And they found a surprising way to express it.

In Shemot Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Exodus, we find a fascinating reading of the verse, "Then Moses…sang" (Exodus 15:1). The rabbis link this song to a verse from the Song of Songs (1:5): "I am black but comely, daughters of Jerusalem, like the tents of Kedar, like the curtains of Solomon."

The congregation of Israel, they say, is declaring: "I am black in my actions, but comely in the actions of my ancestors." Isn't that a powerful image? We mess up, we fall short, but we are also heirs to a legacy of beauty and righteousness. It's a reminder that we are complex, flawed beings capable of both great sin and great holiness.

The text then dives into the phrase "daughters of Jerusalem." But wait, it doesn't stop there! Our Rabbis offer a twist: "Do not read 'benot [daughters of] Jerusalem,' but rather, 'bonot [builders of] Jerusalem.'" These builders, they explain, are the Great Sanhedrins – the high courts – of Israel, the ones who "sit and fortify it." Alternatively, Rabbi Yoḥanan suggests that Jerusalem is destined to become a metropolis for all lands, referencing the verse "Ashdod and its environs [benoteha]" (Joshua 15:47) to support this idea. It's like Jerusalem itself has "daughter" cities spreading out around it, growing from its strength.

What about those "tents of Kedar?" What's that all about? The midrash explains that "just as the tents of the Ishmaelites are ugly on the outside and pleasant on the inside, so, too, Torah scholars, even though they appear ugly in this world, on the inside they are full of Bible, Mishna, Talmud, Halakhot, and Aggadot." It's a beautiful metaphor for the hidden depths of wisdom and knowledge that lie within those who dedicate themselves to Torah study. Don't judge a book by its cover. Or, in this case, don't judge a Torah scholar by their appearance!

But here’s the kicker: Ishmaelite tents move from place to place. Does this mean Israel is destined to wander aimlessly? No! The verse continues, "Like the curtains of Solomon [shelomo]." The midrash interprets shelomo as a reference to God, "He who spoke and the world came into being." It's like saying, "like the curtains of Shalom shelo," peace is His. These curtains, once stretched, never moved. This offers a sense of permanence, a grounding that contrasts with the nomadic tents.

And what about cleanliness? Ishmaelite tents, the midrash claims, can’t be laundered. Does that mean Israel is stuck in its imperfections? Again, no! "Like the curtains of Solomon," the text assures us, "just as a garment gets dirty and then becomes clean again, so, Israel, even though they sin, they repent before the Holy One blessed be He." We have the capacity for teshuvah, for repentance and return.

The passage concludes with a powerful statement: "In the place where I have become black, I have become comely." This is illustrated with examples. They sinned at Ḥorev, provoking God (Deuteronomy 9:8). Yet, at Ḥorev, they also declared, "Everything that the Lord said, we will do and we will obey" (Exodus 24:7). They were defiant at the sea (Psalms 106:7), yet at the sea, they sang a song of praise to God.

It's a reminder that even in our moments of darkness, in our moments of failure, there is the potential for beauty, for redemption, for song. It suggests that our imperfections aren't a fatal flaw, but rather an integral part of our story, a contrast that makes our moments of light all the more brilliant. And maybe, just maybe, that's what it means to be human.