Judaism is a sensory religion. The tastes, the smells, the sounds, the sights, and the touches are what we carry with eternally. One of my formidable Jewish experiences is sitting next to my grandfather in the synagogue before I became a bar mitzvah while playing with the tzitzit, the fringes hanging from his tallit.
As I grew older, my tallit collection grew. The tallit from my bar mitzvah, which began as a tent upon my shoulders, eventually fit me as an adult. My second tallit was a gift from the Jewish Theological Seminary as I became an ordained Rabbi. My third tallit was a gift from my parents–it is my brother’s tallit, of blessed memory.
My newest tallit was bought in the land of Israel last summer, as we bought our own children’s tallitot for their upcoming b’nai mitzvah.
Each tallit looks different and feels different. Each tallit tells a story on its own.
Chizkuni, the 13th century Torah commentator, teaches that when God created the world, everything in the world could be used for a mitzvah. A farmer is obligated to take care of his fields and his animals in a sacred manner. In the kitchen, we create food with blessings and acts that recognize sanctity. The same is true with our clothes. The mitzvah of tzitzit allows us to bring holiness not only in what we do but what we wear. Each morning, we make conscious decisions to how we will present ourselves: the colors and styles of our clothes. Yet, these are not the defining characteristic of holiness.
When we put on the tallit, and gather the fringes before the Shema, representing the ingathering of Jews from every corner of the earth, we hold in our hands the responsibility to do good in the day ahead.
My tallit drawer is different than my wardrobe closet. The wardrobe is how we externally present. Yet, when we hold the tzitzit, that is who we are internally, solidifying our relationship with each other, and ultimately, with God.
