Can You See the Techeiles?
Shelach 5785
My rebbe, Rav Yehoshua Gerzi, recently shared something profound. He described the dynamic times we are living in, and how, according to our mesorah, we are now on the final stretch of our avodah, slowly emerging from the long galus. Many of us are scrambling to make sense of things.
He explained that the derech of avodah passed down to us, the path expressed through both the Baal Shem Tov and the Vilna Gaon, was designed to bring about a deep spiritual and psychobiological transformation within the individual. This vision has not yet been fully realized. We possess fragments of understanding and while there are a few individuals who may embody its depth, the vision has yet to take root for the general population.
Rav Gerzi emphasized the urgency of learning, teaching, and practicing these ideas. As this happens, change will occur organically. People will begin to feel different and live differently. Beyond sharing the wisdom, this shift will come from within the community, from the support we offer one another.
We need to think consciously and be attuned to our neshama. This week, while reading the headlines, I was thinking about this idea and how we seem to be living through a kind of reversal of the Chet HaMeraglim.
We are thousands of years removed from the Chet HaMeraglim and for the past two centuries, we have been trying to come home. This week, with the skies closed, El Al put out a form asking if people wanted to return. Sixty thousand responded—in the first hour.
Mind you, we are not sleeping much. We hear random booms and expect a siren at any moment, while hoping that it doesn’t come. Businesses are operating at minimum and some kids have started summer vacation early, while others are focused on distance learning. We are in the midst of a multi-front war that seems to be expanding by the day.
Yet, we are coming home. Some are coming by air, while others are finding routes via boats. People are taking any path they can to get back. So is the tikkun for the Chet HaMeraglim finally here?
Maybe that’s the secret of the techeiles, which is the blue that reaches up, and the white that holds us all. As I was learning the parashah, I realized that the beginning and end, while seemingly disconnected, are in fact deeply linked. As I reflected on it, so many questions surfaced.
Why does techeiles appear specifically on tzitzis?
What is the secret of the blue and the white?
Tzitzis are described as something that peeks out from the cracks, a barely visible fringe on the edge. Techeiles, the blue thread, disappears from our world only to return with the coming of Mashiach.
The Arizal taught that when one sees the techeiles in the tzitzis, one remembers all the mitzvos. Now that techeiles is absent, one looks at the white strings and remembers that it is supposed to be there and through that, one still remembers all the mitzvos.
Perhaps the white reflects expansiveness, the vast, open clarity of everything. If so, the techeiles is but a glimpse. When I look at it, I see the sea. Then I think of the sea, and I reflect on the heavens. From the heavens, I’m drawn toward the Kisei HaKavod.
When I think of the Kisei HaKavod, I think of what lies beneath it: the Even HaSapir, the sapphire stone. What is it about tzitzis that draws our attention to the Kisei HaKavod more than any other mitzvah?
Targum Yonasan tells us that when we wear tzitzis, we resemble the heavenly angels. This is intriguing because generally we are meant to embrace our humanity. The Torah commands us to become kadosh, "Kedoshim tihyu", but not necessarily holy in the way of angels. So how does tzitzis make us similar to the malachim?
In a previous post on the Tzitz of the Kohen Gadol, I wrote:1
Each individual possesses the potential to be 'Kodesh L’Hashem', albeit this requires a measure of chutzpah, audacity. The Tzitz serves to atone for the chutzpah utilized in pursuit of holiness. This concept resonates in the context of a Nazir, where the term 'Nezer' is mentioned nine times. Like the Kohen, a Nazir avoids Tumah and is consecrated as 'Kodesh LHashem'.
Although achieving such sanctity is challenging, we can emulate this through wearing tzitzis, which often include a Ptil Techeiles. These tzitzis symbolize our aspiration to embody the Kohen Gadol's alignment with Hashem, keeping us focused on our ultimate spiritual goals and commitment to being 'Kodesh LHashem'. Just as the Tzitz keeps the Kohen Gadol fully aligned with Hashem, so do our tzitzis. They keep us focused on the main goal and we wear it to be Kodesh LHashem
Rav Pinchas Friedman2 writes that one who gazes upon the tzitzis is reminded of the Kisei HaKavod and the encircling malachim, and becomes filled with fear and awe, just as the malachim are.
When we are able to understand what happens when we look at the Techeiles, and embody that understanding, we will be privileged to wear Techeiles once again.
We receive techeiles again when Mashiach comes because it is about peeking into the subconscious and drawing it forward, bringing what is hidden into the light.
The Meraglim spoke without inner depth. They stayed on the surface as they saw giants, cities, and fear. When you look deeper, though, you see the potential of what could have been and what still can be
We cannot afford to live as surface Jews, reacting only to what is visible. We have to believe in ourselves and live as conscious Jews who are tuned into the deeper layers.
The parashah concludes with the mitzvah of tzitzis. Chazal3 declare that this mitzvah corresponds to the entire corpus of 613 mitzvot.
Rashi4 explains this based on gematria, linking the word tzitzis with the number of strings and knots involved in the mitzvah. Ramban5 disagrees. He argues that Chazal’s intent was not numerical, but experiential: that gazing upon the techeiles and contemplating its significance brings a person to theological clarity and religious consciousness—one that fosters total commitment to Torah and halachah.
The pesukim reflect this broader idea: “ וראיתם אתו וזכרתם את־כל־מצות ה’ ועשיתם אתם.” The Torah then adds an ambitious charge “ולא־תתורו אחרי לבבכם ואחרי עיניכם” a direct warning against cultivating distorted desires or perspectives. As the Sefer HaChinuch6 explains, halachic behavior must be tethered to halachic values. It is this integration of action, awareness, and inner orientation that culminates in the ultimate affirmation: “אני ה’ אל-היכם” a truly appropriate antidote to the calamities that culminated with the chet of the meraglim.
I would like to bring this a step further with the well-known Gemara in Chagigah:
תָּנוּ רַבָּנַן: אַרְבָּעָה נִכְנְסוּ בַּפַּרְדֵּס, וְאֵלּוּ הֵן: בֶּן עַזַּאי, וּבֶן זוֹמָא, אַחֵר, וְרַבִּי עֲקִיבָא. אֲמַר לָהֶם רַבִּי עֲקִיבָא: כְּשֶׁאַתֶּם מַגִּיעִין אֵצֶל אַבְנֵי שַׁיִשׁ טָהוֹר, אַל תֹּאמְרוּ ״מַיִם מַיִם״, מִשּׁוּם שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: ״דּוֹבֵר שְׁקָרִים לֹא יִכּוֹן לְנֶגֶד עֵינָי״.
בֶּן עַזַּאי הֵצִיץ וָמֵת... בֶּן זוֹמָא הֵצִיץ וְנִפְגַּע,.... אַחֵר קִיצֵּץ בִּנְטִיעוֹת. רַבִּי עֲקִיבָא יָצָא בְּשָׁלוֹם.
Rebbe Akiva and his talmidim entered a deep state of contemplative meditation, known as Pardes, in search of closeness to Hashem—and possibly to understand the suffering of the righteous under Roman rule. Before they began, Rebbe Akiva warned them: when you reach the place of pure marble stones, do not say “water, water.” Even if it looks like water, it is not water. “He who speaks falsehood shall not stand before My eyes.”7
This cryptic warning may be referring to the deeper layers of Shamayim, which are often described in terms of water. The upper waters and lower waters (mayim elyonim and mayim tachtonim) connect back to techeiles and the sea.
It is striking that it was Rebbe Meir, a student of Rebbe Akiva, who said that techeiles is like the sea. Everything Rebbe Meir said flowed from his rebbe. Even so, we do not rule like Rebbe Meir, because the Chachamim were unable to grasp sof da’ato. They could not follow the depth of his thinking. He saw things on a different plane.
The Gemara proceeds to relate what happened to each of them:
Ben Azzai peeked and died, Ben Zoma peeked and lost his sanity, Acher peeked and became a heretic, and Rebbe Akiva peeked and emerged in peace.
The Gemara uses the word הציץ—“peeked”—to describe what Ben Azzai and Ben Zoma did in the Pardes. It is the same root as tzitzis. They peeked and were never the same.
The potential was enormous and therefore, so was the risk.
Tzitzis, and especially ptil techeiles, offer a form of structured vision. They allow us to look upward, but with grounding. A glimpse that holds, instead of a plunge that overwhelms. The path to the Kisei HaKavod must go through the sea, through the sky, through stages of clarity and integration. If we rise too quickly, we fall.
Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch notes that the word tzitzis derives from tzitz, meaning “to sprout.” Tzitzis are a trigger to reach upward toward God and to awaken yearning. They serve as a constant reminder of His presence in the long and multi-staged process of drawing closer. No one can be forced to yearn. The Torah can command our actions and the desire for God must rise from within.
This concern with vision, how we look, and how we interpret what we see, is at the core of the chet of the Meraglim.
Rav Soloveitchik zt”l, following the approach of the Ramban, explains that the chet of the Meraglim wasn’t rooted in a rejection of Eretz Yisrael’s holiness. On the contrary, they believed in its sanctity. They considered it an exalted and deeply spiritual land. The problem, however, was that they believed its sanctity was inaccessible. When they reported back, they said:
“אֶפֶס כִּי עַז הָעָם הַיֹּשֵׁב בָּאָרֶץ וְהֶעָרִים בְּצֻרוֹת גְּדֹלֹת מְאֹד וְגַם יְלִדֵי הָעֲנָק רָאִינוּ שָׁם”
“However, the people living in the land are powerful, and the cities are fortified and very large; moreover, we saw the descendants of the giants there.”8
They did not say the task would be difficult, which may have been acceptable. They were, after all, sent to scout the land and report what they saw. The issue was that they said it would be impossible. The critical word is efes, which in this context can be rendered as “we have zero chance.”
They went past the fear and had already given up. They believed in the vision, while dismissing the possibility. To use Rav Soloveitchik’s analogy, they viewed the Land’s holiness as a vast gas reserve, sacred, but sealed off and inaccessible. The problem, in their eyes, was the people.
There is a concept in business called second-level thinking. First-level thinking is straightforward, simplistic, and reactive. It tends to follow a linear, surface-level logic. It looks at a good company and assumes it must also be a good investment. Second-level thinking, by contrast, is nuanced, layered, and often contrarian. It involves asking what something is, what everyone else thinks it is and whether that perception is reliable. Howard Marks describes the difference like this:
“First-level thinking says: It’s a good company; let’s buy.
Second-level thinking says: It’s a good company—but everyone thinks so. It’s overpriced. Let’s sell.”9
The Meraglim were operating on the first level. They saw giants, fortified cities, and military threats. They concluded that entry into the land was dangerous and unrealistic. Their observations were accurate and their conclusions were shallow. They stopped at what was visible. From their perspective, retreat was prudent, fear was reasonable, and caution was wisdom.
What Hashem expected from them, however, was second-level thinking. He didn’t expect them to ignore reality, but to interpret it through the lens of emunah. They were being invited to see beyond the surface: to consider what their fear might mean, and to ask what deeper purpose it might be serving. If this was the land Hashem had promised them, then its challenges were not obstacles, they were part of the process. The fear was a call to try, and make a move forward, not to retreat.10
Hashem accepted that they were afraid because fear is human. His disappointment was that they didn’t think more deeply about what the fear pointed toward. They stayed on the surface, where danger leads only to paralysis. They did not make the leap to meaning.
I believe this is the deeper message behind the placement of the mitzvah of tzitzis after the episode of the Meraglim. Tzitzis is a reframing of vision itself. It is a re-education of the eyes.
The Torah says, וראיתם אתו וזכרתם את־כל־מצות ה’.
On the surface, tzitzis is a string on the corner of a garment. It appears to be a religious symbol, a visual reminder, a ritual detail. The techeiles is blue, and that blue is compared to the sea, the sky, and ultimately to the Kisei HaKavod. For many, this is poetic, but distant.
But second-level thinking sees a thread and understands that it is meant to be followed. It recognizes that the location of the tzitzis, at the fringes of the garment, is intentional. It reminds us to look at what is directly in front of us and also at what lives on the periphery of our awareness. Tzitzis invites us to track the thread of our perception, to move from the external to the internal, from the conscious to the subconscious and bring it back up.
Perhaps that is why techeiles disappeared from our mesorah for so long. Of all the detailed halachic elements we could have lost, this was the one that slipped away. Perhaps we were not yet capable of accessing what it represented. Now, as it reemerges, (accompanied by halachic debate and historical questions that are beyond the scope of this essay), perhaps what matters most is not whether we wear it, but whether we are able to receive what it points toward. Perhaps we are beginning to access this level of consciousness again.
Still, even as we reach for this deeper vision, we must proceed carefully. We must learn from the mistake of Korach, who believed one could live constantly in a state of elevated awareness. That kind of intensity isn’t sustainable. The goal is to be like Rebbe Akiva: to enter in peace and to exit in peace, to ascend without shattering, and to return without distortion.
The ptil techeiles is only one thread. It is a glimpse, a starting point. It reminds us that true Avodah does not live in moments of dramatic vision, but in the process of drawing the hidden into the real. It begins with seeing and must end with remembering.
The Meraglim saw a land and gave up. With the mitzvah of Techeiles we are taught to see a thread and remember the sky. Both begin with vision. The difference is what that vision evokes. The Meraglim saw the impossible, so tzitzis teaches us to see what’s beyond.
The Chet HaMeraglim was a failure of interpretation. Tzitzis trains us to see differently and to understand that what looks frightening may be sacred. That what appears small may hold everything. That what we glance at every day may, if we choose to look again, change the way we see everything.
In the past few days, I have seen people express feelings of despair, and others feelings of hope. I have seen complaints from those who feel “stuck” in Israel, and from those who feel “stuck” outside of it.
I have seen creative attempts to leave Israel, by sea and through the desert. At the same time, I have seen equally courageous efforts to enter, also by sea and through the desert. We can move in either direction. The perspective matters more than the path.
The real question is: can you see the techeiles?
When you are at sea, are your eyes focused on the foam of the waves, or are you contemplating the depths that lie beneath? The white foam is the white strings, the part that rises and churns, the part that is easily seen. But the techeiles is the sea itself. It is vast and still. It is the place where meaning begins. It reminds us to look beneath the surface, to see not only what churns, but what is stagnant.
When you walk through the desert, is your mind consumed by immediate survival, or are you aware of the larger story unfolding around you?
If you choose to live outside of Eretz Yisrael, that is your choice, and it is legitimate. Even so, you must take a moment to look and remember that you are not stuck. You are part of something larger, as part of a people in motion. When we hold on to that awareness, wherever we are, we can walk in the footsteps of Rebbe Akiva and his student Rebbe Meir.
We can walk with peace. We can be like the Kohen Gadol on Yom Kippur. We can achieve true Malchus.
Michael Eisenberg offered a powerful reflection on the juxtaposition of the story of the mekoshesh eitzim and the parashah of tzitzis. His insight captures a deeper layer of what it means to wear techeiles to hold that spiritual responsibility within a community, with humility, and with vision.
He wrote:
“Tekhelet is royal blue—the color of kings. It features prominently in the design of the mishkan and the priestly garments in Shemot. And the Talmud surprisingly states: ‘Everyone is obligated in tzitzit: kohanim, levi’im, and Yisraelim’ (Arakhin 3b). It symbolizes that every person in Israel is like a king—independent, powerful, and a property holder. But he must live in a bundle, tightly bound with others. There is a delicate tension here with the wood gatherer, who stepped outside the camp. He sought to be a dominating, detached king, not a participatory one.”
My sister Kayla also shared something this week that spoke to the heart of this parashah. Her words remind us that emunah is the courage to look past fear and into the deeper purpose behind it. To see where we are and then where we are meant to go. She wrote:
“The Jews were at the foot of Eretz Yisrael. They were ready to go in and live in peace. But they doubted—and they stayed another forty years in the desert, until that generation passed and a new one was given the chance to try again.
Let’s be the generation that makes it in.
Let’s believe in Hashem—and in ourselves—that we can do this.
We are no longer slaves.Hashem is here. Maybe there are still some final tikkunim needed. Maybe it won’t come through open miracles.
But Hashem has literally fought this war for us.
And we need to be so proud.
Proud of our soldiers.
Proud of the mothers.
Proud of the children.
And proud of ourselves—for believing, and for making it through.Don’t be the spies.
Don’t doubt Hashem now, in the final hour.”11
The Mishnah teaches that a person may only recite Shema in the morning once they can distinguish between techeiles and lavan. Perhaps this is a deeper idea to the practical halachic guideline. Only after enduring the long night of galus, only after learning to think more deeply about where we are and why we are here, can we truly say Shema. Only then can we fully accept ol malchus Shamayim. Once we do, we can enter the Geulah, awake, conscious, and ready.
Shvilei Pinchas, Shelach 5777
Menachos 43b
15:39
ibid.
Mitzvah 387
Tehillim 101:7
Bamidbar 13:28
Memo to Oak Tree clients Sptember 2015 - https://www.oaktreecapital.com/docs/default-source/memos/2015-09-09-its-not-easy.pdf, see also his book The Most Important Thing https://amzn.to/4e7Gn3I
Michal Oshman - What Would You Do If You Weren’t Afraid.
See my post https://www.shuihaber.com/p/eight-words
Thank you for this!!