The Universe as a Grand Palace: Seeing Ourselves as Honored Guests

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Despite this, some may wonder: it is true, history proves that humanity is central to creation, but why does the universe need to be so vast, and humans so small? Why wasn't everything created in proportion to our importance and centrality?

There's a surprising answer to this question, which I'll try to illustrate through the metaphor of a grand palace:

Imagine the universe as the palace of the king, a palace that's the grandest of all, for only a magnificent palace worthy of the King of all Kings can honor Hashem.

This palace was created for His glory, so it is vast and awe-inspiring. However, this doesn't detract from our importance, as we are the guests of honor in the King's palace.

While the palace is enormous, it doesn't mean it's more important than its occupants. The king focuses all his attention on the guests within, those who speak and make requests of him. Every guest should find joy in the knowledge that the king loves them and gives them personal attention in his extravagant palace.

Like any good and caring monarch, Hashem designed a special, comfortable room for the beloved guests he's invited to his palace. Thus, the Earth was created and tailored specifically for humans - a world once entirely inhospitable: "And the earth was unformed and void, and darkness was over the face of the deep" (Genesis 1:2), "And Hashem said, 'Let the waters under the heavens be gathered together into one place, and let the dry land appear'" (Genesis 1:9), "And Hashem said to them, 'Be fruitful and multiply, fill the earth, and subdue it; have dominion over the fish of the sea, the birds of the sky, and every living thing that moves on the earth'" (Genesis 1:28).

The Torah teaches us that the Creator purposely prepared our world so it could sustain life, presenting the grandest of rooms for the guests of honor.

As described by the sages, Earth is a place lovingly prepared for our arrival as guests: "It's like a king who built a palace, decorated it, prepared a feast, and then invited guests" (Sanhedrin 38a). Yet, the guest who becomes conceited should remember: "If someone becomes arrogant, remind them that the fly preceded them in creation" (ibid.), recalling one's smallness in the king's palace.

In our modern era, the prevalent Western, individualistic, and capitalistic mindset exalts the individual as the essence of all things.

This mindset struggles with the universe's vastness, like a spoiled child wanting everything solely for themselves.

This viewpoint reflects pride and self-centeredness, leading to ingratitude and discontent with reality that doesn’t always fit personal desires.

Conversely, the opposing collective mindset, extreme in its form approaching communism, claims the individual is nothing more than a tiny cog in a vast machinery, insignificant and disregarded by the grand reality, thus obliging self-denial for the greater good.

Such extremity fosters alienation, disdain for human life, a sense of meaninglessness, and resignation toward life itself.

Judaism's truth is found in between the individualistic and collective worldviews. It teaches that while an individual may not matter on their own, entirely overshadowed by reality's grandeur, they hold significance to the King of the World, who observes, guides, and listens to them.

Even if this grand palace wasn't built for the guest, there's no doubt the king gives personal attention to the honored guest dwelling within his palace, "Precious is humanity, made in the divine image" (Pirkei Avot 3:14), and more so to the guest seeking his presence: "Hashem is near to all who call on him, to all who call on him in truth" (Psalms 145:18).

Moreover, we're not just honored guests; we are the king's children, his beloved sons and daughters: "You are children of Hashem your G-d" (Deuteronomy 14:1), and therefore: "I have loved you, says Hashem" (Malachi 1:2).

Collectivism requires humility, while individualism is necessary for personal significance. A little more of one or the other leaves you bereft of both.

The wisdom gained from this teaching, as taught by Rabbi Simcha Bunim of Peshischa, is that one should keep two slips of paper in their pockets. In one pocket, a note stating, "For my own sake, the world was created," which provides strength and joy in serving Hashem; in the other, "I am but dust and ashes," teaching that everything is utter kindness from Hashem, and one is nothing compared to His existence.

The skill of life is knowing when to read each note. Many err by using the wrong note when needed, leading to disheartenment in divine service or to unchecked pride over self-significance.

In this way, one can illustrate the two slips through the ideas discussed: when feeling insignificant in the world, look within and realize you are Hashem's guest of honor; He dwells within you and values your struggles. However, when pride swells due to your importance and achievements, gaze at the skies above, at the countless stars, remembering how tiny and humble one is within the majestic palace of the King of all Kings, who grants you His grace.