By: Rabbi Jennifer Krause
When I was about 8 years old, I remember being fascinated by the discovery of a mezuzah on the apartment door across the hall from my grandparents' California summer rental. I had the same reaction that most New Yorkers have when I tell them that I was born and raised in Tucson, Ariz.: Jews live there? Every July thereafter, my sister and I would sprint down the hallway in a ritual Olympics of our own creation, trying to see who could touch the neighbors' mezuzah first. We had no idea that placing a hand on the mezuzah was a custom detailed in the Talmud. We didn't even know who lived in the apartment. But we did know that the mezuzah meant the same thing it did at our own home: The people who lived there were Jewish, and they were proud to say so.
The history of the mezuzah is filled with different meanings and memories, choices and changes. With its origins in the Torah and the development of accompanying laws and practices over the centuries, the mezuzah continues to stand the test of time.
Even the word itself, "mezuzah," can be understood in more than one way. The most literal: Mezuzah is Hebrew for "doorpost," as found in Exodus, the second book of the Torah, and in Deuteronomy, the fifth and final book.
The second, less literal, yet likely more familiar association with the word is the object we all know, regardless of our backgrounds or approaches to observance, as the mezuzah; namely, a specially inscribed scroll, or klaf, encased in a vessel—whether it is smooth silver, clear Plexiglas, pottery, or other material—that we attach to our doorposts. The klaf, upon which a trained scribe (sofer) has meticulously written the words of Deuteronomy 6:4–9 and 11:13–21, bears the same words found in the Shema prayer. Often called the watchword of our faith, the Shema affirms God's Oneness, and details the many ways that we live and transmit the substance of our obligations to God, Judaism, and Jewish life through action—including teaching our traditions to our children and writing those teachings "on the doorposts (mezuzot) of your house and on your gates."
As a result of this particular instruction, it may be that our ancestors began observing this sacred obligation (mitzvah) by doing just that: inscribing the words that now appear on the klaf directly on their doorposts. These days, however, we must make a home for the klaf itself in a case of our choosing before it is affixed, in order for our observance of the mitzvah to be complete.
Consistent through the ages is the notion that mezuzot (plural for mezuzah) belong in the places we call home—where we eat, sleep, and put down roots. According to tradition, when a person spends 30 days dwelling in the same space, all doors (with the exception of those leading to bathrooms or garages) are mezuzah-worthy. What also remain consistent are the questions about what exactly constitutes a dwelling space. Synagogue doors, for instance, do not require mezuzot. However, if the synagogue has an apartment or attached house where a rabbi, caretaker, or visiting scholar may live, that makes the synagogue a home, of sorts. Furthermore, many synagogues today also function as homeless shelters, de facto residences for those who have none. Might the mezuzah rule apply in these cases, as well? Before saying a quick "no," positing that shelters are not places of permanence, consider that mezuzot are found on Israeli prison cells and on many Israeli hotel room doors.
Fortunately, we possess a variety of responses from eons of collective thought to guide us as we struggle with the questions about mezuzot. The ancient rabbis placed this observance in the "big three" expressions of Jewish practice, along with donning the tallit (prayer shawl) and tefillin (leather phylacteries worn during worship). One thing we know for sure is that our sages possessed a deep understanding that everyday life contains no shortage of distractions, a million things vying for our limited time and attention, making it easy to lose sight of what matters most. They knew that tactile reminders of our commitments would be daily signs of the principles that guide our actions. In this sense, we can think of the placement of the mezuzah in high-traffic areas—when we enter and leave a room or home—as a deliberate anchor amid our frantic comings and goings, a reminder to take a critical pause for a word from our Sponsor.
For some, the mezuzah also has taken on a protective quality, with possible roots in the Book of Exodus, when blood was placed on the lintel of every Israelite door as a sign of God's shield from harm in the Passover story. In a similar vein, the Zohar, a 13th-century Spanish mystical work, refers to the inscription of one of God's names, Shaddai, on the back half of the klaf. The mystics saw the name Shaddai as an acronym for "Shomer Daltot Yisrael," or "The One Who Protects the Doors of Israel." Many mezuzot bear the name Shaddai to this day, the three Hebrew letters that comprise the name peeking through a window of an artfully crafted container.
The varying opinions about mezuzot are even reflected in the way we affix them to our doorposts. Rashi, a medieval French rabbi and commentator, was of the mind that the mezuzah should be placed vertically, while his grandson, Rabbenu Tam, believed it should be placed horizontally. We have inherited a compromise between one generation's approach and another's, placing the mezuzah on the diagonal to this very day. This is particularly fitting, given that another mitzvah in Jewish life is that of shalom bayit, keeping peace in the home. Therefore the placement of the mezuzah on the diagonal is not only an elegant reminder of the constant challenge to balance the needs of all the people who share the same household, but also for all who make their home under the large tent of the People Israel. In this same spirit, our tradition offers contingency plans. For instance, if a door frame is too narrow to follow standard practice, the mezuzah may be affixed straight up and down.
When we affix mezuzot, we are engaging in Chanukat Ha'Bayit, or "Dedication of the Home." Hanging a mezuzah is a wonderful opportunity to reflect individually or have a conversation with a partner or children about the things you value most. Write down those thoughts, add to them at times, and check them, just as the Talmud teaches us to check the klaf twice every seven years for wear and tear.
For the mezuzah is not just a part of our homes, it is a part of us—a mark of dedication, of guiding principles, of what we want our homes and our lives to stand for. It is a mitzvah of the people, by the people—a way to bring the words of the Torah to life by binding them to words, principles, and actions of our own. Just as we place the menorah in the window for all to see (Chanukah means "dedication," after all), affixing a mezuzah to our doorposts says to those who walk by—and affirms for ourselves—that Jews live here.
Once mezuzot are in place, they should remain even if you move. The only time to consider removing a mezuzah is if you believe that harm will come to it after your departure.
Another tradition that has evolved over time is to touch or kiss the mezuzah when you pass through the door. This has roots in a Talmudic story about a Roman by the name of Onkelos, who converted to Judaism. Some people touch the mezuzah and then kiss their fingers, or vice-versa, and some do so every time they pass a mezuzah, while others do so only when they enter and depart the main door of the home. Practices tend to vary geographically, culturally, and generationally. While one rabbi may suggest a certain approach, another may offer a different one. Remember, this is your mitzvah, your custom, and your tradition. If you have questions, find people you trust to ask for advice, so you can make educated decisions about how you want to honor and own this beautiful aspect of living a Jewish life.
