On Tuesday of this week, I realized that the shirt I was wearing carried memories. It was one of the first professional pieces of clothing I purchased; I bought it to wear to a job interview right when I graduated college. That year was so formative for me - learning about myself, deciding to apply to rabbinical school, living truly on my own for the first time - and as I looked in the mirror that morning, I was flooded with memories. Reminders of my own story.
This week, when Moshe is speaking to the Israelites, reminding them of their travels in the wilderness, he says something to them which - as a parent of young children - seems nothing short of miraculous. שִׂמְלָתְךָ לֹא בָלְתָה מֵעָלֶיךָ וְרַגְלְךָ לֹא בָצֵקָה זֶה אַרְבָּעִים שָׁנָה׃ The clothes upon you did not wear out, nor did your feet swell these forty years. (Devarim 8:4)
Somehow, it seems, neither their clothing nor their feet showed any sign of their forty years wanderings. Rashi writes on this that it must have been the clouds of glory, spiritual shelter from God during their time in the wilderness, that kept their clothes clean and pressed through all their travels, and he likens the clothes of children to a shell that grows at the same speed as the snail it covers. Ramban emphasizes the miraculous nature of this, humorously stating that you could put clothes on a block of wood, which does not sweat, and over 40 years it would still be worn out.
The imagery of their clothing not changing, despite the many years of travel, strikes me as powerful. I am curious what it meant to those ancient Israelites. Perhaps having stains accumulated along the way would have reminded them of their nomadic status. Or maybe their clean clothes kept them from the constant reminder of their past as slaves who had very little.
And, there is something meaningful about our clothing, accumulating the inevitable markers of our life travels, serving as connectors between where we’ve been and where we’re going. I think about that shirt I wore from so long ago, or something much more recent with a stain of red wine from a beautiful shabbat dinner. This clothing, like our skin, bears witness to our experience of life.
The outer trappings of our lives often help us tell our stories. What created that scar, and what was the healing like? Where did that stain come from, and was there learning that emerged from that moment? We can look at these experiences as messy and creating imperfections, or we can engage them, as they bear testimony, to tell our life stories. As we climb towards the holidays, I wonder what helps us tell our story of the past year. What are the stains and wrinkles that help us in the process of teshuvah, the process of returning to ourselves?
