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The Mishnah states that Shiloh and its Mishkan had one advantage over Yerushalayim and its Beis HaMikdash. The meat of various low-level offerings could be eaten anywhere in Yemshalayim. In Shiloh, however, they could be consumed even outside the city, as long as it could be seen from there (see Megillah 9b and Zevachim 112b). This ruling seems strange, for surely Yerushalayim should surpass Shiloh. Yerushalayim was Hashem's permanent home, while Shiloh featured only a temporary dwelling place for the Shechinah. Yet Shiloh sanctified its environs, whereas Yerushalayim did not.
Now we come to Shiloh's "shortcoming." The Mishnah in Zevachim (ibid.) adds that tall planks of acacia wood overlaid with gold enclosed the Mishkan in the wilderness. In Shiloh, stone walls replaced these planks. Only the roof retained its original constitution of woven curtains. Was Shiloh's Mishkan to be permanent, as its stone walls suggest? If so, why was it roofed with curtains? And if it was to replicate the initial Mishkan, why not use acacia planks?
Fortunately, the Gemara gives us a clue by explaining that sacrifices could be eaten outside Shiloh because its territory belonged to the tribe of Efraim, the son of Yosef. In Egypt, Yosef persistently rebuffed the advances of his master Potifar's wife. The Gemara states that, by denying himself the pleasure of even looking upon something (or someone) not his, Yosef gained the right for sacrifices offered in the Mishkan of Shiloh to be eaten anywhere the city could be seen, even in areas ruled by his enemies (see ibid. 118b).
The Sochatchover Rebbe, the Avnei Neizer, delves into this reward. Normally, a holy item is restricted to clear boundaries, lest it become debased by the mundane. (For example, no one would consider taking a Torah scroll into a bathroom.) Sacrificial meat therefore belongs within the city where it is offered. Yosef, however, defted this "law of nature." He was one of Yaakov's twelve holy sons but was taken from Eretz Yisrael to the most promiscuous country of the time, Egypt. The constant threat of seduction should have diminished Yosef's stature. But he transcended his surroundings. So, too, sacrifices taken from Shiloh transcended theirs, as long as the city remained visible.
This special characteristic of Yosef, the Avnei Neizer relates, aided the Jews at Yam Suf (the Red Sea). The Gemara relates that, upon seeing Yosef's casket, Yam Suf split, allowing the Jews to complete their escape from Egypt. His merit neutralized the forces of nature (in this case, the waters of Yam Suf, which inhibit spirituality. Similarly, nothing near Yosef's Shiloh could desecrate a sacrifice. No wonder, the Sochatchover Rebbe concludes, Shiloh was destroyed prematurely when the sons of Eli the Kohen treated the sacrifices disrespectfully (see Yoma 9a). Since this misconduct undermined the essence of the city, the sacrificial service had to be moved elsewhere until the Beis HaMikdash was built in Yerushalayim.
The Sochatchover Rebbe's son and successor, the Shem MiShmuel, expresses this concept succinctly. Shiloh inspired awe of Hashem. Anyone who even glimpsed the town from afar was moved. Therefore, no harm could befall sacrificial meat taken from there.
We can now understand why the Mishkan in Shiloh lacked acacia walls. According to R. Tzadok HaKohen, the planks of the Mishkan sweetened the bitter — not by removing the source of the bitterness but by transforming it into a source of sweetness. For example, after Yam Suf split, the Jews came to a place called Marah (Hebrew for "bitter"), where they found the water too bitter to drink. Moshe then cast wood into the water, and it became sweet. He did not remove the water's bitter elements, nor did he overpower them with desalinizing agents. He turned the bitter water into sweet water. R. Tzakok finds an allusion to this power of the acacia planks in the word keresh (plank), for its letters also spell sheker (lie). The wood turned the bitterness of "lies" into planks for the Mishkan.
Although this idea may seem abstract, we find a similar thought in the classical Mussar works. Based on Mesillas Yesharim, R. Eliyahu Dessler (in his Michtav Me'Eliyahu) explains that there are two ways to combat an evil urge. The first is simply to kill it. For example, someone with an unhealthy desire to eat can concentrate on how it drags him down and makes him sick. Eventually, no longer relishing food, he'll eat only to survive. A righteous person, though, can make the pleasure of eating into something positive. He can think how Hashem gave him food and the ability to enjoy it. This awareness leads him to recognize other unsolicited benefits Hashem grants him. The pleasure of food is thus transformed from a harmful influence into a source of appreciation for Hashem and His creation. Such a person does not say a brachah in order to eat; he eats in order to say a brachah. R. Dessler finds this concept in the word ra (evil). Reversed, its letters spell eir (awakening). So, too, negative stimuli can be "reversed" and made positive. R. Dessler concludes that, although this approach is only for people of extremely high caliber, everyone should know the levels a human can reach.
The acacia planks represented this notion in the Mishkan. Usually, logs are stacked horizontally to build walls. Here, the planks were placed vertically; the Torah calls them "standing" (Shemos 26:15, 36:20). They reached Heavenward, illustrating the ability to transform even a base desire into an instrument of serving Hashem.
Returning to Shiloh, we now realize why acacia planks were superfluous there. The city inspired an awe of Hashem that subdued any opposing force. That is why sacrificial meat could be eaten even outside its confines, as long as Shiloh was still seen. if harmful desires and influences could not survive in this town, there was no need to use them in serving Hashem. The absence of acacia planks, then, indicates no lack of holiness in Shiloh. Rather, it underscores the city's unique strength: the ability to render evil impotent.
The perceptive reader may have one last question. Shiloh sanctified its surroundings by virtue of its owner, Yosef. This edge over Yerushalayim also expressed itself in Shiloh's ability to forgo the acacia planks of the Mishkan. Why, then, did the Beis HaMikdash in Yerushalayim lack these planks? Though it outshone Shiloh in all other ways, there is no indication that Yerushalayim can neutralize evil. The Beis HaMikdash should therefore have featured acacia planks, symbolizing the sweetening of the bitter.
The Midrash links shittim (acacia) to Shittim, a place in the wilderness where Jews committed adultery. The Midrash states that the Jews sinned in Shittim and were punished with death, but the shittim wood of the Mishkan purified the nation. The Midrash concludes that Hashem will eventually provide a permanent antidote: A river originating from a spring in the Beis HaMikdash will water the valley of Shittim (see Yoel 4:18). Thus, though the Beis HaMikdash has no acacia planks, it will attend to evil its own way, cleansing Shittim with life-giving waters.