Parshas Shelach: Threads of Return

Parshas Shelach is remembered for the spies: their fear, their report, the national unraveling that followed. Ten men shook a nation. One moment of doubt killed off a generation. But what’s often skimmed through is the connection of how the parsha ends.

After the collapse, after the crying, after the decree to wander, Hashem gives two quiet mitzvos.

One is to separate challah: to lift a piece of dough before baking, and give it away.
The other is to wear tzitzis: fringes on the corners of our garments, tied as a reminder.

At first, they seem unrelated.
One is a mitzvah you knead. 

The other is a mitzvah you need.

 One most often practiced by women. 

The other mostly worn by men.

But between them lies a tear, or maybe… a thread.

Right in the middle, we read about breakdown.
Leaders who misguide.  A group that falls into idolatry.  A man who desecrates Shabbos publicly.

The system fails.  The people forget.  One soul falls through entirely, and is stoned.

Everything feels like it’s unraveling.

And in that exact space, Hashem gives us challah and tzitzis.

Hashem made the Refuah before the Makkah.
The Challis before the Tallis.

The order matters.

First, the dough.

Challah isn’t just about flour. It’s about firsts.

Letting go before holding on. Lifting something sacred before slicing into comfort.

Halachically, it’s hafrashas challah, a mitzvah done in the kitchen, often quietly.

Mystically, it draws the Shechina in, restoring what was lost, and planting holiness where it’s needed most.

Scientifically? Dough is alive. It rises slowly. It needs time and warmth to become whole.

It’s a moment of quiet surrender, rooted in the home, before the chaos hits.

A kind of holiness that shows up before we even know we’ll need it.

Then comes tzitzis.

Not just tassels, but anchors. Edges you can touch when the middle feels shaky.

Like the crust of a challah: it holds the shape, keeps it from collapsing in the oven.

Halachically, they mark the corners.

Mystically, each fringe pulls all 613 mitzvos down to earth.

Scientifically? Basically string theory. The universe, held together by threads you can see.

But really, they’re memory you can wear.

“So you don’t follow your heart and your eyes…”

Not because they’re wrong. But because we’re human.

And tzitzis? They don’t shout. They don’t scold. 

They just hang there. Quiet. Or tucked in. Waiting. 

A thread of teshuva, tied in advance. So you can come back before you’re even gone.

And even when you’re not lost, when you’re holding strong, showing up, staying in it,

they’re still there. 

A hug all around you, a whisper of God saying: “I’m still here. And so are you.”

Why is challah associated with women?

Not because they don’t sin.

Not because they don’t need reminders.

But because they were entrusted with something ancient,

the first repair.

Where Chava once led the Shechina into exile,

they were given the quiet power to begin drawing Her home.

To lift something holy, even before the world begins to break.

And why tzitzis for men?

Not because they sin more.

Not because they forget more (though some women might disagree with that, lol).

But because they were handed the corners.

Asked to notice the fraying.

To tie things back together when it starts to come undone.

To remember what their mothers once lifted.

Like it says in Mishlei (1:8):

שְׁמַע בְּנִי מוּסַר אָבִיךָ וְאַל־תִּטֹּשׁ תּוֹרַת אִמֶּךָ

Listen, my son, to your father’s guidance, and don’t abandon your mother’s Torah.

But of course, it’s never that separate.

Men eat (or bake) challah too. They can learn to lift what’s first.
Women see tzitzis every day, on their children, their husbands, their communities.
And they remember.
They carry that memory even if it’s not part of their outfit.

So maybe challah and tzitzis aren’t just about gender.
Maybe they’re about rhythm.  The rising and the remembering.

 The Shechina within.. and the Shechina we wear.

This week, if you’re kneading dough, or just eating it.
Don’t rush to tear the piece.
Pause.
Ask yourself: What part of me have I been pressing down, trying to shape, control, contain?

And what blessing might rise if I let it go, just enough?

And when you see tzitzis, whether you’re wearing them or not.
Ask yourself: What part of me have I forgotten? And what would it feel like to be gathered in again,

like tzitzis at Shema.

Not just whole. Held.

Hashem didn’t leave us in the unraveling.

 He gave us something tangible. To hold us, and for us to hold.

So we could bring the Shechina, and ourselves, home.

Have a Good Shabbos and a Happy Challah!

-Berke Chein

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