Our Gemara on Amud Aleph discusses a scenario whereby a shelamim sacrifice is brought in the sanctuary, and it is still considered procedurally kosher, even though its proper place is the courtyard.

The Gemara implies that this is only post facto. However, it is a violation of some kind to have slaughtered the sacrifice in the sanctuary. The Minchas Chinuch (184) suggests that this is considered a profane entry into the sanctuary. It is prohibited to enter the sanctuary unless it is for a purpose that is directly tied to sacrificial or ritual service. Even though this is a sacrifice, slaughter is still not considered a true sacrificial ritual, as even a non-Cohen can perform it. Therefore, to enter the sanctuary in order to slaughter this sacrifice is still entering for a mundane purpose.

The Chinuch (ibid) explains that the purpose of this prohibition is to maintain a sense of respect and awe toward the holy areas.

While on this subject of dignity and respect for holy places, I believe this is a critically important idea to teach young people today, especially in a time where authority and hierarchy are diluted. We live in times where people behave and dress in a more casual manner and do not necessarily relate deferentially toward authority. I am not going to cry over that spilled milk. However, there is a place where we can reverse that tide, and that is the Shul and Beis Midrash. Most young people think that there’s a problem with “talking during davening” and have no idea that there are particular rules about protocol in a Shul or Beis Midrash that have nothing to do with prayer. Even when not in prayer, these holy places should be respected, and it is prohibited to engage in idle chatter or mundane activities (Shulchan Aruch 151:1). In earlier generations, rabbis became more lenient and allowed sleeping and eating in shuls due to relative poverty and lack of space (ibid, Mishnah Berurah 5 and 8). In our time, this is one area where we can roll back and be more stringent. We have enough resources to fund separate banquet halls and community meeting places that we do not need to desecralize our shuls.

It is hard, in a positive sense, to teach someone how to pray. It is something that has to stem organically from an nner recognition and humility. There also is a generation of children whose relationship with Shul was heavily damaged because of the Covid hysteria, and during critical developmental years were deprived of the socialization experience to prayer—that is, coming as a child and simply, via osmosis, absorbing the culture of prayer by watching elders and parents engaging. We have to re-create that sense of sanctity.

A fellow I used to know went through a dark time and found prayer to be futile and frustrating. At the same time, he was observant, so he made up his mind that even if he wouldn’t pray, he would come to minyan on time, not talk, and not leave early. He sat with those feelings for a while. Eventually, he recovered his ability to appreciate—or maybe even for the first time found a way to appreciate—prayer. However, even at his worst moments, he allowed himself to experience the holiness and presence, even when he couldn’t pray, which happens to be, on its own, a separate mitzvah (Shulchan Aruch ibid). 

Hissing “shah!” and energetically making hand signals and grunting “Nu!” does not induce a sense of holiness. Sitting quietly and, if necessary, walking out of Shul to talk or discipline demonstrates and models the emotion of awe and sanctity. If we do that, the performance of davening will eventually develop organically.