Shelach-Lecha
Numbers 13:1-15:41
Joshua 2:1-24
A few years ago I officiated at the funeral of a man who had lived for 95 years. He had grown up a poor immigrant boy, too poor to go to college, but he was a self-taught intellectual. All his life he had read widely and deeply, and he could talk knowledgeably about almost everything.
In his last years his memory began to fail. After his death, his children discovered a notebook full of lined paper on which their dad had written pages and pages of information — a huge compilation of random facts: names of presidents and poets, philosophers and movie stars; dates of historical events; political slogans; laws of science. Finally, toward the end of the notebook, there were no more facts. Just long lists of words; he had tried to hold on to vocabulary that was fast slipping away.
It was a poignant reminder of how precious a gift memory is, and how frightening it can be when memories disappear.
The climax of this week’s Torah portion is a tribute to the power of memory. These words, from Numbers chapter 15, appear in our prayer book as part of the Sh’ma, the central affirmation of Jewish faith: “Look at the tzitzit, the fringes on your tallit,” the Torah says, “and you will remember all the commandments of God and observe them, so you do not follow after your own heart and your own eyes. The fringes shall be your reminder … thus shall you be holy to your God.”
The tzitzit, the fringes, are a mnemonic device, like a string tied around your finger. They intrude upon our consciousness, shake us out of narcissistic preoccupations and point us to the reality of obligation. But they are also a guide for the eyes and heart, a lens through which to see the world, a filter that shapes our perception of reality.
Wrapping ourselves in the tallit, we look upon the fringes and remember — remember that there is a God in the world and we are creatures of God, loved by God and responsible to God. The world suddenly looks different.
For thousands of years that vision helped our Jewish forebears to live in the midst of those who despised them, without coming to despise themselves. Wrapped in tzitzit, enfolded in a religious tradition that lent dignity and meaning to their lives, what did it matter what the outside world thought? Wearing the colors of nobility — pure white and royal blue — Jews entered a realm where they were protected, temporarily at least, from daily assaults on the spirit.
For Jews today, who are assaulted in very different ways by the culture in which we live, the tallit remains a refuge.
Our relationship with the tallit is concrete and sensuous. Its meaning comes not through an encounter with abstract ideals but from the experience of wrapping ourselves in warmth; of touching and kissing its decorative “crown” [atarah] of silk; of caressing its knots and running our fingers through its slippery threads. Without speaking a word, the tallit communicates a message of love and peace; it elevates and soothes even as it challenges us to be better than we are.
Its enduring power reminds us that, despite the best efforts of dogmatists, Judaism cannot be reduced to a set of intellectual propositions. When we live as Jews we learn to speak the language of ritual — a nonrational (though not irrational) language that addresses the heart and soul as well as the mind.
Commenting on the ritual of wearing tzitzit, the Talmud says: “Seeing leads to remembering, and remembering to doing.” (Menachot 43b) Our memories are more than recollections of the past. They define who we are; they shape the way we see; in many ways they determine how we act. “In remembrance,” the Ba’al Shem Tov said, “lies the secret of redemption.”
So an old man fights to keep from forgetting; and we Jews, an ancient people, fight to preserve what we remember.
This is my last column for j. It has been an honor to engage in words of Torah with you. As it says in the siddur, “Eternal our God, make the words of Torah sweet to us, and to the House of Israel, Your people, that we and our children may be lovers of Your name and students of Your Torah.”
Rabbi Janet Marder is the spiritual leader at Reform Congregation Beth Am in Los Altos Hills.