We start with a verse from Song of Songs 5:16: "His palate is sweet and all of him is delightful. This is my beloved, and this is my companion, daughters of Jerusalem." The Rabbis, in their characteristic way, immediately latch onto the phrase "His palate is sweet." But what does it mean?

The text leaps to the prophet Amos: "For so said the Lord to the house of Israel: Seek Me and live” (Amos 5:4). Is there a sweeter invitation, a more delicious promise, than that? The Rabbis clearly don't think so. They continue, piling on example after example from the prophets.

"As I live – the utterance of the Lord God – I do not desire the death of the wicked, [but that the wicked repent from his way and live]" (Ezekiel 33:11). for a second. God doesn't want us to fail. He wants us to turn back, to do teshuvah – to repent. Is there a palate that is greater and sweeter than that?

Ezekiel doubles down: "For I do not desire the death of the one who dies, the utterance of the Lord God; facilitate repentance and live" (Ezekiel 18:32). God isn't just offering forgiveness; He's urging us to create the conditions for it! He's practically begging us to come home.

And again: "If the wicked man turns away from his wickedness [that he did] and performs justice and righteousness, he will cause his soul to live" (Ezekiel 18:27). It's a clear path, laid out for us. Turn away from wrong, do what's right, and live.

But it's not just about the future, is it? What about all those mistakes we've already made? Reish Lakish offers a crucial addition: It only works, he says, "if one has remorse for his previous actions." There has to be that element of regret, of recognizing the wrong we've done.

And then, Rabbi Shimon ben Yoḥai brings in an even more radical idea. What if someone has been wicked their whole life, and then suddenly becomes righteous? "The wickedness of the wicked person, he will not stumble over it on the day of his repentance from his wickedness…" (Ezekiel 33:12). The past doesn't define them. Their repentance wipes the slate clean.

But Rabbi Yoḥanan takes it even further. Not only are the past sins forgiven, but "all the transgressions that he performed, the Holy One blessed be He tallies them for him as merits!" Seriously? How can that be?

He finds support in Psalms 45:9: "Myrrh, aloe, and cassia were on all your garments [bigdotekha]." Rabbi Yoḥanan makes a play on words, connecting bigdotekha (garments) with begidot (betrayals). "All the betrayals [begidot] that you betrayed Me, they are like myrrh and aloe before Me." The very things that separated us from God can, through repentance, become precious spices, fragrant offerings. It's a stunning image of redemption.

The text then shifts gears, asking: how old was Abraham when he first recognized God? Rabbi Ḥanina and Rabbi Yoḥanan say forty-eight. But Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish, ever the contrarian, says three! He bases this on Genesis 26:5: "Because [ekev] Abraham heeded My voice." He then uses gematria, a method of assigning numerical values to Hebrew letters. The numerical value of ekev, he points out, is 172. Abraham lived to 175, so he must have started heeding God's voice at the tender age of three.

Finally, Rabbi Levi offers a simple, beautiful image: Abraham recognized God "when he was able to lift his heel [ikva] off the ground." In other words, when he was able to take his first independent steps, he began his journey towards God.

So, what does it all mean? Perhaps it’s this: that God's sweetness isn't just in grand pronouncements, but in the small, everyday moments of turning towards Him. It's in the possibility of redemption, no matter how far we've strayed. It’s in the promise that even our mistakes can be transformed into something beautiful. And that, my friends, is a palate worth savoring.