The book of Ecclesiastes, or Kohelet, as it's known in Hebrew, grapples with this very feeling. "I saw all the work of God, as man is unable to discover the work that is performed under the sun," it says. "Although man toils to seek, he will not find; even if a wise man will wish to know, he will not be able to find" (Ecclesiastes 8:17). Pretty heavy, right?

But what does it mean?

Kohelet Rabbah, a rabbinic commentary on Ecclesiastes, dives deeper. It interprets "all the work of God" as a reference to mitzvot – the commandments. The verse, according to this interpretation, suggests that we can never fully grasp the entirety of Torah and mitzvot. There's always more to learn, more to understand. It's a humbling thought.

Rabbi Pinchas and Rabbi Yirmeya, citing Rabbi Ḥiyya bar Abba, highlight the struggle: Many have sought to fully perform and fathom the Torah, but couldn't. Why? Because, as the verse says, "Although man toils to seek, he will not find.” It’s not for lack of trying, but inherent to the infinite nature of God’s wisdom. We're finite beings trying to grasp the infinite.

The commentary then brings in two fascinating examples of even the wisest figures stumbling when they overestimate their own understanding.

First, Solomon. Remember him? The wisest of all men? Well, even he wasn't immune to this limitation. Kohelet Rabbah suggests that Solomon, on the day he declared himself capable of amassing many wives without straying from God’s path, fell into this trap. He thought he could handle it, despite the explicit warning in Deuteronomy (17:17): “He shall not amass wives, and his heart will not stray.” Hubris, perhaps?

Then there's Moses. Rabbi Yehoshua of Sikhnin, quoting Rabbi Levi, references Isaiah 40:23 ("Who renders princes into nothing") and applies it to Moses. Remember when Moses said, "The matter that is too difficult for you, bring to me and I will hear it" (Deuteronomy 1:17)? The Holy One, blessed be He, essentially responded: 'Oh, really, Moses? You judge the difficult cases? I’ll give you a case even a student of your student, even a woman, could judge, but you will be unable to resolve.'

And what was that case? The story of the daughters of Tzelofḥad. These women bravely approached Moses with a legal question about their inheritance rights. Moses, for all his wisdom, couldn't immediately answer.

Now, the Rabbis quickly clarify: God forbid we should think Moses was arrogant! Rather, he meant that if he had clear knowledge of the matter, he would judge it. If not, he would refer it to God. It wasn't about ego, but about recognizing the limits of human understanding.

So, what’s the takeaway? Are we doomed to forever misunderstand? I don't think so. The message isn't about futility, but about humility. It’s about recognizing that the pursuit of understanding is a lifelong journey, one that requires constant learning, questioning, and a willingness to admit that we don't have all the answers. Maybe the point isn't to find all the answers, but to find meaning in the seeking itself. And isn't there something beautiful and comforting in that?