Growing up at the turn of the 21st century, it mostly felt like we had life figured out. Our ability to communicate got more savvy by the day. As a child, dial-up internet was slow and required computing in a confined space, but now we are able to communicate with almost anyone around the world from anywhere around the world. The realm of space has mostly been conquered, with our ability to travel anywhere around the world within hours while being able to exchange information anywhere almost instantly. I have also grown up in a time relatively blessed with medical knowledge. As a young child, it seemed that most everyday ailments could be treated with great ease. A headache or stomach ache was nothing to sweat; fevers were mostly controllable and would pass. Doctors always seemed to know what to do. It would be easy to take our hygienic standards for granted and hard to imagine a time in which not everyone did things that were as elementary as ABCs to us. With a little more maturity and sophistication, I would discover examples that demonstrated that my simplistic perception of medical knowledge did not always match with reality. Cancer and AIDS are just two examples of where we have not quite figured it all out. Yet, undeniably, human beings have made incredible advances in health and technology within the last half century and more.

For hundreds of years, Jewish men have worn tzitzit, composed usually of white strings. Yet, the passage found at the end of Parashat Shelach that is recited twice daily indicates that there is something missing from many pairs of tzitzit: they are not all supposed to be white. One string (however interpreted) is supposed to be tekheilet, a shade of blue. Today, some have claimed that we are able to wear tekheilet from the dye of the murex trunculus, and many of us attach tekheilet as one or more of the strings of our tzitzit. Still, clearly, only a certain type of blue was acceptable and it was, for some reason, extremely difficult to find and impossible to replicate for centuries.

In fact, in their book The Rarest Blue, Dr. Baruch and Judy Sterman describe how blue in general is an extremely rare color and in nature was nearly just as rare. Despite how ubiquitous and central blue is in our daily lives, and its being a favorite color for many, blue was chemically and economically difficult to produce. As a result, it was reserved for special occasions. It was high demand in trade and an item highly valued by royalty. When we consider the appearances of tekheilet in the Torah, it is a color central for Avodat Hashem. Tekheilet shows up in parshiyot Terumah through Pekudei (except Ki Tisa) and Bamidbar. What do all of these parshiyot have in common? The Mishkan and its servicemen, the kohanim. The majestic focal points of serving Hashem are worthy of the effort and expenditure in producing tekheilet. The only other place where tekheilet is mentioned is in the context of tzitzit; even there, Professor Jacob Milgrom suggests that Jewish men wearing tzitzit with this dye meant to elevate the status of a layperson, as the Israelite nation is a “kingdom of priests and a holy nation.” Mordekhai was dressed in garments that included tekheilet when Achashverosh wanted to reward him publicly. The point here is that tekheilet was a rare and aristocratic color.

The preciousness of tekheilet along with its scarcity in recent centuries necessarily creates wonder. Indeed, Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik z”l writes that the white in tzitzit represents the rational. Tekheilet, on the other hand, represents the irrational. White is “clarity.” When the Gemara, in Aramaic, wishes to say a concept is clear, it is described as מחוורתא, which means “white.” I might add that white even symbolizes purity and simplicity; hence, the association between white and Yom Kippur. The two go together. When things are straightforward, comprehensible, and orderly, they embody purity and simplicity. Likewise, if a person acts in a pure manner, there is nothing complicated that compromises their actions. Tekheilet is more wondrous and complex. The only things in nature, generally, that are blue are the sky and sea. The color tekheilet represents the reality of the sky and sea – expansive and unattainable. In Parashat Nitzavim, Moshe tells B’nei Yisrael that the Torah is not in heaven or across the sea precisely because that would make Torah unreachable. We miniscule human beings are overpowered by both. As the Gemara in Meanchot (43b) notes, tekheilet is like the sea, and the sea is similar to the sky, and the sky is similar to the Heavenly Throne. In other words, Hashem’s great glory, out of our comprehension, is like the sky and sea, and therefore like tekheilet.

The Rav asserts that Judaism appreciates both the lavan and the tekheilet. As a philosopher, the Rav was well versed in logic and had a great appreciation for the sciences. He notes the landing of a human on the moon as a great achievement in his time, showing the great power of technology in advancing humanity. How much more so in our time. On the other hand, the Rav notes that life is often still complicated. “The science that accomplished a successful space program has still not produced a cure for certain maladies.” We can certainly relate at this moment.

According to the Rav, important lessons are to be learned from a dispute between Rabbi Yehuda Ha-Nasi and the other sages regarding tekheilet and lavan, in light of what we have said. On the one hand, the Mishnah tells us that one can have tzitzit that are just white and that does not prevent one from fulfilling the mitzvah. Likewise, one can have just tekheilet and fulfill the mitzvah. On the other hand, Rabbi Yehuda Ha-Nasi, as quoted in a Baraita in the Gemara, believes that they are mutually preventative. While halakhically, we follow the sages, the Rav is partial towards Rabbi Yehuda Ha-Nasi, that one cannot have the lavan without the tekheilet.

This is because from this dispute, we can learn both faith and humility.

We learn faith because if we were just rational beings, we would never see dreams fulfilled and hopes realized. When the statistical odds are not in our favor, we would have no reason to work hard and to persist. He cites the establishment of the State of Israel as such an example. If we only wear the white on our tzitzit, we see no recourse for a better future. The presence of tekheilet reminds us to appreciate the possibility of the seemingly impossible. With all that is known in our world, we still need faith and hope for the moments in which we do not know.

We also learn humility because with the presence of tekheilet, we learn that there are achievements beyond our grasp. Just like the sky and its expanses are beyond our reach, the Heavenly Throne is beyond our reach. We are not entirely in control of this world; Hashem, however, is. In thinking through these ideas, I find it ironic that our ancestors did not have tekheilet but we seemingly do. Maybe previous generations, in hindsight, needed tekheilet less because there were more unknowns. Perhaps there were people who thought they knew everything, but in the realm of medicine and technology, life was more precarious. We, however, can easily be led to think we know everything and expect science to solve all of our problems. We need both tekheilet and lavan on our tzitzit to remind us that not all is within reach.

During the pandemic through which we are still navigating, both the lessons of faith and humility, as found in tekheilet, are crucial. On the one hand, as we continue to make sense of a disease that does not make sense, the knowledge of which seems to change constantly and is still in its toddler stages of research, we need tekheilet to remind us to have faith that we can emerge from this. Even if solutions seem out of reach, even if we sense despair that this “new normal” will become “normal” for far too long, Hashem will still guide us through this. On the other hand, a student recently asked me for Jewish lessons of the pandemic. Humility is a central one. As we have become accustomed to maintaining control of how the natural elements affect us and the ability to fight them off, we have learned that there is still tekheilet. Baruch Hashem for the great advances we have made in the last century. It has been of tremendous help even in this pandemic. Our ability to use technology to stay connected. has been psychologically lifesaving. But we still have more to learn! And new things continue to appear that we do not yet understand! With all of the lavan we already have, there is still a small amount of tekheilet on the tzitzit, both literally and metaphorically speaking.

The Stermans write that this dialectic between rational and irrational is true within the design of tzitzit themselves. The garment is a confined space with a border, while the tzitzit hang beyond that. Their words speak powerfully for themselves at the juncture at which we find ourselves.

"The hem at the edge of a garment represents the boundary between what is inside, familiar, and comfortable and what is beyond, new, different, and uncertain. When people live in stability and calm following their regular routines, they rarely encounter opportunities ideas, or challenges that require a reevaluation of their fundamental principles. They don’t have to choose between conflicting paths or to weigh the benefits or risks of divergent courses while lacking the necessary data and experiences to decide wisely. But in the comfort zone, in the secure middle, lies stagnation; there is no room for change, improvement, or growth. To live a full life, a person must be ready to flee the interior and travel to the border – and even farther. At the frontier, however, vulnerability exists. The unknown that lies beyond may not yield. Danger lurks there, and hidden obstacles may block the path to a remote unachieved goal. The possibility of failure and disillusionment always accompanies the attempt to grow. Life is risk. But the string of tekheilet symbolizes the special guidance for those willing to confront doubt and uncertainty in order to flourish" (The Rarest Blue, p. 205-206).

Up until three months ago, we were often living within the border. Many of us lived in a world of comfort, predictability, and rationality. Recently, we have been forced to cross the border, off the edge, and into the irrational. We live in the zone of risk. While I do not necessarily believe in “silver linings” of this time period, there remain opportunities for us to take meaningful action in the wake of this tumultuous period. As we read about the lavan and tekheilet this week, may we tie that tekheilet to ourselves to guide us through the chaos towards the possibility of more lavan, albeit with having grown in our faith and humility. May the tekheilet remind us that even in our moments of turbulence at sea, Hashem, from the Heavenly Throne, is our fearless Navigator.