The ancient Rabbis did. They poured over the verses, searching for clues. And in Shir HaShirim Rabbah, the rabbinic commentary on the Song of Songs, we find some fascinating answers.

The text begins with a beautiful image: "I will go to the mountain of myrrh, and to the hill of frankincense" (Song of Songs 4:6). But what does that mean? The Rabbis interpret it allegorically. "The mountain of myrrh," they say, represents Abraham, the first of the righteous. Why myrrh? Because, like myrrh, Abraham was first – "the first of the spices in the anointing oil" (Exodus 30:23). And "the hill of frankincense" represents Isaac, whose sacrifice was like a handful of frankincense offered on the altar.

This sets the stage for a deeper exploration of worthiness, of what makes someone truly "fair," without blemish. The verse from Song of Songs, "All of you is fair, my love, and there is no blemish in you" (Song of Songs 4:7), becomes a central question.

The Rabbis then connect this verse to Jacob. “All of you is fair, my love” – this, they say, is Jacob, "whose bed was unflawed and no waste was found among it." Unlike his father and grandfather, all his offspring were righteous. A powerful statement about the legacy of a patriarch.

But the commentary doesn't stop there. Rabbi Shimon ben Yoḥai takes us to Mount Sinai. He taught that when Israel stood before Sinai and declared, "Everything that God spoke we will perform and we will heed" (Exodus 24:7), they were utterly without flaw. No one was impure (zav), leprous, lame, blind, or anything else. "At that moment it is stated: 'All of you is fair, my love.'" It was a moment of collective perfection, a fleeting glimpse of what humanity could be. Of course, as the commentary notes, after the sin of the Golden Calf, that perfection was lost.

Then, the text dives into the offerings of the princes in the Book of Numbers. Why did the Torah seem to give precedence to Judah's offering, then seemingly take it away? The Rabbis explain that God wanted to ensure that Judah didn't become arrogant. God treated all the tribes as if they offered on the first day and the last day. It was all about equality and preventing pride.

Rabbi Berekhya adds another layer, recounting how Jacob, on his deathbed, likened his sons to animals. Judah was a lion, Dan a snake, Naphtali a hind, Benjamin a wolf. But, he asks, did Jacob then bless them again? No. The point is that Jacob saw each tribe as unique, even if those unique qualities seemed negative at first. Even Dan, whom Jacob called a snake, Moses later called a lion! (Deuteronomy 33:22).

What about the genealogies in Exodus? Why are only the genealogies of Reuben, Simeon, and Levi delineated? Rabbi Ḥanina and Rabbi Levi offer different explanations. One says it was because Jacob reprimanded them. The other says it was because the Torah sought to delineate the genealogy of Moses and Aaron, who were from the tribe of Levi. But Rabbi Yudan, quoting Rabbi Huna, suggests that it was because Reuben, Simeon, and Levi accepted their father's reprimand. Their humility and willingness to learn elevated them.

Rabbi Yehuda, Rabbi Neḥemya, and the Rabbis offer further reasons. Rabbi Yehuda suggests that only these tribes preserved their genealogies in Egypt. Rabbi Neḥemya says they were the only ones who didn't engage in idol worship. And the Rabbis say they were the only ones who exercised authority. When Reuben died, authority passed to Simeon, then to Levi. When Levi died, it was going to pass to Judah, but a Divine voice intervened, waiting for the right time.

The text concludes with a vision from Zechariah: a candelabrum of pure gold, representing the future redemption of Israel. Even though the House of Israel had become like dross, in the end, they would be like pure gold. And because of that future purity, the verse rings true: "All of you is fair, my love, and there is no blemish in you."

So, what does all this mean? It seems that being "fair" isn't about being perfect. It's about striving for righteousness, accepting reprimand, maintaining humility, preserving tradition, and ultimately, being part of something larger than oneself. It's about the potential for redemption that lies within each of us, and within the entire community of Israel. It's a powerful message of hope and possibility, one that resonates even today.