People are panicking over the declarations of a Palestinian state. This story will tell you that it’s not going to happen so fast… And of course, a lesson for Jewish life.
In recent days, we’ve been hearing voices from around the world — England and other countries — threatening to recognize a Palestinian state. And many in Israel are upset and worried; it’s as if such recognition could somehow bring this state into actual existence.
Tonight is Tisha B’Av, when we mourn the destruction of the Temple. I want to share with you a similar story — one that took place about fifty years after the Temple’s destruction — where the Jews received similar “permission” to rebuild the Temple, but nothing ever came of it. As you will see from the story, there is a very long road from political declarations to actual facts on the ground.
The Option to Rebuild
It happened not long after Hadrian became emperor of Rome. The Midrash tells us: “In the days of Rabbi Yehoshua ben Chananiah, the wicked empire issued a decree that the Temple be rebuilt.” The same Roman Empire that had destroyed the Temple was now giving official permission to build it again.
Everybody was very excited.
The Midrash describes how two wealthy Jewish brothers, Papus and Lulianus, immediately set up stations along the road from Acco to Antioch (which today is in Turkey), stocked with money and supplies for travelers headed to Jerusalem, and they even gave out gold and silver to encourage people to make the journey and help rebuild.
But not everyone was happy. At the time, there was a group living in Israel called the Cutheans — also known as the Samaritans. They had been in the land for hundreds of years already, and they didn’t like the idea of a strong Jewish presence returning to Jerusalem.
They had arrived back in the time of the First Temple, when the Assyrian king Sennacherib had conquered the northern kingdom of Israel. He had a policy of “population exchange”: wherever he conquered, he would exile the local people and bring in foreigners to replace them. He did the same thing in Israel — taking the Ten Tribes into exile, and bringing in people from a place called Kutha, near modern-day Iraq, settling them in Samaria.
These Samaritans knew the Jews well, and were even nominally Jewish themselves. Back when they first settled in the land, they were subjected to attacks from lions (as described in Melachim II 17), and the Midrash in Tanchuma (Vayeshev) describes how Sennacherib called the elders of Israel and asked, “When you lived in this land, wild animals never attacked you — what’s going on now?” They answered him, “This land does not tolerate idol worshippers who do not observe the Torah or don’t observe circumcision.”
So Semmacherib commanded the Jewish people to teach the newcomers how to live in the land — how to be Jewish. They ended up converting. The problem was, it wasn’t a real conversion. They believed in G-d, yes, but they also kept worshiping their idols. They were called “converts of the lions” — they converted not because they accepted the truth of Judaism, but because they were afraid of the lions.
Generations later, when Ezra and Nechemiah returned to Israel to rebuild the Second Temple, they banned the Samaritans from associating with the Jewish people, because Ezra feared that they would be a bad influence. As a result, the Samaritans became bitter enemies of the Jews — and even caused construction of the Second Beis Hamikdash to be delayed.
The Samaritan Suggestion
Fast forward again to the Roman period. These same Samaritans — descendants of the “lion converts” — sent a message to Emperor Hadrian: “Let it be known to the king — if this rebellious city is rebuilt and its walls restored, the people will stop paying you taxes and tribute!”
Hadrian was in a bind. He said, “But I already gave the order! A king can’t just take back a decree.” So they gave him a clever suggestion: “Send a message asking them to either move the location of the Temple, or to add five cubits, or subtract five cubits from the structure. Once you demand changes to the original plan, they’ll abandon the project on their own.”
What was behind this idea?
Maimonides explains in Hilchos Beis Habechirah that “The location of the altar is extremely precise and may never be altered… There is a tradition that the place where David and Solomon built the altar is the very same place where Abraham built the altar to bind Isaac.” He adds that when they build the Second Temple, three prophets returned with the Jewish people from exile: one testified to the location of the altar, one to its measurements, and one to the rest of the design. (Hilchos Beis Habechirah 2:1-4)
The Samaritans knew exactly what they were doing. The moment the emperor would demand to shift the location of the Temple — even by just five cubits — the Jews would abandon the entire plan, because it would be better to not have a Temple at all then to alter its location. The whole point of the Temple and the altar is to bring atonement for the Jewish people—and that power lies in the specific location Abraham bound Isaac!
The core idea here is that connection to G-d only happens when we fulfill His will precisely. If we try to substitute our own version, the connection is lost. It’s like sending an email — even if you miss one dot, the call won’t go through. So, if it’s not in that exact spot — the one that G-d Himself chose — the whole project isn’t worth it.
The Stork in the Lion’s Mouth
The Midrash describes what happened next:
“The communities were gathered in the valley of Beis Rimon. When the letter arrived, they began to cry.” The Jewish people had been ready to rebuild when the letter arrived from the emperor. Yes, you can build the Beis Hamikdash — but only if you move it slightly from its place. Immediately, they understood what that meant. That one condition buried the entire dream.
The people were so devastated that they were ready to rebel against the empire. The sages realized the crisis, and said, “Let a wise man go in and calm the nation.” They sent Rabbi Yehoshua ben Chananiah — the greatest Torah scholar of the time.
He got up and told them a parable.
“There was once a lion,” he said, “who devoured his prey — but a bone got stuck in his throat. He announced: ‘Whoever comes and removes it will be richly rewarded.’ A stork — with its long beak — volunteered. She stuck her beak down the lion’s throat and removed the bone. Then she asked for her reward. The lion replied: ‘Your reward is that you were able to go into the mouth of a lion and come out alive. Now go and show off about it.’”
Rabbi Yehoshua concluded: “Just like the stork, we too must be grateful that we entered into this powerful nation and came out alive. That alone is our reward.” In other words, yes — we are disappointed. But we’re alive. We’re safe. Don’t rebel. Don’t stir up Rome’s wrath. Sometimes survival is its own miracle.
At that point, the Jewish people finally realized—the next Holy Temple won’t come from political permission or clever diplomacy. It will be built by Moshiach, may it be speedily in our days.
The Message
To me, the most important message of this entire story is just how important the small details are in Judaism.
What’s the big deal if we move the Temple just five cubits over? It would still be on the same mountain where Abraham built an altar for Isaac, where Solomon built the First Temple, and where Ezra built the Second. Why throw away such a golden opportunity to restore the spiritual center of Judaism?
This past year, Passover fell on Saturday night. After the holiday, one woman shared with my wife how this year’s seder turned into a full-blown family disaster. Why? Her birthday happened to fall on Friday night, the night before Passover. Since it was hard to gather the whole family two nights in a row, they decided to celebrate her birthday — and do the seder — one night early, on Friday night.
And then — disaster. Her sister-in-law brought a birthday cake to the “seder.” But it was chametz! The whole family was furious. My wife tried defending her — “It wasn’t technically Passover yet!” But she pushed back: “This was our seder. She brought chametz to the seder!” It was a deep emotional offense, and they weren’t letting it go.
It might seem funny or extreme, but it actually highlights the same point: in Judaism, timing and detail matter. The holiness of a mitzvah isn’t just in its spirit — it’s in its precision. A seder done the wrong night is not a seder. A Beis Hamikdash built even slightly off its true location loses its very essence.
The lesson is—do the mitzvah, and do it right.(Likkutei Sichos vol. 27 pg. 204)
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