Blue & White; Clarity & Complexity

The First Zionist Congress was about to begin, and they needed a flag.

Every nation needs a flag, a symbol for people to rally around and to emblazon on t-shirts. Theodor Herzl, in his book Der Judenstaat, suggested a white flag with seven golden stars representing the hours of the working day. If you’re not impressed, you’re not alone. The idea did not catch on as it lacked any clear connection to Israel or Judaism.

David Wolffsohn came to the rescue. Wolffsohn was an early Zionist leader who worked closely with Herzl and succeeded him as President of the World Zionist Organization. In his memoirs, he wrote that suddenly it struck him that the Jewish people do have a flag: the tzitzit and the tallit, the prayer shawl worn during prayer.

“Let us take the tallit from its bag and unroll it before the eyes of Israel, and the eyes of all nations. So, I ordered a blue and white flag with the Shield of David painted onto it, that is how the national flag flew over Congress Hall and came to be.”

Blue and white are the colors of the Jewish people. They are also the colors that shape our religious worldview.

דַּבֵּר אֶל־בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל וְאָמַרְתָּ אֲלֵהֶם וְעָשׂוּ לָהֶם צִיצִת עַל־כַּנְפֵי בִגְדֵיהֶם לְדֹרֹתָם וְנָתְנוּ עַל־צִיצִת הַכָּנָף פְּתִיל תְּכֵלֶת׃

Speak to the Israelite people and instruct them to make for themselves fringes on the corners of their garments throughout the ages; let them attach a cord of blue to the fringe at each corner.  (Bamidbar 15:38)

The mitzvah of tzitzit places blue and white front and center in our religious color spectrum. The Talmud (Menachot 43b) teaches:

“Rabbi Meir would say: What is different about tekhelet from all other types of colors such that it was chosen for the mitzvah of tzitzit? It is because tekhelet is similar in its color to the sea, and the sea is similar to the sky, and the sky is similar to the Throne of Glory…”

Blue is aspirational and inspirational. It is the color that provides a context for our efforts to reach spiritual heights.

Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik explained that blue and white represent two poles of the Jewish experience. Blue is not a simple color. The Rabbis could not even agree on which blue was blue! Rashi and Maimonides felt it was the color of the sky. But is it the daytime sky which is azure or the nighttime sky which is much darker? Both hues may be equally inspirational. Which blue is blue? Does it even matter?

The Rav, summarizes the symbolism of blue contrasting with white in the following manner. White denotes clarity, distinctness and that which is self-evident. The prophets speak of white as representing purity and forgiveness. In modern Hebrew, we find the expression, “ha-devarim melubanim,” which literally translates as the subject is white, used to mean, “the subject is crystal clear.” Tekhelet, in contrast, which the Talmud described as the color of the sea and the sky and God’s throne, is the color of the grand mysteries of the human experience which elude our precise understanding. We can never understand the seas and the heavens. They seem to stretch as far as the eye can see and contain questions far too complicated to answer:  

“They encompass the abstract and the transcendent, ultimate values and ends, man’s metaphysical quest and his efforts to rise above the self-evident and the temporal…While the color white bespeaks the clearly perceptible, tekhelet refers to a realm which is only vaguely grasped.”

Blue and white represent the complexity and clarity of our lives.

In all areas of our lives, we encounter white and blue, the clear and the complex. In science, we find mathematical precision as well as the uncertainties and imprecise formulations involved in psychology and sociology. In our personal lives, we experience this dichotomy as well. Everyone experiences moments when they feel very confident or certain in their actions. At the same time, there are bound to be periods of questioning and self-doubt. As the Rav said:

“No one can say, ‘The world and I have always gotten along together reasonably, happily, and successfully, with ambitions always being realized. I have never been defeated…’ This is the tekhelet of human experience.”

Think of the last 9 months. Since October 7, we have experienced the lows of horror and sadness and falsehood and hatred. At the same time, we have seen people rise to heroic heights and display incredible kindness, strength, and solidarity. We have had our eyes opened as to who our enemies are while also seeking – and finding – new friends. There are some things which are crystal clear: Hamas is evil and must be defeated. There are plenty of other things which are more complicated. We approach all of these in a meaningful way using the language of blue and white, complexity and clarity.

The mitzvah of tekhelet creates a framework to help us accomplish the easy things and face the challenging ones. We need to look to the blue and white – whether you wear it, are thinking of getting some, or just close your eyes and imagine it – as a guide to tackling whatever comes our way.

Curiosity Only Kills Cats

Curious about the origins of the expression “Curiosity killed the cat?”

It originated in a1598 play entitled “Every Man in His Humour” written by the English playwright Ben Jonson. That original phrase was, “Helter skelter, hang sorrow, care'll kill a cat, up-tails all, and a louse for the hangman.” This evolved to “curiosity killed the cat” found in an Irish newspaper in 1868. The expression caught on and was used more and more by the early 20^th century. It was the headline of a story in The Washington Post in 1916 about a cat who had climbed the flue of a chimney that died after falling.

As we recognize all of this year’s graduates, let me offer a piece of advice: Be curious.

Curiosity seems to be in short supply.

In October 1939, an American educational reformer named Abraham Flexner published an essay in Harper’s magazine under the marvelous title, “The Usefulness of Useless Knowledge.” Noting the way in which the concerns of modern education increasingly turned toward solving practical problems, Flexner made a plea for “the cultivation of curiosity” for its own sake. We need to expand our horizons.

Curiosity may put you on the path for a Nobel Prize.

Isidor Isaac Rabi, was a Galician-born Jewish scientist who was awarded a Nobel Prize in physics in 1944. Like every good Jewish boy, he attributed his success to his mother. In an interview, Rabi explained the secret to his success:

“My mother made me a great scientist without ever intending it. Every other Jewish mother in Brooklyn would ask her child after school: ‘Nu? Did you learn anything today?’ But not my mother. She always asked me a different question. ‘Izzy,’ she would say, ‘did you ask a good question today?’”

Ask questions. If it seems irrelevant, ask more questions. We learn from our curiosity. We grow from our curiosity. We form deeper opinions and stronger connections when we are curious about the world around us – and beyond us.

Scott Shigeoka wrote a book entitled Seek: How Curiosity Can Transform Your Life and Change the World. He identifies different levels of curiosity. There is shallow curiosity, in which we seek out data points and basic info. Deep curiosity is when we dig beneath the surface. For example, asking “What’s your name?” is an example of shallow curiosity. Asking “What’s the story behind your name?” is an attempt to understand more deeply.

Shigeoka also notes that curiosity can go in three directions: outward – around us, inward – why we feel certain things, and beyond – things beyond the physical realm like God or ancestors who have passed on.

Judaism encourages curiosity.

“Hafoch ba v’hafoch ba d’kula bah – Keep delving and investigating in search of all the answers.” (Avot 5:22)

Judaism balances the need for obedience with the ability to ask questions. This necessary synergy is captured in the word “chok,” which means a law with no meaning. On a simple level, this would seem to imply that Judaism is about following rules without asking questions or being curious about the reasons behind our obligations. That is not accurate. The Torah presents two paradigmatic chukim.

“Zot chukat ha-Torah – This is the law of the Torah.” (Bamidbar 19:2)

“Zot chukat ha-Pesach – This is the law of the Pascal lamb.” (Shemot 12:43)

 

The first verse refers to the mitzvah of parah adumah, the red cow used to purify. This ritual has no rhyme or reason. We just do it. The second verse referring to Pesach, is quite different. How do we celebrate Pesach? We ask questions!

Judaism requires obedience to obligation. With a foundation of faith and fealty, we are encouraged – and required – to be curious, ask questions, and seek a deeper level of commitment to God and humanity. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks noted, “We ask not because we doubt but because we believe.”

We are a Curious People.

According to a 2019 Pew Research Center study, 87% of Jews who consider their Jewishness to be "very important" also consider intellectual curiosity to be "essential" or "important" to their Judaism. Not all denominations are equally curious. Overall, non-Orthodox Jews are more curious than Orthodox Jews, who understandably place more of an emphasis on following tradition. At the same time, Modern Orthodox Jews are more curious than Chasidic Jews. This makes sense as Modern Orthodox Jews are more engaged with the outside world and synergize these encounters with their religious experiences.

So, graduates and non-graduates alike, in the words of Ken Burns in his Brandeis commencement speech: Be curious, not cool.

Seek out new and different opinions and push deeper into unfamiliar ideas and viewpoints. Befriend new people. Ask probing questions like: Who am I? What is the deeper meaning of what I see and hear? How can I help those around me? How do I understand God and Torah?

The key is curiosity.

To Nazir or Not to Nazir? It’s a Good Question

Have you ever met a nazir (Nazirite)?

I am guessing not. You don’t really find them today. The most recent, well-known nazir was Rabbi David Cohen (1887-1972), a student of Rav Kook who took a Nazirite vow at the outbreak of World War One and maintained a Nazirite lifecycle until the end of his life.

A nazir is a person who vows to consecrate themselves to God for a period of time, abstaining from wine and all grape products; hair cutting; and incurring ritual impurity by coming near a corpse, even if the body is one of their close relatives. The word literally means “separate,” and both men and women can become a nazir. At the conclusion of the Nazirite period, the individual brings a number of offerings to God, after which their hair is shaved. While it is technically possible to be a nazir today, it is not recommended since one really can’t stop being a nazir without a Beit Hamikdash.

It is good or bad to be a nazir?

The Torah does not make a direct evaluation of the Nazirite. On the one hand, the Torah calls the nazir “holy to God.” (Bamidbar 6:8) On the other hand, the Torah rules that, when the period comes to an end, the Nazirite must bring a sin offering, as if they had done something wrong. (6:13-14)

The Rabbis provide us with mixed messages on the merits of being a nazir.

The Rabbis (Nedarim 10a) declare the Nazirite a “chotei,” a sinner. It is unclear if the sin is in becoming a nazir or ceasing to be a nazir. On the one hand, becoming a nazir is misguided since abstaining from wine means being unable to celebrate with others, while avoiding corpses precludes being able to comfort the bereaved in difficult times. The nazir is mistaken in trying to escape the real world with its social interactions, celebrations, and sad occasions. Elsewhere (Ta’anit 11a), the nazir is called “kadosh,” a holy person, for striving to be more spiritual.

Rambam doesn’t resolve the confusion. In Hilchot Deot (3:1), he is critical of the nazir for choosing the path of abstinence:

“A person may say: ‘Desire, honor and the like are bad paths to follow and remove a person from the world, therefore I will completely separate myself from them and go to the other extreme.’ As a result, he does not eat meat or drink wine or take a wife or live in a decent house or wear decent clothing . . . This too is bad, and it is forbidden to choose this way.”

Yet in The Laws of the Nazirite (10:14) he takes a positive view of the nazir:

“Whoever vows to God to become a Nazirite by way of holiness, does well and is praiseworthy…Indeed Scripture considers him the equal of a prophet.”

So which is it? Is the nazir a saint or a sinner? Both.

Rabbi Yitzchak Caro, the 16^th century author of Toldot Yitzchak, wrote:

“On the one hand, the nazir is holy, while on the other hand he is a sinner. In terms of his soul, he his holy – for the soul is made more perfect through separation from the desires of this world, but the perfection of the body lies in not being separated from the desires of this world to an extreme, but rather by living in moderation: eating and drinking, consuming meat and imbibing wine as proper for the body's wellbeing.  Thus, in terms of the soul, the nazir is called ‘holy,’ while in terms of the body he is called a sinner.”

Let’s face it. Not everyone is cut out to be a nazir. Even those who choose the path, may have chosen the path in error. The nazir represents the challenge we each face in balancing our physical and spiritual lives. Judaism believes we can elevate the physical while also recognizing that the physical can get in the way of the spiritual. Different people will respond in different ways at different times. That’s OK and exactly what Rambam acknowledges by presenting the nazir in both lights.

Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Ropshitzer told his chasidim that before he was born, an angel appeared and showed him a tablet divided into two columns of contradictory Jewish statements.

On the right side it quoted the Talmudic saying, “The learned person should be a fiery furnace,” while on the left side was the quote, “The meek and lowly shall inherit the world to come.”

On the right side, “A person should be wise in their fear of God,” and on the left side, “You should be simple-hearted in your love of Hashem.”

On the right side: “God wants the heart,” and on the left side, “The heart of God’s people is corrupt and wayward.”

On the right, “In order to know the Torah, a man must have no compassion for his wife and children,” and on the left side, “He who pities people is pitied in Heaven.

The Rebbe pondered the contradictions until he heard a voice say “Mazal Tov, it’s a boy!”

We live with unresolved contradictions.

As we move forward from Shavuot, the celebration of receiving the Torah, our challenge is what do we do with it now. The Nazir represents the search for truth, integrity, and faith. Sometimes, we need to turn away and other times we need to lean in. Sometimes, we emphasize justice and sometimes mercy. Sometimes we strive for excellence, and sometimes we settle and regather our strength. We need not fear contradictions as long as we are ready to embrace our course of action.

Happy Yom HaMeyuchas!

You don’t know what Yom HaMeyuchas is, do you?

It’s OK. Most people don’t.

“Yom HaMeyuchas” literally means “the special day.” It developed in connection to the historical events taking place during the first week of Sivan leading to the giving of the Torah at Sinai.

The Torah states that the Jewish nation arrived at Sinai on the first day of the third month. This is 1 Sivan. The Torah also mentions three days of preparation for the Sinai experience, which we call the “Shloshet Yemei Hagbalah.” The Torah was given after those three days.

So, the first of Sivan is special (Rosh Chodesh). 3-5 Sivan are special days of preparation. How about poor, lonely 2 Sivan? Rabbi Yechiel Michel Epstein explains that we turn 2 Sivan into something special.

“In fact, the day between Rosh Chodesh Sivan and the Three Days of Preparation is also celebratory. Furthermore, this is the day Moshe told the nation to sanctify themselves. The practice is to call this day ‘Yom HaMeyuchas.’”

It seems like there is, in fact, nothing special about Yom HaMeyuchas. The Sages, in their great sensitivity, were concerned for the feelings of units of time like days. This is an extension of the sensitivity the sages showed towards the feelings of objects as demonstrated by our covering the challahs so as not “to embarrass” them by saying Kiddush first. The second of Sivan wasn’t special like the first, third, fourth, and fifth, so they assigned a name to the day to “cheer it up.” The lesson for us is sensitivity.

Other explanations have been suggested for why we commemorate the day.

Yom HaMeyuchas is a day of distinction. 2 Sivan was the date the Jews made the famous declaration of “Na’aseh v’nishma – We will obey, and we will listen.” This acceptance of God’s mission is a big deal. According to the Midrash, other nations were offered the Torah but refused it for it crimping their style for one reason or another. They wouldn’t abide by “one God,” “no stealing,” or “honor parents.” The Jews accepted sight unseen. We knew it was an offer not to be refused. The anniversary of this declaration deserved recognition as a Yom HaMeyuchas.

It is also a day for us to distinguish ourselves. The word “meyuchas” has the same root as the word “yichus,” which means lineage. Often, this word is used in the context of matchmaking. Jewish traditional sources prize coming from a noble, respected, learned, pious family. Yom HaMeyuchas is a reminder that all Jews have yichus, a special, exalted lineage that comes from being Jewish as well as the opportunity to chart our own path based on our own actions.

Yom HaMeyuchas also provides a fundamental lesson about Jewish unity and diversity.

On the one hand, we prize Jewish unity and see it as having been a prerequisite to receiving the Torah. When the nation arrives at Sinai, the Sages learn they were “k’ish echad b’lev echad – as one people with one heart.” On the other hand, the second half of that rabbinic teaching is that all subsequent stops featured plenty of disputes.

The second of Sivan was part of the dispute in the Talmud over the exact timeline of Sinai. The Sages dispute what happened each day of Sivan and even disagree over whether the Torah was given on the 6^th or 7^th of the month! We declared a Yom HaMeyuchas to testify to the existence of machloket, disagreement. Jews must be united in our commitment to Torah and each other, but there will be machloket. And that’s ok.

Yom HaMeyuchas is a day created to highlight the value of sensitivity, the distinction of the Jewish nation in accepting the covenant, the ability of each of us to distinguish ourselves, and to celebrate the differences that underlie our shared commitments. The date itself matters far less than the timely and important sentiments we can attach to it.

This week, the Knesset approved Yom HaAchdut, National Unity Day, as an official holiday “to mark and promote social cohesion and mutual responsibility within Israeli society and the Jewish people in Israel and in the Diaspora.” (Another day we haven’t heard of!) The date chosen was 1 Sivan, the day the Jews arrived at Sinai united. The explanatory note to the National Unity Day Bill states:

“The diversity of cultures, communities and identities that make up the State of Israel is part of its beauty. However, this diversity could spark differences and division. There is a mounting need to bring people closer together and to connect between different populations, sectors and groups , including a need to safeguard the integrity and resilience of this multifaceted society with its diversity of opinions. The value of unity is a supreme value in a properly-run society in general, and in Israeli society in particular."​

I am not sure how this Yom HaAchdut will be celebrated. Nevertheless, as is the case with Yom HaMeyuchas, this is exactly the season to recall how special we are, how united we can be despite our disagreements, and how this is the week – from Rosh Chodesh through Shavuot – that changed everything. I’d call that very meyuchas (special).