When our preschool children at Beth Tfiloh visit the main sanctuary, it’s always fun. We look at the Torahs, we marvel at how the ner tamid (eternal lamp) is always kindled, and we even observe the different shapes around the room and count the windows.
As we look out at the windows, I often share with them that shul windows not only look nice, they are actually mandated by Jewish law.
While the discussion with the children usually ends at that point, there remains much to be learned for all of us from this law and its interpretations.
It all begins with the prophet Daniel. When Daniel’s life was in danger, he “came to his house, where there were open windows in his upper chamber, opposite Jerusalem … and prayed” (Daniel 6:11). From here, the 3rd-century sage Rabbi Yochanan established: “One may only pray in a house with windows” (Berachot 34b). This was later codified in the 16th century into practical law (Shulchan Aruch 90:4).
So why are shul windows so important? The Talmudic commentators offer varied approaches.
For Rabbeinu Yonah (13th century), it’s all about light. When there is light, we see each other, the contours of the room and our siddurs. This allows for more intentional davening.
For Rashi (11th century), it is less about seeing what’s inside and more about noticing what’s outside: “[Windows] enhance concentration because one peers out through them toward heaven and one’s heart is subdued.” In other words, windows point our hearts to Hashem in heaven.
The Rambam (12th century) shifts our peering outside from a vertical to a horizontal axis: “We must set openings or windows toward Jerusalem so we can pray toward that direction.” The focus is Jerusalem, our national homeland.
There are interesting differences to be noted between the views. Based on Rabbeinu Yonah’s approach, perhaps our shuls today, powered by electricity, would not technically require windows for light.
For the other two views, focused on looking outward, electricity would not change the need for openings. Regarding the positioning of the windows, Rashi’s view might support installing a skylight, which points toward heaven. For the Rambam, the windows must be on the side, facing Jerusalem.
And for Rabbeinu Yonah, as long as light fills the room, it wouldn’t matter whether the light came from above or from a window facing Israel.
I once shared these views and their practical ramifications with one of my rabbis and he offered a whole different direction. Just as shul windows point toward the outside, so should our prayers inside shul translate into action on behalf of the outside world. Windows are a call to social action.
All four of these views provide windows into what we should strive for in davening.
Rabbeinu Yonah reminds us that our prayer and spiritual experiences should be filled with light. We should emerge inspired and illuminated upon leaving shul.
Rashi teaches that davening is a chance to build a personal connection with Hashem. Rambam points us to the fact that our prayers should focus on the good of the nation and the success of Am Yisrael in Eretz Yisrael.
And for the final approach, we must bring the holiness from our davening into the world and make it a better place.
So the next time you enter a synagogue and find yourself looking out toward its windows, keep in mind that these openings are windows into something much deeper. They remind us of our purpose in shul and the intentions we must keep in mind as we draw closer to the divine.
Rabbi Dr. Eli Yoggev serves Pikesville’s Beth Tfiloh Congregation.
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