This Midrash, or interpretive commentary on the Book of Numbers, opens with a verse about the nazir, someone who takes a vow to abstain from certain pleasures, like cutting their hair or drinking wine: "Speak to the children of Israel, and say to them: When a man or a woman will articulate to take the vow of a nazirite, to abstain for the Lord" (Numbers 6:2).
But then, things take a poetic turn. The Midrash immediately connects this verse to a passage from the Song of Songs: "His calves are pillars of marble, set on sockets of fine gold; his appearance is like Lebanon, choice like cedars" (Song of Songs 5:15). What's the link? What do marble calves have to do with a vow of abstinence?
The Midrash sees the "calves" (shokav) as representing the world itself, echoing the desire of the Holy One, blessed be He, to create, as it says, "And his desire (tshukato) is for me” (Song of Songs 7:11). The completion of creation, "the heavens and the earth…were completed (vaykhulu)" (Genesis 2:1), is also interpreted as an expression of longing, drawing a parallel to the verse "My soul longs, indeed it yearns (kaleta)" (Psalms 84:3).
So, the very act of creation is tied to a sense of divine longing and desire. And these "pillars of marble" symbolize the six days of creation, the foundation of which rests on three pillars: wisdom, understanding, and knowledge (Proverbs 3:19–20). According to the Midrash, "wisdom" is the fear of the Lord (Job 28:28), "knowledge" is knowing one's Creator (Hosea 4:1, Jeremiah 9:23), and "understanding" is the sea itself.
But the Midrash doesn't stop there. It connects the "appearance like Lebanon" to the reward of a penitent, a baal teshuva, someone who turns away from evil. As Hosea says, "I will heal their waywardness (meshuvatam)…his glory will be like the olive tree and his fragrance like Lebanon" (Hosea 14:5,7). And the "choice like cedars" refers to the righteous, those who fear and know their Creator, like "a cedar in Lebanon" (Psalms 92:13).
Then, the Midrash beautifully portrays God's "palate" as sweet, using verses from Amos and Ezekiel to illustrate God's desire for us to seek Him and live, for the wicked to repent and turn from their ways. Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish adds that true repentance involves regretting the wickedness. Rabbi Yoḥanan even goes so far as to say that God transforms past transgressions into merits, referencing Psalms 45:9.
But the sweetness of God's "palate" isn't just for us. Rabbi Shmuel bar Naḥman tells us that the nations of the world initially rejoiced when they heard God rebuking Israel, thinking He would destroy them. But when they heard the compassionate nature of the rebuke – "If your sins will be like scarlet, they will be whitened as snow" (Isaiah 1:18) – they were ashamed.
Rabbi Azarya and Rav Aḥa, in the name of Rabbi Yoḥanan, offer another perspective: when Israel heard "I am [the Lord your God]" (Exodus 20:2) at Sinai, their souls nearly left them. God then sweetened the speech, making it palatable, as Psalms 29:4 says: "The voice of the Lord is mighty; the voice of the Lord is majestic."
So what about this seemingly random placement of the nazir next to the laws of jealousy (sotah)?
Here, the Midrash connects the dots. The sotah is a woman suspected of adultery, who undergoes a ritual to determine her guilt or innocence. The Rabbis suggest that when the sotah was given the water to drink, the people were reminded of the dangers of wine, saying, "Wine causes a lot [of problems]." Just as it checks her, so it checks him." This leads people to abstain from wine. Thus, the laws of the nazir, who abstains from wine, are juxtaposed with the laws of the sotah. The Midrash suggests a powerful lesson: witnessing the consequences of transgression can inspire us to choose a path of abstinence and holiness.
As Rabbi Levi points out, "All of the actions of Israel are distinct from the nations of the world" in various aspects of life (Leviticus 20:26), from plowing to sowing to reaping (Deuteronomy 22:10, Leviticus 19:19, Leviticus 19:9).
Ultimately, this passage from Bamidbar Rabbah reminds us that everything is interconnected. The Torah isn't just a collection of laws; it's a tapestry woven with threads of longing, desire, repentance, and the constant invitation to draw closer to the Divine. It is a call to see the hidden connections, to find meaning in the seemingly random, and to recognize the sweetness of a God who yearns for our return. And maybe, just maybe, to consider what small act of abstinence might bring us closer to that Divine presence.