When Hashem instructs Moshe to build the Sanctuary in which His Shekhina (Divine Presence) will dwell, the Torah describes many components that are both functional and beautiful. Yet among all the materials, structures, and vessels, the two Cherubim atop the Ark of the Covenant stand out as utterly unique. Their presence feels different from the rest of the Mishkan, almost jarring, as if they belong to another emotional dimension entirely.

Understanding what they were and why they held such a central position is essential to grasping the deeper meaning of the Mishkan. In fact, it is possible to argue that they reveal the core of our relationship with Hashem: a bond based on deep emotion and love, standing in contrast to, and alongside, the daily rituals that often subsume us.

To set the scene, only five chapters before Parshat Terumah, Hashem commands:

“אלוהי כסף ואלוהי זהב לא תעשו לכם” “With Me, therefore, you shall not make any gods of silver, nor shall you make for yourselves any gods of gold.”

“אלוהי כסף ואלוהי זהב לא תעשו לכם”

“With Me, therefore, you shall not make any gods of silver, nor shall you make for yourselves any gods of gold.”

Yet now, in the very same set of instructions for the Mishkan, Hashem commands the creation of two golden figures to sit atop the holiest object in existence. This contrast draws us in immediately. It seems almost at odds with the previous command, walking a very fine line.

While much of the Mishkan is described in practical and architectural terms, the heart of the Sanctuary is portrayed in five lyrical verses:

…Make two cherubim of gold… one at each end of the cover… with wings spread upward… facing one another… and from between the two cherubim I will speak with you…

The Torah gives precise craftsmanship instructions, but the commentators offer strikingly different depictions of what these figures actually looked like. Rashi writes:

“כרובים – דמות פרצוף תינוק היה להם”

“They had the face of a child” (Sukkah 5b).

This understanding echoes into modern times, where even the dictionary defines a “cherub” as an innocent, chubby-faced figure. This image speaks to the loving yet hierarchical relationship between a parent and a child.

However, the Talmud offers a different, far more intimate perspective. Yoma 54a records that the Keruvim were “מעורים זה בזה,” intertwined like a loving male and female. Their presence in the Sanctuary is therefore both innocent and deeply intimate.

“ונועדתי לך שם… מבין שני הכרובים.” “There I will meet with you… from between the two cherubim.”

“ונועדתי לך שם… מבין שני הכרובים.”

“There I will meet with you… from between the two cherubim.”

This site becomes the focal point of Divine communication and later the place where the Kohen Gadol stands on Yom Kippur. Why would such evocative, almost romantic imagery be placed at the very center of holiness?

Rav Melamed in Pninei Halacha points us to an unexpected source for understanding this: the Mishna in Ta’anit (26b), which teaches that two of the most joyous days of the Jewish calendar were Tu B’Av and Yom Kippur. On those days, the maidens of Jerusalem would wear borrowed white garments “שלא לבייש את מי שאין לו” and dance in the vineyards, calling out to the young men: “בחור שא נא עיניך וראה מה אתה בורר לך… שקר החן והבל היופי…”

Rav Melamed asks the obvious question: How can matchmaking take place on Yom Kippur, the most solemn day of the year?

He answers that marriage is itself holy, for “השכינה שורה ביניהם” the Shekhina dwells between husband and wife who are faithful to one another. Their love reveals the unity of Hashem so profoundly that Hashem permits His Name to be erased to restore peace between them. The Arizal teaches that the command to “Love your neighbor as yourself” (ואהבת לרעך כמוך) is most fully fulfilled between spouses.

Rav Melamed continues:

“וכן מצינו שצורת הכרובים… היתה כצורת איש ואשה בעת קיום מצוות עונה.”

“The form of the Keruvim mirrored a man and woman in intimate embrace.”

Holiness does not shrink or suppress life. Rather, “הקדושה אינה מצמצמת את החיים אלא מעצימה אותם” “Holiness does not restrict life; it intensifies it.”

When Israel fulfilled Hashem’s will, the Keruvim faced each other. When Israel strayed, they turned away (Bava Batra 99a). Their posture was a living barometer of the relationship between Hashem and His people.

This teaches that the Keruvim represent not fear or distance, but passionate, loyal love. They stand at the core of the Mishkan because our relationship with Hashem is meant to contain both structure and emotion. Fear creates discipline and stability. Love generates depth, warmth, and longing.

The Rambam describes the highest form of serving Hashem as serving out of love:

“עושה האמת מפני שהוא אמת.”

A person does what is true because it is true.

He describes ideal love of Hashem as becoming “כחולת אהבה,” lovesick, as in Shir HaShirim: “כי חולת אהבה אני.” Rabbi Akiva taught, “All the writings are holy, but Shir HaShirim is the Holy of Holies.”

The Keruvim, therefore, are not ornamental. They are essential. They show that the holiest space in the world is defined by relationship, by closeness, by yearning, by fidelity. The Mishkan is full of structure and detail, beams, sockets, fabrics, but at its center stand two figures representing the most vulnerable and most powerful force in human and spiritual life: love.

This is where Hashem meets Moshe. This is where the Kohen Gadol enters on Yom Kippur. This is the reminder that Hashem desires not only obedience but connection, not only awe but affection.

Loving Hashem is demanding. It is unpredictable and emotionally risky. This is why the Torah cautions about “gods of gold” (אלוהי זהב). Passion misdirected becomes idolatrous, as we tragically saw with the Golden Calf. Fear feels safer. But without love, the relationship dries out. The Keruvim teach that neither fear nor structure alone can sustain holiness. A relationship with Hashem, like a relationship with a spouse, needs commitment and discipline, but also heart, longing, and emotional presence.

Finally, the journey of the Keruvim mirrors the journey of Judaism itself. Prior to the Mishkan, we encounter the Keruvim only once in the entire Torah. They are seen in the third chapter of Bereishit, guarding the entrance to Gan Eden with a revolving flaming sword.

In Eden, they represent distance, exile, and the way back being barred. In the Mishkan, they lean toward one another in a golden embrace. From distance to closeness, from exile to intimacy, from fear to love.

As the Rambam said above, we should be lovesick in our relationship with G-d. The Kruvim seem to be a clear indication that it sits center together at one and in rhythm with the ritual side of Jewish Practice.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)