerusalem that tugs at every Jewish heart. Even Jews who have never stepped foot in Israel feel a connection to that city. It’s not just history, not just politics, and not just tourism. Deep down, Jerusalem represents our spiritual home. It’s the place where heaven and earth meet, where G-d chose to put His name.

This week’s Torah portion talks about the place where the Jewish people were meant to build a Temple and bring their offerings. But instead of saying “Jerusalem,” the Torah just calls it “the place that G-d will choose.” That seems kind of strange. Why not just say Jerusalem straight out?

The idea is that, yes, Jerusalem is the ultimate place, but in a way, wherever a Jew turns to G-d, that spot becomes “the place that G-d chooses.” That’s why, no matter where we live, when we pray, we face Jerusalem. We align our lives with that center.

The challenge comes when life outside Israel starts to feel like home. The sages said, “Whoever lives outside the Land, it’s as if he has no G-d.” That sounds harsh, but what they meant is that if I live in New York or Paris or Chicago (or Munster) and I think, this is it, this is permanent, and Jerusalem feels like a dream from the past—that’s a problem.

But if I live outside of Israel knowing that I’m here for a mission, that history placed me here to make this corner of the world a little brighter, while my heart is always turned toward Jerusalem, that’s a very different story. Then, wherever I stand, pray, or do a mitzvah, that spot becomes a “place G-d chooses.”

Of course, there’s another side too. A person can move to Israel, buy a house in Jerusalem, and still carry within them the mentality of exile. Geographically they’re in the Holy Land, but spiritually they’ve brought the baggage of outside culture, negativity, or small-mindedness with them. The Land of Israel is called the “palace of the King.” To live there fully means raising ourselves higher too. It’s not just about booking a flight—it’s about an inner journey as well.

So why is it that we’re still spread all over the globe? Because we still have work to do. Exile isn’t only a punishment, it’s also a purpose. Every Jew in every corner of the world is like a spark, placed there to bring a little more light, a little more goodness, and to connect one more person or place back to its source.

That doesn’t mean we’re content being away from Jerusalem. Not at all. Every day in our prayers, three times a day, we pray for the return to Jerusalem. And Jewish law even assumes that the Third Temple can be rebuilt and Moshiach can arrive any minute—literally within 18 to 24 minutes. That’s how real it is meant to feel.

So we live in two worlds at once. On one hand, our eyes and hearts are always facing Jerusalem, yearning for the day we can all return there together with Moshiach. On the other hand, we’re placed here for a reason, and our job is to transform our current surroundings into little mini-Jerusalems, by making them places where G-d feels at home.

That balance—yearning for the future while working in the present—is the essence of Jewish life. And when enough of us live that way, the distance between “here” and “Jerusalem” will collapse. The whole world will be uplifted, and we’ll finally be home.