The building relies not only on the sharp-edged diagonals—sometimes a shortcut to dynamism and architectural self-assertion—that have been a mainstay in Libeskind’s work, but also on abundant calligraphic symbols, some more convincing than others. Beyond the vertical yud (housing a gift shop below and a gallery above, at the building’s west end) and the horizontal chet (containing community and exhibition spaces that spike above the original roof plane), the entry hall greets visitors with another spelled-out symbol: the Hebrew word PaRDeS, in jagged, fluorescent-illuminated letters across a 140-foot-long, canted wall. As an acronym, the letters refer to four levels of scriptural interpretation; as a word, they allude to paradise. Not readily legible, it’s explained on a wall plaque. In like spirit, the auditorium’s ceiling bears crisscrossing lines, taken from a 15th-century map of routes to the Holy Land, but who would guess it?

These abstract symbols elude deciphering, even for people familiar with Hebrew (or Renaissance migration paths). The notion of generating architecture from letters has even seemed hokey to some visitors. But is this symbolism meant to be subliminal? Or karmic? “Neither,” says Libeskind, who similarly based his Danish Jewish Museum on the word mitzvah, meaning “good deed.” “There is a mystery about the text. The Hebrew alphabet isn’t just a set of signs—each letter has divine meaning,” the architect maintains, adding that every character not only tells a story, but is also intrinsically spatial. “Though,” he advises, “it’s best not to think about it too much—better just to experience the spaces.”