Good intentions, maybe, but with a track record that's... well, let's just say "mixed"?
That's the feeling at the heart of a beautiful passage in Shemot Rabbah 49, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Exodus. It grapples with a profound question: How can something be both flawed and beautiful at the same time?
The passage opens with a verse from the Song of Songs: "I am black but comely" (Song of Songs 1:5). A bit of an odd statement, right? Is there such a thing as being both?
The Midrash (rabbinic commentary) interprets this as the congregation of Israel speaking. "I am black in my actions," they say, "but I am comely in the actions of my ancestors." It’s a stunningly honest self-assessment.
The Midrash then lays out a series of contrasts, a kind of spiritual before-and-after. "I was black in Egypt," the people say, referring to their time of suffering and perhaps their initial reluctance to leave. "But I was comely when I said at Sinai: 'Everything that the Lord speaks we will perform and we will heed'" (Exodus 24:7). Na'aseh v'nishma – we will do, and we will understand. A moment of profound commitment.
The pattern continues. "I was black at the sea, as it stated: 'They were defiant at the sea, the Red Sea' (Psalms 106:7), but I was comely when I said: 'This is my God and I will exalt Him' (Exodus 15:2)." Even in the midst of miraculous salvation, there was defiance. Yet, that didn't negate the heartfelt declaration of faith and praise that followed.
Perhaps the most poignant contrast is this: "I am black due to the crafting of the calf," a reference to the golden calf incident, a profound betrayal. "But I am comely due to the crafting of the Mishkan," the Tabernacle, the portable sanctuary they built to house the Divine Presence. A moment of deep regret and then a powerful move toward repair.
The Midrash doesn't shy away from the imperfections. It acknowledges the "blackness," the failings, the moments of doubt and rebellion. But it also insists on the presence of "comeliness," of beauty, of moments of profound connection and commitment.
And it goes on to ask a seemingly simple question: "All the wise hearted…crafted." What labor did they perform? It then embarks on a symbolic interpretation of the materials used to build the Mishkan, the Tabernacle. "This is the gift [teruma] that you shall take from them: [Gold, silver, and bronze]" (Exodus 25:3). The Midrash equates the congregation of Israel itself with this gift, citing, "Israel is sacred to the Lord, the first of His crop" (Jeremiah 2:3). This suggests that the people themselves were meant to be the primary focus of the Divine Presence and that their dedication was key.
The Midrash continues, associating "gold and silver" with the congregation, citing, "Wings of the dove covered with silver, [its pinions with green and gold]" (Psalms 68:14). "And bronze," it says, "this is the Land of Israel, as it is stated: 'And from its mountains you will hew bronze' (Deuteronomy 8:9)." Even the colors of the materials receive symbolic weight. "Sky blue [wool]," is associated with the congregation, referring to the blue thread on the tzitzit (fringes): "They shall place on the fringe of the corner a sky blue thread" (Numbers 15:38). "Purple [argaman], and scarlet wool [tolaat shani]," represent the people too, referencing verses like "Fear not, worm [tolaat] of Jacob" (Isaiah 41:14).
Finally, the Midrash offers another layer of interpretation: "Gold," it says, "this is Abraham, who was tested in the fiery furnace like gold." "And silver," "this is Isaac, who was purified like silver upon the altar." "And bronze [neḥoshet]," "this is Jacob," based on the verse, "I have divined [niḥashti], and God has blessed me on your account" (Genesis 30:27). The founding fathers themselves embody these qualities.
So, what are we to take away from all of this? Perhaps it's this: We are all works in progress. We are all capable of both great beauty and profound failings. The key is to acknowledge both, to learn from our mistakes, and to strive to create something beautiful, something holy, out of the raw materials of our lives. We can be both black and comely. Maybe that tension is where true growth happens.