Seeing and Exploring in Torah Study and in General – Parashat Shelach Lecha

Table of Contents

• [0:01] Introduction to the portion of Shelach and its connection to tzitzit
• [1:57] The verb “to scout / explore” — the center of the sin and the command
• [5:36] Comparing Moses’ spies and Joshua’s spies — quantity versus depth
• [7:03] Quantitative versus qualitative research in the Bible
• [9:47] An observation about an Alex Levac photograph — deep learning
• [12:31] Tzitzit and tekhelet — symbolism and depth
• [13:40] King David and the connection to a kind of observation
• [16:43] Two methods of learning — breadth and depth
• [21:05] Pesach Sheni — the connection between phenomena and correlation
• [28:49] Expanding Maimonides’ commandments — the fourteen roots
• [30:36] Many details within one commandment
• [31:56] The connection between the four species and one commandment
• [33:14] The difficulty with commandments whose elements are not indispensable to one another
• [35:21] Tzitzit — tekhelet and white in one commandment
• [37:32] The instruction: do not stray after the heart and the eyes
• [56:34] Summary and the call to deepen one’s learning

Summary

General overview

The text presents the sin of the spies as a failure of scouting in a superficial sense, and identifies the verb “to scout / explore” as the central theme of the portion all the way to the section of tzitzit, where it says, “and you shall not stray after your hearts and after your eyes,” as a correction. It argues that the spies were punished not for reporting facts but for a shallow interpretation that did not get down to the underlying basis of the phenomena. This is illustrated through Rashi’s midrash on “a land that consumes its inhabitants” and through the comparison between Moses’ spies and Joshua’s spies, who operate by means of “in-depth research.” The text broadens this principle to the world of art, the world of aggadic literature, and the world of halakhic / of Jewish law conceptual learning, showing how deep reading changes seemingly “obvious” conclusions both in the topic / passage of Pesach Sheni and in Maimonides’ enumeration of the commandments regarding tzitzit and tefillin.

The sin of the spies and the theme of “to scout / explore”

The portion is described as focused on the sin of the spies, where Moses our teacher sends men “to scout the land of Canaan,” and they return with pessimistic forecasts that lead to the people’s crying, punishments, and the conclusion of the portion with the section of tzitzit. The text points to the many verses in which the verb “to scout / explore” repeats again and again, and defines it as the linguistic and conceptual backbone of the section of the spies. It raises the question of how the spies could be punished if they fulfilled a factual intelligence mission, and argues that the criticism of them stems from the motif of “to scout” as a tourist-like gaze that gathers external impressions without grasping what lies behind the reality.

Tzitzit as a response: “do not stray” versus “and you shall see it”

The text directly links the “scouting” of the spies with “and you shall not stray after your hearts and after your eyes” in the section of tzitzit, and presents tzitzit as a correction for the sin of the spies. It explains that the correction is not a prohibition against seeing, but a demand to deepen one’s seeing, so that “and you shall see it” leads to “and you shall remember all the commandments of God and do them,” rather than being swept away by the first impression. It places the distinction between passing superficially by phenomena and trying to uncover their inner meaning at the center of understanding the connection between the sin of the spies and the section of tzitzit.

Rashi and the midrash: “a land that consumes its inhabitants” as an interpretive reversal

The text cites Rashi in the name of a midrash according to which the spies saw the inhabitants of the land burying their dead and concluded, “it is a land that consumes its inhabitants,” but they did not notice that the phenomenon repeated itself everywhere they went. The midrash is interpreted as explaining that the Holy One, blessed be He, killed the inhabitants of the land so they would not notice the spies, and therefore that very “fact,” which seemed threatening, should have been interpreted as divine assistance. It argues that the spies failed because they clung to the external description and did not search for the logic behind it, and from there comes the principled criticism of their way of “scouting.”

Joshua’s spies versus Moses’ spies, and the model of “qualitative research”

The text sets up an antithesis between Moses’ spies and Joshua’s spies: Joshua’s spies focus on entering Rahab’s house, questioning one woman, and getting an impression of morale and the overall situation, then returning with a conclusion based on an “in-depth interview.” It describes Moses’ spies as those who conducted a broad empirical survey, traversed the land lengthwise and widthwise, and brought back samples and data — yet precisely that is interpreted as superficial “scouting” that misses the “essence.” It compares this to the trend in the social sciences of “qualitative research,” which sometimes prefers depth and understanding of fundamentals over general statistics, and argues that the model that grasped reality better was actually the limited but deep model of Joshua’s spies.

The example of Alex Levac and the ability to see meaning in an everyday phenomenon

The text brings a famous photograph by Alex Levac, Israel Prize laureate, in which Herzl’s statue at the HaSira junction at the entrance to Herzliya is being repaired by several Arab workers, and presents it as a masterpiece that expresses a deep social point. It argues that an ordinary person would pass by the situation and not stop to think about it, whereas an artistic eye identifies the meaning behind the prosaic details and stops in order to “see.” It adds that Levac said it was actually a friend who noticed it and called him to photograph it, and presents this as an example of the difference between scouting like a tourist and observing in a way that seeks to understand what the thing expresses at its root.

Tekhelet, tractate Menachot, and the deepening that begins with one color

The text cites the words of the Talmud in tractate Menachot in the name of the midrash: “It was taught: Rabbi Meir would say, why is tekhelet different from all other colors? Because tekhelet resembles the sea, and the sea resembles the sky, and the sky resembles the Throne of Glory,” and joins to this the verses “and under His feet was the likeness of a sapphire brickwork, and like the very heavens in purity” and “the appearance of a sapphire stone, the likeness of a throne.” It explains the logic as a demand not to be satisfied with the first sight of “a colored thread,” but to ask why a certain color was chosen and what it is meant to awaken, and thus seeing becomes remembrance of the commandments. It presents this as a concrete illustration of the move from superficial “scouting” to “and you shall see it,” which leads to theological depth.

King David in the Talmud in Berakhot and the ability to sing about what everyone else walks past

The text quotes the Talmud in Berakhot: “Rabbi Yohanan said in the name of Rabbi Shimon bar Yohai… he lived in five worlds and said song,” and details the five contexts: “dwelt in his mother’s womb,” “went out into the air of the world and looked at stars and constellations,” “nursed from his mother’s breasts and looked at her breasts,” “saw the downfall of the wicked,” and “looked upon the day of death.” It brings the Talmud’s elaboration: “What is ‘all His benefits’? Rabbi Abbahu said: that He made for her breasts in the place of understanding… What is the reason? So that the baby should not look at the place of nakedness… Rav Matna said: so that he should not nurse from a place of filth,” and emphasizes the question of “why” as the basis of song. It compares this to the artist’s ability to stop by ordinary reality and discover meaning in it, and adds that the gaze that pauses to ask “what stands behind it” is what distinguishes tourist-like passing from deep seeing.

Application to learning: breadth, analysis, and the obligation to “use your head”

The text applies “and you shall not stray” to the world of learning and distinguishes between breadth-oriented study, where you go through the topic / passage and move on, and analytic study, where you ask “why is it like this,” raise difficulties and resolutions, and define the essence. It presents breadth study as “scouting the Talmud,” and analytic study as an attempt to understand what stands behind the Talmud’s words and structure. It argues that even in the context of learning, the command of “and you shall see them” functions as a call to depth and not to attachment to the initial impression.

Pesach Sheni: Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi and Rabbi Natan, correlation and causation

The text presents a dispute among the tannaim over whether Pesach Sheni is compensation for the first Passover sacrifice or a festival in its own right, and emphasizes that according to Jewish law we rule like Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi that Pesach Sheni is a festival in its own right, even though the verses seem “unequivocal” in favor of the compensation approach. It brings practical ramifications from the Talmud and from Maimonides regarding a minor who became bar mitzvah on the first of Iyar, as well as a convert who converted between the two Passovers: if Pesach Sheni is a festival in its own right, they are obligated; if it is compensation, they are exempt because they were not obligated in the first one. It explains Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi’s reasoning by warning against confusing correlation with causation, and gives examples like “it’s not worth going on a diet because everyone who goes on a diet is fat,” Leibniz’s parable of the clocks, and correlations from medicine and economics, to show that an observed connection does not determine the direction of influence.

Deep reading: “it’s not that one who didn’t do it is obligated, but that one who did do it is exempt”

The text formulates Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi’s insight as follows: the connection between the first Passover and the second can be interpreted in the opposite direction from the initial assumption. Pesach Sheni is an independent obligation, and only one who performed the first Passover is exempt from it. It presents this as a case where the same facts allow another — even opposite — interpretation, similar to the midrash about the spies, where external sight produced a mistaken conclusion. It ties this directly to the principle of “and you shall not stray after your hearts and after your eyes” as a call for careful interpretive thinking and not jumping to the “obvious” conclusion.

Maimonides, the enumeration of the commandments, and tzitzit versus tefillin

The text brings Maimonides in his introduction to Sefer HaMitzvot on the fourteen roots, and focuses on the eleventh root: “it is not proper to count the parts of a commandment individually… when their combination constitutes one commandment.” It illustrates this with the four species and with the purification of the metzora, and notes the criterion that “the arrangements and the bowls are indispensable to one another” as evidence of one commandment. It emphasizes Maimonides’ words about “the difficult place” in matters where “they are not indispensable to one another,” and brings tzitzit as the example: “the tekhelet does not make the white indispensable, and the white does not make the tekhelet indispensable,” and nevertheless the sages expounded in the Mekhilta of Rabbi Yishmael, “and it shall be for you as tzitzit — it is one commandment and not two commandments.”

Nachmanides in his glosses and the puzzling difference between tzitzit and tefillin

The text explains that Maimonides counts tzitzit as one commandment even though tekhelet and white are not indispensable to one another, but counts the arm tefillin and the head tefillin as two commandments even though there too “one does not make the other indispensable,” and presents this as a difficulty that occupies Nachmanides in his glosses. It quotes Nachmanides’ claim that tefillin seem to be even more “one matter,” and connects this to the exposition of “do not stray after your hearts and after your eyes” as referring to the arm tefillin and the head tefillin. It notes that Nachmanides suggests the possibility that the difference lies in the fact that with tzitzit we are dealing with one act, while with tefillin we are dealing with two acts, but emphasizes that in Maimonides there is no hint that the criterion is the number of acts; rather, the question is whether this is “one matter or many matters.”

Interpreting “do not scout” within the portion of “do not stray”

The text presents Maimonides’ position as an internal application of the principle: even when similar data seem to lead to one conclusion, one must not settle for a superficial glance at “indispensable” versus “not indispensable,” but must clarify the meaning of the structure of the commandment. It argues that clinging to the facts alone can be “the most misleading thing of all,” and that precisely the effort to understand the aim and the idea behind the details makes it possible to reach the correct conclusion in the enumeration of the commandments. It uses the phrase “do qualitative research” as a halakhic / of Jewish law-learning metaphor for the demand for depth.

Tekhelet and white: intrinsic value or incomplete fulfillment of one commandment

The text proposes several ways to understand the relationship between the parts of a commandment and the commandment as a whole, and illustrates this with tekhelet and white: one can see each part as an independent commandment, one can see it as a fulfillment of the general commandment in an incomplete way, and one can see it as having no value in itself. It argues that people’s feeling that tekhelet is just a “recommendation” because it is not indispensable is a mistaken view, and explains that “not indispensable” may mean there is still an obligation, but failure to fulfill it does not cancel the fulfillment of another component, comparing this to commandments of beautification under “This is my God and I will beautify Him,” which are not indispensable and yet still obligate. It formulates the correct option in tzitzit as being that the white alone counts as tzitzit, but as “incomplete tzitzit,” and brings the image of “a horse missing a leg” to show that a characteristic feature is not necessarily indispensable to the very concept.

“And it shall be for you as tzitzit”: the verse as evidence for the structure of the commandment

The text argues that the verses themselves support Maimonides’ understanding, because it says, “and they shall place upon the fringe of each corner a thread of tekhelet,” and afterward, “and it shall be for you as tzitzit,” implying that the thing is already called “tzitzit” even before the tekhelet is added. It concludes from this that there is no separate “concept of tekhelet” and “concept of white” as two distinct commandments, but one concept of “tzitzit,” which the tekhelet completes into wholeness. It presents this as a contrast to tefillin, where there are “arm tefillin” and “head tefillin” as two distinct commandments, even though there is enough linguistic and conceptual affinity between them to justify discussion.

Conclusion: “Shabbat shalom” and the unifying lesson

The text concludes that the obligation not merely “to scout” but “to see” requires deep reflection in every area of life, especially in the world of learning, where one should prefer analysis that clarifies essence over settling for an external datum. It defines the ability to ask what stands behind phenomena as a direct continuation of the correction of the sin of the spies through the section of tzitzit. It closes with the statement, “So, Shabbat shalom.”

Good morning. We’ll talk a bit about the Torah portion of Shelach. I’ll start with a kind of framework taken from the overall movement of the portion, and after that I’ll try to apply it a little. The portion deals mainly with the sin of the spies, and in that context Moses sends the spies to scout out the land of Canaan. They return—the story is well known—with pessimistic predictions, the people cry, punishments are decreed upon them, and at the end of the portion, after a few more sections along the way, the portion concludes with the section of tzitzit. And people have already pointed out that there is a connection between the sin of the spies and the section of tzitzit. Maybe you can see it through the verses. I’ll begin, perhaps, with the discussion that appears regarding the sin of the spies: the spies were sent to scout out the land, and they return with a factual report of what they think the land is like. And for that they are punished. So many have already asked: what exactly did they do wrong? All in all, they did their job. They were sent to bring intelligence, they brought intelligence—so why are there complaints against them? It seems that the claim against them is rooted in some motif that appears throughout the portion. I’m marking here verses that I collected for this purpose. The verb that appears perhaps most dominantly throughout the portion is the verb “to scout out” / “to tour.” In the initial command of the Holy One, blessed be He, it says there, “Send for yourself men, and let them scout out the land of Canaan.” A few verses later: “These are the names of the men whom Moses sent to scout out the land.” Another verse after that: “And Moses sent them to scout out the land of Canaan.” Then: “And they went up and scouted out the land from the wilderness of Zin to Rehov, to the entrance of Hamath.” Another verse, verse 25: “And they returned from scouting out the land at the end of forty days.” Verse 32: “And they spread an evil report of the land which they had scouted out to the children of Israel, saying: The land through which we passed to scout it out is a land that devours its inhabitants, and all the people we saw in it are men of great stature.” And at the end, already in the next chapter, Joshua and Caleb—the ones who stand against the ten spies—“Joshua son of Nun and Caleb son of Jephunneh, from among those who had scouted out the land, tore their garments. And they said to all the congregation of the children of Israel, saying: The land through which we passed to scout it out—the land is exceedingly, exceedingly good.” In other words, the verb “to scout out” is perhaps the main verb, the main theme, threading through this whole episode of the sin of the spies. And of course that immediately raises the association to the same verb that appears in the section of tzitzit. It says, “And you shall not go scouting after your hearts and after your eyes.” And from that context it is fairly clear that the section of tzitzit comes, in some sense, to repair the sin of the spies. How does it repair it? In the sin of the spies, at least in our Hebrew today, in the sin of the spies they basically went to tour the land. Tourists who pass through different places, see things, peek around, look, get an impression, and move on. Whereas apparently what was required of the spies was not to be tourists, but to try to think about what underlies things, what stands at their foundation, and not just to bring the facts as they appear. And maybe that really was the claim against them, and the section of tzitzit comes to teach us that we must not just go scouting. “And you shall not go scouting after your hearts and after your eyes”—we need to look more deeply into things and not just at what seems to us to be before our eyes, and that is the repair of the sin of the spies. In that context you really can see it. Rashi, after all, brings a midrash regarding the sin of the spies. He brings a midrash that the spies passed through various places and saw that the inhabitants of the land were burying their dead. They say: this is a land that devours its inhabitants. That is, they are very impressed by the land and its fruits—they even bring examples—but there is some problem here: this land devours its inhabitants. And the midrash says that they did not notice that this was happening everywhere they arrived. The Holy One, blessed be He, killed the inhabitants of the land so that they would not pay attention to them. And therefore these phenomena, if they had looked at what stood behind them, they would have discovered that the picture was the reverse of what they described. The land does not devour its inhabitants; on the contrary, the Holy One, blessed be He, is helping them and seeing to it that they are not harmed and not noticed—and likewise He is supposed to help us conquer the land. And that is contrary to the conclusion they reached when they returned to the wilderness, to the people of Israel in the wilderness. Maybe in this context it is worth contrasting Moses’ spies with Joshua’s spies. Joshua’s spies do something that seems, on the face of it, the opposite of what Moses’ spies did. Joshua’s spies come to the house of Rahab, one woman, question her about the situation—what is the state of the land, the camps, the fortresses, where the inhabitants of the land are living, what their mood is, what their morale is—and basically that is the main thing they did. Afterward they return to Joshua and tell him what they inferred from Rahab’s words. And that is really an antithesis to what Moses’ spies did. On the face of it, Moses’ spies were much more systematic. They went through the land from one end to the other, they brought samples. Everything was empirical. That is, they relied on examples. They made a comprehensive survey of the whole land and brought verified, complete information about what they saw. And precisely that is called scouting in a shallow and insufficiently deep way. For that they are held accountable. Joshua’s spies, by contrast, basically make do with interviewing one woman. They did not go everywhere, they did not conduct a general survey, they did not bring samples. They just interviewed one woman—let’s call it an in-depth interview—and from that they formed an opinion about what the situation was there in Jericho, how much chance there was of defeating them in war. It’s a bit reminiscent of this new trend in the social sciences. There’s a trend called qualitative research. Usually the social sciences, because they somehow try to cope with or compete with the natural sciences, had a tradition of trying to stick as closely as possible to facts, statistics, quantitative data, as much as possible. In the social sciences that’s harder. And they tried to create a knowledge base that was as reliable, factual, objective, empirical, and quantitative as possible. At some stage various researchers got up and said that this method does not really succeed in getting to the root of things. And so they claim that sometimes it is preferable to take a few individuals, interview them in depth, and try to get a sense of what really underlies the phenomena being studied, rather than going for the general view, the quantitative data, the statistics of all people. Sometimes the specific look at the particular people I’m talking to gives me a deeper layer regarding the topic than objective statistics, facts, and quantitative data. In a certain sense, Joshua’s spies did qualitative research. They essentially interviewed one woman, an in-depth interview, and from that tried to understand the condition of the inhabitants of the land, how much chance there was of defeating them. And Moses’ spies were doing quantitative research. They went through the whole land, they made statistics, they checked, they brought samples. That’s empirical research. And in the end, at least from what emerges from the biblical description, it seems to me that the ones who grasped reality better were actually Joshua’s spies, who did not cling to the facts and numerical data, but tried to form an impression from an interview with one specific woman. And therefore this says that sometimes we can be like tourists—go through the whole land, look here, look there, collect supposedly all the facts, be impressed—but we will miss the essence, miss the substantial thing in the whole story, if we do not go into depth, even if only at one specific point, and really try to see what is going on behind it. Very often we stand by, pass by various phenomena, form some impression, and move on. We do not bother trying to think about what really stands behind those phenomena. The example that always comes to my mind in this context: there is a famous photograph by Alex Levac, the well-known photographer—not a drawing, a photograph—the well-known photographer, recipient of the Israel Prize. On the cover of one of his books there is a picture of the statue of Herzl at HaSira Junction at the entrance to Herzliya, and beneath it several Arab workers are repairing the statue. Now I look at that picture and it is really a masterpiece: Herzl, with his vision of a Hebrew state—even his statue is being repaired by Arab workers. Now I thought to myself when I saw that picture that if I had walked by that statue and seen Arab workers repairing it, I would not have stopped and I would not have given one extra thought to what is happening there. I would have walked by and continued on. What is it? A prosaic phenomenon that you can see plenty of everywhere. But a photographer, or someone with an artistic inclination, when he sees that same situation that I also pass by, he doesn’t pass by it. He notices what it expresses, what lies behind it. And he says to himself: there is something very interesting here, something that even expresses a point of depth in our society today, and therefore he grabs his camera and photographs it. By the way, I later saw that he said some friend of his was actually the one who noticed and called him quickly to come photograph it, so there was another person there with artistic discernment. But that is exactly the difference between passing by things like a tourist—looking, being impressed, moving on, not asking yourself what it means—and noticing what actually lies at the root of things, what they express; there is some point here, a deeper point. In that context one can bring the midrash on the section of tzitzit, where the midrash says—after all, I said that the section of tzitzit repairs this tour, tells us: do depth research and try to think about what lies behind things. And that is what it says there: “And it shall be for you as tzitzit, and you shall see it and remember all the commandments of the Lord and do them, and you shall not go scouting after your hearts and after your eyes, after which you stray.” So here the repair is that we do not scout—we learn not to scout, but to look in depth. And indeed, in the section of tzitzit, the Talmud in Menachot brings this midrash: “It was taught: Rabbi Meir would say, Why is blue different from all other colors? Because blue resembles the sea, and the sea resembles the sky, and the sky resembles the Throne of Glory, as it is said: ‘And under His feet was the like of a paved work of sapphire stone, and like the very heaven for clearness.’ And it is written: ‘The appearance of a sapphire stone, the likeness of a throne.’” So basically what tzitzit teaches us is: look, you see blue. Fine—a thread dyed blue. Every thread is dyed some color, so what is there to look at a second time? I pass by that thread like a tourist. And then the Sages say: no, no, pay attention. This thread is actually coming to tell you something; it is dyed blue. Why? Why specifically blue and not something else? After all, the Torah commanded that it be dyed blue; it didn’t happen on its own. Apparently there is some reason that specifically the color blue was chosen. And then you ask—you are supposed to ask yourself—why specifically blue? “Why is blue different from all other colors?” Because blue resembles the sea, and the sea resembles the sky, and the sky resembles the Throne of Glory. You ask yourself what lies in the depth of the phenomenon you are passing by—“and you shall see them.” You see the tzitzit; instead of “and you shall not go scouting,” you are supposed to see: notice what this tzitzit is actually saying. What it is saying is that specifically blue—and that blue resembles the sea, and the sea resembles the sky, and the sky resembles the Throne of Glory. And then “you shall remember all My commandments” is fulfilled. The deeper contemplation of what stands before my eyes is actually the repair of the sin of the spies. In this context, like the story I told about Alex Levac, the Talmud in Berakhot brings a similar story about King David. Rabbi Yohanan said in the name of Rabbi Shimon ben Yohai: What is the meaning of that which is written, “She opens her mouth with wisdom, and a Torah of kindness is on her tongue”? About whom did Solomon say this verse? They said it only concerning David his father, who lived in five worlds and sang praise. He dwelled in his mother’s womb and sang praise, as it is said: “Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me bless His holy name.” He emerged into the air of the world and looked at the stars and constellations and sang praise, as it is said: “Bless the Lord, His angels, mighty in strength, who do His word, obeying the voice of His word; bless the Lord, all His hosts,” and so on. He suckled from his mother’s breasts and looked at her breasts and sang praise, as it is said: “Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all His benefits.” What is “all His benefits”? Rabbi Abbahu said: that He placed breasts at the place of understanding. He wondered why the breasts of the woman, of the mother from whom he suckles, are located where they are, unlike animals whose udders are closer to the sexual organs; in a woman it is located farther away. Why is that? So that he should not look at the place of nakedness. Rav Mattana said: so that he should not suckle from a place of filth. He saw the downfall of the wicked and sang praise, as it is said: “Let sinners cease from the earth, and let the wicked be no more; bless the Lord, O my soul, hallelujah.” He looked at the day of death and sang praise, as it is said: “Bless the Lord, O my soul; Lord my God, You are very great, You are clothed in glory and majesty.” What indicates that this refers to the day of death? In other words, King David basically passed through five contexts that every one of us passes through. But King David, as I described before with regard to the photographer Alex Levac—when King David passed by these contexts, he asked himself what they meant. He did not pass by them and sail onward. All kinds of things that all of us simply go through: everyone suckles from his mother’s breasts, dwells in his mother’s womb, comes out into the air of the world, sees stars, sees constellations—you see all of it. But only Abraham our father once stopped and asked, “Lift your eyes on high and see Who created these—who turns the sphere?” All of us see nature operating all the time, and we do not stop to ask ourselves what lies behind it. And the artist, the one who looks at the depth of things, asks himself in relation to those same prosaic situations that we all pass by, what actually lies behind them. Not “to scout,” but “and you shall see them.” He looks at things and tries to understand what lies at their root, rather than scouting and passing by them. So King David is distinguished in this; this is the “Torah of kindness” about which King Solomon says that he is distinguished by passing by situations and noticing that there is something special there about which to sing praise. In that sense, he is like Joshua’s spies and not like Moses’ spies. I want to bring here specifically halakhic aspects of this obligation to contemplate. If we apply this to the world of learning, then in the world of learning too you can pass by a topic, study it, understand what it says, and move on—that is what is called broad, fluent learning. And you can study in analytical learning. Analytical learning is to pass by those same things but to ask: why is this so? Why is it like this? If it is defined this way or that way, what is the relation between this and another context? Questions, answers, trying to build, to define things—you pass by the very same thing and ask yourself what its essence is, what it is saying to me. You try to analyze what lies behind it. And in that sense I think analytical learning differs from broad learning in the same way that Joshua’s spies differ from Moses’ spies. Broad learning is to scout through the Talmud, while analytical learning is to try to understand what actually lies behind what the Talmud presents. So the obligation of “and you shall not go scouting after your hearts and after your eyes” seems to me something that can be applied in many contexts in life, and also in the context of learning. In the learning context too, we are supposed to fulfill “and you shall see them,” and not merely scout after our hearts and after our eyes, but rather to use our minds. And in that context I want to bring two examples, the second of which will actually be from our own portion, from the section of tzitzit itself—I will try to demonstrate it. But before that, perhaps one other example from a different portion—really from last week’s Torah portion. The section of the Second Passover, where regarding the Second Passover the tanna’im disagreed on whether the Second Passover is compensation for the First Passover or whether the Second Passover is a festival in its own right. On the face of it, this is a really strange thing. In last week’s portion, it is described that the people came to Moses—people who were impure or on a distant road—and said to Moses: we were unable to offer the Passover sacrifice; what solution do you propose for us? Then Moses asks the Holy One, blessed be He, and He gives them the commandment of the Second Passover. The Second Passover comes for one who did not manage to do the First Passover. Seemingly you cannot say it more unequivocally than that: the Second Passover is compensation for the First Passover. Right? It seems a very clear conclusion from the verses. And yet Rabbi and Rabbi Natan argue about it, and in Jewish law we rule like Rabbi—Jewish law follows Rabbi over his colleague—that the Second Passover is a festival in its own right. It is not compensation for the First Passover. Literally in direct contradiction to what is described in the verses. Now Rabbi also does not dispute the fact that one who brought the First Passover is exempt from the Second Passover. That was clear even to Rabbi—it is written in the Torah. And still Rabbi says the Second Passover is a festival in its own right; it is not compensation for the First Passover. How does he derive that from the verses, and how does it fit the verses? Maybe I’ll first bring the practical implication so it will be clear what we are talking about. The Talmud brings—and so too Maimonides brings—what happens if a minor becomes bar mitzvah on the first of Iyar. Then the question is whether he is obligated in the Second Passover. If the Second Passover is a festival in its own right, then he is obligated, because when he reaches the Second Passover he is already bar mitzvah plus two weeks, so he is obligated like all the Jewish people in every commandment. And since it is a festival in its own right, he is obligated to bring the Second Passover, even though at the First Passover he was still a minor. But if the Second Passover is compensation for the First Passover, then since at the First Passover he was a minor and not obligated, the fact that he did not perform the First Passover does not generate compensation. He was not obligated at all. So in that case he also would not be obligated to observe the Second Passover. In other words, if the Second Passover is compensatory, then a minor who came of age between the two Passovers, or a convert who converted between the two Passovers, is not obligated to observe the Second Passover, because he has nothing to make up—he was not obligated in the First Passover. By contrast, if it is a festival in its own right, then both a convert who converted between the two Passovers and a minor who came of age between the two Passovers are obligated to bring the Second Passover. So that is the practical implication. But I return to the basic question: how does Rabbi arrive at this conclusion, that the Second Passover is a festival in its own right? Here I’ll just lay out the two possibilities in order to clarify my point without going into too many details. We have some tendency to think that once there is a connection—statisticians call this confusing correlation with causation—when I see a correlation between two variables, they always come together, my assumption is that one of them is the cause of the other. But that is not always true. Sometimes there is a correlation that is not the result of a causal relation, for all kinds of reasons. It could be that A is not the cause of B, but the reverse: B is the cause of A. It could be that there is a third cause producing both of them, but between themselves one is not the cause of the other. There are all kinds of famous jokes about this, like: it’s not worth going on a diet, because everyone who goes on a diet is fat. So you see that dieting causes obesity. Better not to go on a diet. What’s the mistake there? Of course, the direction of the correlation is the opposite. People who are fat therefore go on a diet, not because they go on a diet they become fat. The connection runs from the fatness to the diet, not from the diet to the fatness. Therefore the conclusion is wrong; someone who goes on a diet will not become fat. So the correlation remains in place. Usually dieting comes together with fatness, but the direction of the correlation—who is the cause and who is the effect—is a separate question that has to be discussed on its own. Or, I don’t know, Leibniz’s parable. Leibniz brings a parable that we see two clocks that always show the same time, perfectly synchronized, constantly showing the same time. We have several interpretive possibilities regarding that. We could say that clock A is the cause of clock B. We could say that clock B is the cause of clock A. And we could say that there was something third that was the cause of both of them, that synchronized both and caused them to move in parallel—in that case, the clockmaker who built them. So that is another possible interpretation of correlation. So correlation can be interpreted either as mere coincidence—though then you need to check statistical significance—or, even if it is not a coincidence, that still does not mean that A is the cause of B. It could be that B is the cause of A. It could be that C is the cause of both, of both A and B. Therefore, when we see a correlation between two things, we need to be very careful about the interpretation we give that correlation. The question is what it means. Very often we find medical studies, for example, publicized all the time, saying they found a correlation between smoking and cancer. Does that mean that smoking causes cancer? The answer is of course no. Because it is entirely possible that cancer causes a tendency to smoke—maybe that’s it. Who said this correlation runs from smoking to cancer? Maybe it runs from cancer to smoking. Or another example: I once saw a letter from a professor at the Technion who wrote that the State of Israel should very much increase its investment in higher education, because around the world countries that invest heavily in higher education have a higher GDP. And if we want to increase GDP, it is worth investing in higher education. Which is of course an argument that is, let’s say, not necessary, to put it gently. Why? Because it is entirely possible that the direction of the correlation is the opposite. Since those countries have a high GDP, they have enough money, and therefore they invest in higher education. That is a privilege that only rich countries can afford. And this does not mean that the direction of influence runs from investment in higher education to increasing GDP. Maybe an increase in GDP caused the investment in higher education. And so on. You can see this in many places. It is not so simple to extract from statistical data who is the cause and who is the effect. For that you need regressions; for that you need to do all kinds of things. It is not simple. What we can find are correlations. The question is what the meaning of the correlation is, what the explanation is, what the direction of influence is. That is another question, and it has to be discussed separately. If I return to Rabbi and the Second Passover, basically Rabbi is teaching us a similar lesson: “Do not go scouting after your hearts and after your eyes.” When you read the verses, you think that if one who did not observe the First Passover alone is obligated in the Second Passover, and one who did observe the First Passover is exempt from the Second Passover, you immediately jump to the conclusion: not doing the First Passover is the cause of the obligation in the Second Passover, and therefore one who observed the First Passover is exempt from the Second Passover, right? That is the compensatory model. That is how Rabbi Natan understood it. Rabbi Natan understood that the Second Passover is compensation for the First Passover. Rabbi says: not at all. That absolutely does not have to be so. It is entirely possible that it works the other way around. The Second Passover is a festival in its own right. One who observed the First Passover is exempt from the Second Passover—not that one who did not observe the First Passover is obligated in the Second Passover, but that one who did observe the First Passover is exempt from the Second Passover. But the Second Passover is a festival in its own right; it is not compensation for the first. It’s just that one who observed the first has somehow already solved the issue or reached the result that needs to be reached, so he is not obligated to observe the Second Passover. The practical difference is in a minor who came of age between the two Passovers or a convert who converted between the two Passovers. When they arrive at the Second Passover—if it is a festival in its own right—they are obligated to observe it. And if I look backward at the First Passover, they did not observe the First Passover, so they were not exempted from observing the Second Passover. True, they were not obligated in the First Passover, but in practice they did not do it. And one who did not do it was not exempted from the obligation to observe the Second Passover. Therefore Rabbi says: the fact that there is a correlation between not observing the First Passover and the obligation in the Second Passover does not mean there is a causal relation between them. It does not mean that because you did not observe the First Passover, therefore you are obligated to observe the Second Passover—that is the compensatory model. Rabbi says the direction of influence may be the reverse. In essence, I am obligated in the Second Passover—it is a festival in its own right. It is just that one who observed the First Passover is exempt from bringing the Second Passover; not that one who did not observe is obligated in the Second Passover. Everyone is obligated in the Second Passover, except that one who observed the First Passover is exempt from observing the Second Passover. So here is an example of the difference between “and you shall see them” and “and you shall not go scouting” on the plane of learning. We pass by two things that seem somehow to have a causal relation, as though A is the cause of B, and in the end we discover that this is not true: it is a correlation that in fact derives from another direction, and there is no causal relation between them. Just like the spies who pass by all kinds of phenomena—a land devouring its inhabitants, look, lots of people burying their dead. Obvious conclusion. Think for a moment: there could be another interpretation, maybe even the opposite. Precisely because you see that around you no one else is burying their inhabitants, and only in the places you reach suddenly people are dying—so think for a moment, perhaps it is not that the land devours its inhabitants, but rather that the Holy One, blessed be He, is accompanying you and making sure you are not caught. The same facts themselves, when we trouble ourselves to think about them and ask what underlies them, suddenly reveal other interpretive possibilities. And then we are actually fulfilling “and you shall see them” instead of scouting after our hearts and after our eyes, instead of looking at the superficiality of things. So that is just one example. But I want to go into an example connected to the section of tzitzit—this is the weekly Torah portion—and I want to apply to it itself the lesson of “and you shall not go scouting after your hearts and after your eyes.” And here, for this purpose, let us bring in Maimonides. Before his Book of the Commandments, Maimonides introduces fourteen principles—he calls them roots, and in Hebrew they translate it as roots. Fourteen roots that determine the rules for counting the commandments: how commandments are counted, what enters into the 613, what counts as a positive commandment, what counts as a prohibition, which details enter and which do not enter, how one gets to 365 prohibitions and 248 positive commandments. So he introduces fourteen rules. The eleventh rule, the eleventh root, is what I’m calling here—the text is up on the screen—that “it is not proper to count the parts of a commandment individually, each part separately, when the collection of them constitutes one commandment.” Maimonides says that if we see a commandment made up of several parts, we do not count each part as a commandment in its own right; rather the whole collection, the whole bundle of parts together, is counted as one commandment. “Sometimes one command will be one commandment.” Let’s read a little. “Sometimes one command will be one commandment. And a palm branch is one commandment in itself, and a branch of a thick tree is one commandment in itself, and willows of the brook are one commandment in themselves”—that is, if we were to count them separately. But “since all these are parts of the commandment, because He commanded us to gather them together, and after gathering them the commandment is the taking of everything in hand on the known day.” Therefore, he says, these are four parts of the same commandment that we have to do all at once on the same day, and therefore it should not be counted as four commandments but as one commandment. “And by this same reasoning,” says Maimonides, “it is not proper to count what is said concerning the leper, that he should be purified with two live birds and cedarwood and hyssop and scarlet wool and living water and an earthen vessel, as six commandments.” It is not six commandments; it is one procedure for the purification of the leper made up of six details. “But the purification of the leper is one commandment in all its features, and what is required in it from these and other things”—meaning shaving, for example—“for all these are parts of the commandment we were commanded in, namely the purification of the leper, and that it should be in this form.” It is a description of the commandment made up of six details, but the commandment is one commandment. “And this same reasoning applies to the identifying marks that we were commanded to impose on the leper during his impurity so that people would distance him, as it says: ‘His clothes shall be torn, his head shall be left bare, he shall cover his upper lip, and he shall cry out: Impure, impure.’ None of these actions is a commandment in itself, but their collection is the commandment.” The whole bundle of them. “And it is that we were commanded to make an identifying sign for the leper so that everyone who sees him should recognize him and distance him, and his recognition should be by such-and-such.” Just as we were commanded to rejoice before the Lord on the first festival of Sukkot, and so on. Now he goes on to discuss, for example, the four species. Maybe I’ll read one more section before going on. Here there is a key sentence. “Like the four species of the lulav and the showbread with the pure frankincense that is placed with it, regarding which their language in Menachot is: the arrangements and the bowls are indispensable to one another—behold, this makes it clear that it is one commandment.” We see that the things depend on one another, the details depend on one another, as also with the four species—you cannot take only three of them and fulfill the commandment; only all four together. Therefore this is one commandment; otherwise they would not have been indispensable to one another. And there Maimonides continues: “And likewise, whenever it becomes clear to you that the desired purpose cannot be attained by one part alone of those parts, then it is clear that their combination is the matter being counted.” If we understand that the purpose of the commandment is reached only if I do all the details together, then apparently the gathering of all the details together is the commandment. Like the identification of the leper, and so on. Now look at the reservation he writes here. “But the place of difficulty is with those things about which they said: they are not indispensable to one another.” There are parts of commandments that do not make each other indispensable. “For one might think that, since each of these parts does not need the other, each part should be a commandment in itself.” If they are not indispensable, as he said earlier, parts that are indispensable to each other join to become one commandment. But parts that are not indispensable to one another are apparently the other side of the coin—that these are probably several commandments, because they are not indispensable to one another. He says: no, it is not so simple. In things that are not indispensable to one another, you cannot necessarily conclude that these are different commandments. Sometimes it will still be one commandment even though they are not indispensable to one another. So this is what he writes: “For one might think that, since each of these parts does not need the other, each part should be a commandment in itself.” “As they said in Menachot: the blue does not make the white indispensable, and the white does not make the blue indispensable.” We have come back to the section of tzitzit. In the section of tzitzit, the Mishnah in Menachot says that the blue and the white do not make one another indispensable. So we would think that these are really two different commandments, because they are not indispensable to one another. “And we might have said that white and blue should be counted as two commandments, were it not for what we found from the Sages, may their memory be blessed, an explicit formulation in the Mekhilta of Rabbi Ishmael. There they say: ‘Could it be that they are two commandments—the commandment of blue and the commandment of white? Scripture therefore says: “And it shall be for you as tzitzit”—it is one commandment and not two commandments.’” So the Sages tell us that even though the blue and the white do not make each other indispensable, nevertheless this is one commandment. “Behold, it has now become clear to you” that even parts that are not indispensable to one another can sometimes be one commandment when the matter is one matter, “because the intent of tzitzit is ‘that you may remember.’” So the goal of the commandment—of the blue and the white together—is to remember the commandments. And therefore this is one commandment, even though the white and the blue do not make one another indispensable. “If so, the general rule is that whatever compels remembrance is counted as one commandment.” So we see that there is sometimes a situation where details do not make one another indispensable and yet their combination together is one commandment, and not that each of them is counted as a different commandment. But there are other situations, as Rabbi Abraham son of Maimonides brings, and there is extensive correspondence between him and Rabbi Daniel the Babylonian in Sefer Ma’aseh Nissim, where they bring the commandment of tefillin—the continuation of that same Mishnah. The Mishnah says: “The blue does not make the white indispensable, and the white does not make the blue indispensable. The hand-tefillin do not make the head-tefillin indispensable, and the head-tefillin do not make the hand-tefillin indispensable.” Astonishingly, Maimonides counts the commandment of tzitzit—the blue and the white—as one commandment, as parts of one commandment. But in tefillin Maimonides counts two commandments: hand-tefillin and head-tefillin. In other words, here are two cases appearing in the same Mishnah, in each of which there are parts that do not make one another indispensable. In tzitzit it is one commandment, and in tefillin it is two commandments. And Maimonides here hints at the difference. He says: when the goal that we want to achieve through the two details is one goal, then even though they are not indispensable to one another, it is one commandment. When these are two different goals, then it is counted as two different commandments. I’ll finish reading Maimonides: “What remains for us, then, is not to look, in counting the commandments, at whether they are indispensable or not indispensable to one another. Rather, only at the matter itself—whether it is one matter or many matters—as we explained in the ninth root of these roots that we are striving to explain.” In other words, when you see details that are indispensable to one another, that is certainly one commandment. When you see details that are not indispensable to one another, it is not certain. Sometimes it is one commandment, sometimes it is two. You have to look for either a hint among the Sages or try to think about the meaning of these details, and based on that you decide whether this is one commandment or two. Nachmanides, in his glosses here, goes on at length attacking Maimonides on this issue. He does not understand what the difference is. What is the difference between tzitzit and tefillin? In both cases they are not indispensable to one another. He says more than that: with tefillin it seems even more that their matter is one. “Do not go scouting after your hearts and after your eyes.” “After your eyes” is head-tefillin; “after your hearts” is hand-tefillin. After all, “do not go scouting” is written in the section of tzitzit, in our Torah portion, but the Sages interpret it in relation to head-tefillin. “And you shall not go scouting after your hearts and after your eyes.” “And they shall be as frontlets between your eyes”—so the matter of the commandment of hand-tefillin and head-tefillin is one matter. So the fact that they are not indispensable to one another still should mean they are counted as one commandment. Why does Maimonides count them as two commandments? That is Nachmanides’ attack, and in short he does not understand Maimonides’ criterion. He says maybe it is because with tzitzit it is done in one act—I put on the tzitzit and it includes both the blue and the white. But with tefillin I put on the hand-tefillin and put on the head-tefillin; these are two different acts, so maybe that is why they are counted as two commandments. But in Maimonides there is no hint of that criterion. It is not because of how many acts we do, but the question whether the matter of the commandment is one or whether there are several matters here. I’ll speak briefly; I’ll show briefly the “do not go scouting” in relation to this issue. Basically, what we are asking here is why we do not just go after the revealed facts, what we passed by. Why do we not just scout the issue? After all, what do we see in the end? Commandments whose parts are indispensable to one another are one kind of thing, and other commandments have parts that are not indispensable to one another. The obvious conclusion—as we would apparently tell ourselves—is that what is indispensable to one another combines into one commandment, and things that are not indispensable to one another are probably separate commandments. Maimonides says: no—“do not go scouting after your hearts and after your eyes,” on the very section of “do not go scouting after your hearts and after your eyes.” In this section itself, do not fail by scouting after your hearts and after your eyes. Think about what lies in the depth of things. So what if one is not indispensable to the other? There can be several interpretations. You remember exactly the correlation in the case of the Second Passover? Here too it is the same thing. We apparently see the same characteristics: with tefillin this does not make that indispensable, and with tzitzit this does not make that indispensable. So the conclusion is: it is probably the same thing. Maimonides says no—do not go scouting after your hearts and after your eyes. There can be different interpretations, and indeed there are different interpretations. With tzitzit, even though it is not indispensable, it is one commandment; with tefillin, because they are not indispensable, it is two commandments. Why? Because you have to ask yourself what lies behind this issue. It is not enough to stick to the revealed facts. Do qualitative research. Don’t just scout and look at the facts and cling to the facts—as though that is the most grounded and solid science. No. Sometimes clinging to the facts is the most misleading thing there is. If you think carefully about what lies behind the facts, you will arrive at the opposite conclusion from the conclusion you reach when you cling to the facts. That was the claim against the spies sent by Moses our teacher. So therefore, Maimonides tells us: look. Maybe I’ll formulate it this way. Here, let us see what the meaning is. We spoke about the First Passover and the Second Passover and saw that although there is correlation there, it is not clear what the causal connection is between the things. Now we are speaking about a situation where there is a similarity between tefillin and tzitzit, in that this does not make that indispensable, and still I am not necessarily allowed to infer an equal conclusion between these two contexts. There can be several interpretations of this when one takes a second look—not merely scouting, but fulfilling “and you shall see them.” So let us try to think for a moment: what possibilities do we have for understanding the relations between parts of a commandment and the commandment as a whole? I would say there can be three kinds of relations. We could say—let’s speak about tzitzit, for example. Fine, so there is blue and white, which together make up the concept tzitzit. We could give that three interpretations. One interpretation: there is value in the fulfillment of blue, and there is value in the fulfillment of white. And there is value in fulfilling both. If I fulfill blue alone, the white is not indispensable to it. But what does that mean? Does it mean that I fulfilled the commandment of tzitzit, only in an incomplete way? Or no—did I fulfill the commandment of blue and not the commandment of tzitzit? In other words, when I fulfill the part—the blue alone or the white alone—does that mean I fulfilled the commandment of blue? Or no, I fulfilled the commandment of tzitzit, only incompletely, because I am lacking the white? Two possibilities. In each of these two possibilities there is value to fulfilling the blue alone. The question is only what that value is. Is the value the value of tzitzit, just not attained fully, or is there value to doing blue? So those are two possibilities. Okay—one possibility is that each part has independent value, and another possibility is that each part has the value of tzitzit in its fullness, just not attained completely. In order to attain the full value of tzitzit, one needs to fulfill both the blue and the white. And the third possibility is to say that no part has any value by itself at all. Only when I do both the blue and the white do I actually perform the commandment of tzitzit. If I do the blue alone or the white alone, I did nothing; it has no significance. Now perhaps one more point. When we say that the blue does not make the white indispensable and the white does not make the blue indispensable—so let’s say that we wear, yes, many people wear only white without blue, because they do not accept the new blue that has now been found, so they wear white tzitzit and the blue does not make it indispensable—people have some feeling, in my opinion a mistaken one, that the commandment of blue is only a recommendation. It is voluntary, a fulfillment-type commandment if you like. It is not obligatory. After all, the white does not make the blue indispensable—that means wear the white without blue, and you’re fine. The question is: what does it mean that the blue does not make the white indispensable? Does that mean that blue is just a recommendation, or some enhancement of the commandment, or something like that? Or no: the absence of blue does not mean that you should not wear white. But if you wore white without blue, you did not fulfill the commandment of blue. Clearly blue is a positive commandment that one is obligated to wear. One who does not wear blue has neglected a positive commandment. It is just that this does not mean that if you do not have blue you should not wear white. Wear white. Just know that even if you wear white, you have fulfilled the commandment of white but neglected the blue. This is what it means that the blue does not make the white indispensable. I’ll say something even more extreme. There are people who think that enhancement of a commandment—“This is my God and I will glorify Him”—after all, enhancement of a commandment does not make the commandment indispensable. If I took a citron that was not beautified, I fulfilled my obligation of the commandment. It’s just not enhanced. Is the enhancement of the citron only voluntary? Is it not obligatory? Not necessarily. We derive enhancement of the commandment from “This is my God and I will glorify Him.” So there is an obligation to beautify commandments. True, if I performed the commandment in an un-beautified way, I fulfilled the obligation of the commandment; but I did not fulfill the commandment of enhancement. I neglected the commandment of enhancement. So who says enhancement is only a fulfillment-type commandment? Or voluntary? Or some kind of extra beyond the obligation? No. It may be a fully obligatory positive commandment, and one who does not do it has neglected it. Still, the enhancement does not make the commandment itself indispensable. If you did not do the enhancement, you still fulfilled the obligation of the commandment. That is true. But that does not mean enhancement is not fully obligatory. The same with blue and white. When I wear white without blue, does that mean nothing happened? Because after all, the blue does not make the white indispensable. Not necessarily. The blue not making the white indispensable means that if you do not have blue, then wear white. But that does not mean you fulfilled the obligation of blue. There is an obligation to wear blue, and you did not do it. You neglected the positive commandment of blue—perhaps under compulsion because you do not have blue, but you neglected the positive commandment of blue. But of course that assumes there is a positive commandment of blue and a positive commandment of white, and they do not make one another indispensable. Okay. We could have said no—the blue and white together create the concept of tzitzit. And then what? There could have been a situation where they were indispensable. In other words, if blue or white were missing, then there simply would be no tzitzit here. Then we would say the blue and white are indispensable to one another. And the Mishnah says no. So that option does not exist. But there is still another option. Granted, they are not indispensable to one another, but when I wore the blue—or I wore just the white, sorry, without the blue—I fulfilled the commandment of tzitzit, not the commandment of white. I just fulfilled it incompletely. Because to fulfill it completely, you need to fulfill it with the white and blue together. And when I did it only with white, without the blue, I fulfilled it incompletely. That is all. But I fulfilled the commandment of tzitzit, not the commandment of white. The white and blue together form the complete concept of tzitzit. Therefore even though they are not indispensable to one another, pay attention—even though they are not indispensable to one another, the blue and the white combine together to be the concept of tzitzit. So why are they not indispensable? After all, if there is only white without blue, then apparently there is no tzitzit here. No—that is not true. It is not that there is no tzitzit here. There is tzitzit here, just not complete tzitzit. Not every feature of a concept is indispensable to it, in the sense that without that feature it ceases to be the concept altogether. Think of a horse that is missing a leg. Every horse has four legs. If we meet a horse whose leg has been amputated, is it not a horse? Of course it is a horse; it is just not a whole horse. Fine? So the trait of having four legs is not an essential trait that makes the concept horse indispensable. You can still be a horse with three legs, even though this is a trait found in all horses—that they have four legs. The same is true here. The blue and the white together form the concept of tzitzit. But that does not mean that if I do not have blue and I only have white, what I have here is white. No—what I have here is tzitzit. It is just incomplete tzitzit, because it is only the white without the blue. Therefore that means that when I wore the white, I fulfilled the commandment of tzitzit, not the commandment of white. And this is what Maimonides says. Maimonides says: look, the blue and the white do not make each other indispensable. Therefore the option that blue and white together constitute the concept of tzitzit in such a way that without either one there is simply no tzitzit—that option falls away. Because if that were so, they would make each other indispensable. If you had only white or only blue, you would have fulfilled nothing. Therefore that option is clearly out. But, says Maimonides, there are still two options left. One option is that there is a commandment of white and a commandment of blue, and therefore they do not make each other indispensable. Perform the commandment of white or perform the commandment of blue. You need to do both, but if you did one of them that is also something. Clearly, if you are missing the blue, you are not exempt from the commandment of white. Okay? And therefore if it were such a case, it would be counted as two commandments. That is the case with tefillin, says Maimonides. Therefore tefillin are counted as two commandments. But with tzitzit, says Maimonides, even though the blue and the white do not make one another indispensable, it is counted as one commandment. Why? Because with tzitzit, the relation between the blue and the white is not like the relation between hand-tefillin and head-tefillin. With tzitzit, the blue and the white together create the concept of tzitzit. There is no concept of white separately and concept of blue separately. There is the concept of tzitzit. Even white alone is tzitzit—it is just incomplete tzitzit. The blue is missing. Complete tzitzit needs to be made of blue and white. Therefore ideally you need to do both. But if you have only the white and not the blue, then you have performed the commandment of tzitzit incompletely. But you have performed the commandment of tzitzit. In other words, the blue and the white together—it is not that blue is one commandment and white is one commandment, but that together they constitute one complete commandment called tzitzit. The fact that they are not indispensable to one another is because neither has independent value; rather each of them is an incomplete way of fulfilling the complete commandment, the commandment of tzitzit. Therefore it is not indispensable. But still, the blue and white together create one whole commandment of “and you shall see it and remember all My commandments.” And that is in contrast to tefillin, where this is “do not go scouting after your hearts” and that is “do not go scouting after your eyes”—two different aims. It is not that the two together serve one common goal, attain one common goal together. With tzitzit, yes. With tzitzit apparently “blue resembles the sea, and the sea resembles the sky, and the sky resembles the Throne of Glory”—this comes out of the contrast between blue and white. You need the blue and white together in order to sharpen the contrast. But if you do not have the contrast, fine, it is still tzitzit. And if you like, this really appears in the section of tzitzit itself. In the section of tzitzit we find—just a second—well, for some reason I deleted it here from the screen, so I’ll say it by heart. In the section of tzitzit we find: “And it shall be for you as tzitzit.” What does that mean? “And you shall see it”—“and they shall place on the tzitzit of the corner a thread of blue, and it shall be for you as tzitzit.” What does that mean? The concept tzitzit is a concept that exists even before the blue, and the Torah requires: place blue on the tzitzit, place it upon it. That means we see that this thing is tzitzit even before I put on the blue; the Torah just wants that when I make the tzitzit, I also place blue in it, not suffice with white alone. So that means that the concept tzitzit exists even when I have only plain white, without blue. The blue merely completes the concept, makes it whole. In the verses themselves it says what Maimonides says. Because Maimonides is basically saying there is no concept of blue and concept of white. There is a concept of tzitzit. And the concept of tzitzit is composed of blue and white together. And in the verses it is explicit that the tzitzit is called tzitzit even when it is plain white, and then we are commanded to place on it a thread of blue, on the tzitzit, in order to turn it into complete tzitzit. But it is called tzitzit even with plain white. Says Maimonides: if so, then even though the blue and the white do not make one another indispensable, still this is one complete commandment. Blue and white together combine to be one commandment, namely the commandment of tzitzit. By contrast with tefillin, there are hand-tefillin and head-tefillin. There is no commandment of tefillin made up of hand and head. There is a commandment of hand-tefillin and a commandment of head-tefillin. Therefore there it is two different commandments; they do not create one whole. I’ll just say parenthetically in conclusion that if you want to go even further in not scouting after your hearts and after your eyes but rather looking deeply—even so, the fact that hand-tefillin and head-tefillin are both called by the same term, both are called tefillin. True, there is no hint there that the combination of them creates one whole called tefillin. It is not like tzitzit. This is hand-tefillin and that is head-tefillin. There is no tefillin made up of hand plus head. Okay? It is not like tzitzit, which is a concept composed of white plus blue. But one cannot ignore the fact that hand-tefillin are also called tefillin and head-tefillin are also called tefillin. Both are called tefillin. So there is still something shared between them. The proof is that Maimonides does not discuss the question whether the commandment of lulav and the prohibition of eating pork should be counted as one commandment. There is no connection between them at all, right? He won’t say these are two details, and since they are not indispensable to one another, we count them as two separate commandments. It is totally unrelated; the question does not arise. With tefillin the question does arise. Maimonides discusses why with tefillin we count two commandments and with tzitzit one commandment. Because with tefillin there is still something common between hand-tefillin and head-tefillin. Both come to ensure that we do not go scouting. This is after our hearts and that is after our eyes. But still they have something in common. Therefore here one can begin to discuss it at all. There are pairs of commandments that have no resemblance whatever and are not tied together in the same context, and regarding them we would not ask whether they are two commandments or not. Of course they are two commandments. Tefillin is already something about which one can ask, because they obviously belong to the same context, the same kind. Maimonides says: true, you can ask, but the answer is that they are two commandments and not one. With tzitzit, one can ask, and they do not make one another indispensable. Even though they do not make one another indispensable, one can still ask—and here too the answer is that it is one commandment. By contrast, with the four species, for example, or the bowls of frankincense—in the four species they are indispensable to one another, and therefore it is clear that this is one whole and it is counted as one commandment. In other words, there are actually four levels of relations between different details. There are details that are simply two commandments—there is nothing to discuss. The prohibition of eating pork and the four species—there is no connection. These are two different commandments; the question does not arise. There is tefillin, which are two similar commandments that seem to belong to the same whole; the question arises regarding them, but the answer is still that they are two different commandments. They are not two details of the same commandment; they are two different commandments, because this comes to prevent scouting after the heart and that to prevent scouting after the eyes. Tzitzit—although one does not make the other indispensable, and on the face of it these are two different details—here the answer is already that yes, this is one whole, because they have some common purpose which they attain together, even though they are not indispensable. And if white alone or blue alone could also attain that purpose, still not in a complete way. So they are not indispensable, but on the other hand they are two components that create one whole, and therefore it is counted as one commandment. And the four species of the lulav—that is the fourth example, where it is clear that these are details that are indispensable to one another and all together with all of them together make one commandment. There it is obvious that it is counted as one commandment; on that there is no dispute, and even Nachmanides does not dispute it. With tzitzit Nachmanides disputes it; he says since they are not indispensable to one another, they are two commandments. But with the four species it is clear that it is one commandment because they are indispensable and because it is done in one act, and therefore it is obvious that this is counted as one commandment. What we learn from here, if I go back to the beginning, is that we must not scout after our hearts and after our eyes. We need to fulfill “and you shall see them” also in the world of learning, and even in the study of these very verses themselves: “do not go scouting after your hearts and after your eyes” and “and you shall see them.” Even in these verses we must not scout after our hearts and after our eyes, but rather see what is really written here. Learn the analytical dimension; ask ourselves what stands behind things and not only what we saw before our eyes. Behind these matters there is really an entire philosophical doctrine of what concepts are at all and how parts combine into one concept, but we will not get into that here. For me, the goal was the contrast between “do not go scouting” and “and you shall see them.” So, have a peaceful Sabbath.