In ancient times, it was common to build windows that were narrow on the outside and wide on the inside. The purpose was simple and practical—to capture as much sunlight as possible and funnel it inward. More light meant better visibility, warmer rooms, and more comfortable spaces. As a general rule, windows were built to receive.
But when King Solomon constructed the Temple in Jerusalem, he did something that defied architectural convention. The windows in God’s house were built backwards.
What Was Solomon Thinking?
The text in 1 Kings 6:4 describes these windows with a curious phrase:
“Recessed and latticed,” or more literally, “closed windows and framed.” The Sages understood this to mean windows that were narrow on the inside and wide on the outside. Precisely the opposite of other buildings in the ancient world.
This wasn’t a construction error. Solomon was the wisest man who ever lived. He had unlimited resources, the finest craftsmen, and direct divine guidance for every detail of the Temple’s construction. Nothing about this building was accidental. So why would he design windows that seemed to work against their own purpose? Why create openings that let light escape rather than enter?
The question becomes sharper when you realize that the Temple had no practical need for external light anyway. The menorah—the golden lampstand—burned continuously inside. The priests didn’t need sunlight streaming in through windows to do their work. They had divine fire, constant and pure, illuminating the holy space.
So what were these backwards windows for?
Light for the Nations
The prophet Isaiah reveals the answer, though he’s speaking generations after Solomon:
The Jewish people were meant to be a light to the nations. This wasn’t a new concept. It was the original blueprint.
The Temple’s windows were designed to send light outward because that was always Israel’s purpose. The building’s physical structure embodied its spiritual mission. While other nations built temples to capture blessings for themselves, to hoard divine favor within their borders, Solomon constructed a house of God that radiated outward. The light wasn’t meant to stay inside.
Look at the details the Bible gives us about the Temple’s menorot. Solomon didn’t make one lampstand—he made ten. And the Sages calculated that these ten golden lampstands held seventy lights total. Seventy. Not a random number. In biblical numerology, seventy represents the nations of the world, all of humanity outside Israel. The Sages derived this from the seventy descendants of Noah listed in Genesis 10, who fathered all the peoples of the earth.
Ten menorot. Seventy lights. Shining through windows built to beam outward.
This wasn’t decoration. It was a declaration.
The Scandal of Particularism
Here’s what makes people uncomfortable: God chose one nation. He made a covenant with Abraham and his descendants. He gave the Torah at Sinai to Israel alone, not to a mixed multitude of all peoples. He established the priesthood in one tribe, built His Temple in one city, and tied His presence to one specific piece of land.
This looks like the ultimate particularism. It looks like God is playing favorites. And plenty of people throughout history have seen it exactly that way—and resented it.
But Solomon’s backwards windows tell a different story. Yes, God chose Israel. But He chose Israel for a purpose that was always universal. The particular was in service of the general. The light had to be kindled somewhere, in someone. But once kindled, it was meant to shine everywhere.
The Sages understood this. They taught that the commandments were given to Israel to refine and purify the Jewish people so they could be a kingdom of priests. And what do priests do? They don’t serve themselves. They serve others. They mediate between the holy and the common. They bring God’s blessing to the world.
When the priests lit the menorah in Solomon’s Temple, that light didn’t just illuminate the Holy Place. It streamed through those outward-facing windows and announced to every nation: the God of Israel is the God of all Creation. His truth is not tribal. His blessing is not contained. What happens here in Jerusalem has implications for the ends of the earth.
The Original Design
This means something radical: Israel’s blessings were never meant to be hoarded. The mission was never to keep Torah, wisdom, and divine light locked away behind walls. The entire structure of the Temple—its windows, its menorot, its orientation toward the nations—declared that the light kindled in Israel was intended for humanity.
The scandal isn’t that God chose Israel. The scandal is that anyone thought God’s choice of Israel meant excluding everyone else.
When the Queen of Sheba came to Jerusalem and saw Solomon’s wisdom, she blessed the God of Israel. When the Temple was dedicated, Solomon himself prayed:
The building was designed to attract the nations, not repel them.
This is why the prophets consistently describe Israel’s failure in terms of hiding the light. When Isaiah rebukes the people, he doesn’t say they kept the commandments badly. He says they failed to be the light to the nations that God intended. The sin wasn’t just internal corruption—it was the betrayal of the outward mission.
Completing the Circuit
For two thousand years, the Temple has been destroyed. The menorot are gone. The backwards windows are rubble. But the mission hasn’t changed.
Christians who stand with Israel, who defend the Jewish people’s right to their land, who study the Hebrew Bible and support the fulfillment of biblical prophecy—they are not interlopers in someone else’s story. They are receiving the light that was always meant to shine through those outward-facing windows. They are proving that Solomon’s architectural vision was prophetic.
This is not replacement. This is not supersession. This is the Temple functioning exactly as Solomon built it—as a house of prayer for all nations, with light blazing outward through windows that were never meant to contain it.
The God who commanded Israel to be a kingdom of priests didn’t mean priests serving only themselves. He meant priests serving the world. And when the nations respond to that light, when they recognize its source and align themselves with its purpose, they aren’t diluting the covenant. They’re fulfilling it.
Solomon built backwards windows because he understood forward thinking. The light begins in Israel. But it doesn’t end there. It never did.
Rabbi Tuly Weisz’s new book Universal Zionism, explores exactly this principle—that support for Israel and the Jewish people isn’t limited to Jews alone, but represents a universal truth that draws people from all nations. Rabbi Weisz demonstrates how Christians who stand with Israel today are fulfilling the original design, receiving and spreading the light that was always meant for them. The alliance between Jews and Christians isn’t a compromise of Jewish particularism—it’s the completion of it. Understanding this changes everything about how we see Israel’s role in the world and who belongs in the story of redemption.
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