Of Grasshoppers, Snails and Leviathans: Shelach Lecha

Of Grasshoppers, Snails and Leviathans

D’var Torah for Parashat Sh’lach L’cha

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

A familiar Jewish joke tells of a rabbi who gets so carried away with his own humility that during Yom Kippur services, he falls prostrate before the Holy Ark, proclaiming, “I am nothing before You, O God.  Likewise moved, the cantor throws himself to the floor beside the rabbi, proclaiming, “Oh, God! Before You, I am nothing!”  Seeing them both, Shmulewicz, the caretaker of the synagogue, also prostrates himself, crying out, “Oh God! Before You I am nothing.”  The cantor nudges the rabbi, whispering, “Look who thinks he’s nothing!”

Sometime between birth and high school, our egos take a beating.  Maybe it happens the moment we realize our parents are not merely an extension of us, but are actually giants that live in their own world, parts of which we happen to share.

Or maybe the crucial moment comes later, when we realize that we are in reality minuscule particles of a huge, complex and largely incomprehensible world.

It’s no wonder so many teen agers are so cynical.  In their own lives, they haven’t had a chance yet to test the values they had been taught; and in looking around they see so much hypocrisy and falseness that somewhere along the line faith becomes the first casualty of reality as they perceive it.

Such is the inconstancy of perception.  A small problem becomes insurmountable, a molehill becomes a mountain, and a temper tantrum becomes total meltdown.

Wisdom comes later, after we learn to measure ourselves not against others, but rather against our own abilities and accomplishments.

As this week’s Torah portion, Sh’lach L’cha (“Send for yourself,” Numbers 13:1—15:41) opens, Moses sends spies into the Promised Land, to scout out the land and its inhabitants.  Bringing back wondrous examples of the fruitful nature of the land, the spies nevertheless also report that there are giants in the land, and that in their own eyes, they—the spies themselves, each a leader of his own tribe among the Tribes of Israel—seemed as negligible and small as grasshoppers.

The report—and the ensuing inevitable rebellion against Moses—results in tit-for-tat consequences.  The Israelites are condemned to wandering in the wilderness for 40 years, one year for each day that the spies spent scouting the Promised Land.

Seemingly harsh punishment, yet it achieves the desired result.  The years spent in the wilderness toughen the newborn people.  Harsh conditions harden them, and the many encounters with other tribes, nationalities and religions—both peaceful and violent—teach the Israelites to see themselves in a different, more objective, light.

But confidence—just like fearfulness—can become excessive.  What we all have to learn along life’s adventures is that self-reliance has its limits.  It’s good to be bold, but it’s better to rely on others too.  We depend on our community to help us; we pray to God to give us strength.  It’s in the combination of these forces that we become the strongest we can be. 

Perhaps that is the reason that this Torah portion closes with a description of the tzitzit, the commandment to attach fringes to a garment of clothing (as well as to the four corners of the tallit, the prayer shawl worn at some services).  Among the threads we are commanded to weave into the tzitzit is a blue thread, p’til t’cheylet. In ancient days, this blue thread was embroidered into beautiful curtains that adorned the Tent of Meeting as well as the official clothing worn by the High Priest. 

Much controversy arose around the particular shade of blue that t’cheylet denotes.  Commonly thought to be obtained from a snail confined to a small habitat along the northern seacoast of the Israel, there is little agreement about either which specific snail it was or its exact hue.  In the Talmud (BT Sotah 17a) we read, “Rabbi Meir used to say, ‘Blue resembles [the color of] the sea, the sea resembles heaven, and heaven resembles the Throne of Glory.’” 

Interwoven with spun threads of gold and silver, the blue thread, p’til t’cheylet, reminds us of our role and position in the universe—somewhere between the secretion of a lowly snail and the jewel in the crown of God’s creation.

Perhaps the inclusion of the blue thread into the magnificent weaving of the Tabernacle, the High Priest’s clothing and the ordinary garments of Jews throughout the centuries is meant to remind us both of our humble origins and of our glorious aspirations. Sh’lach L’cha explains that when we see the blue thread in the fringes of our clothing we remember to follow God’s commandments. It is so that we bring holiness into our lives.

In the larger scheme, we are no more than a grasshopper.  At the same time, however, our potential is as exalted as heaven itself.  Sh’lach L’cha reminds us that it doesn’t take much to fell even the mightiest among us, but that even the lowliest creature can be raised to a standing of holiness. Our true worth lies not in how much gold and silver we amass, but rather in our ability to use the full range and extent of the gifts we have been granted.

May we come to see the holiness in ourselves as well as in one another, regardless of color, hue or form.

© 2015 by Boaz D. Heilman