Parshat Eikev – August 15, 2025 / 12 Av 5785

There exists a Japanese philosophy called “wabi-sabi.” Wabi Sabi is the belief that beauty and meaning can be found in imperfection; that there is a natural order to things…there is life, aging, wear and tear, and decay. These are not processes to be resistant to, but wabi sabi tells us to embrace the changes, and to graciously accept the simple nature of the imperfect. Expanding upon this philosophy is the Japanese practice of Kintsugi. Kintsugi likely dates back to the 15th century and became very common by the 17th century. Some say this practice can be attributed to the shogun Ashikaga Yoshimasa, who was upset when a special tea cup he had cherished was inadvertently shattered. He sent this tea cup to China to be repaired, but upon its return, Yoshimasa was unsatisfied with the crude method used to fill in the cracks. He challenged the Japanese people to make the repairs more beautiful. The result: Shattered pieces of pottery are expertly glued back together using a special lacquer called urushi, which is made from the sap of a Japanese tree. The cracks are then filled with a gold, silver, or platinum-dusted lacquer. This all creates a unique design, and does not hide the fact that repair was done, but actually highlights the imperfection, making it the beautiful trademark of the entire design. Kintsugi embraces the brokenness, and does not try to hide its existence. It is still widely practiced today.

In this week’s Torah portion, as Moses continues to speak to the people of Israel, he reminds them of his revelation and the receiving of the Torah on Mount Sinai, more specifically, the tablets containing the ten commandments. Moses recounts his first forty days and nights on the mountain, and the anger he felt when descending; witnessing his beloved people of Israel worshipping the infamous idol, the Golden Calf. Moses, in the throes of his disgust, smashes the tablets into pieces, and he again ascends the mountain, spends another forty days and nights, and comes down with a fresh set. What to do with the first, smashed and broken tablets? They are shattered, they seem like they might be completely useless. New tablets with identical instructions have already been created. Our Torah text is a bit nebulous about the exact placement of the first broken set of tablets, but Rabbi Yosef, Talmudic sage, makes it very clear: “both the tablets and the fragments of the tablets were deposited in the Ark.” According to our Rabbis, the initial shattered tablets were carried alongside the intact tablets, in the Holy Ark, all throughout the Israelites’ journey in the wilderness. The people were to hold both in high esteem, and they were both granted a great level of holiness.

Is it sensible to carry with us the broken tablets in our own lives? The word “broken” often comes with such negative connotations. It is no secret that we live in a fast-paced society of instant gratification; one that often sends us the message that we have only one chance, and that we better make the most of it. We are told we better not “throw away our shot,” for those fans of the musical, Hamilton. If we drop the ball, or the tablets, it is a catastrophe. We have failed. Our Torah and our Rabbis tell us something different. The practice of Kintsugi tells us something different. It would be a bit saccharin to stand up here and tell you that everything we break will become beautiful, but isn’t it possible that we cannot become beautiful without sometimes breaking? This is not just true for the tablets and the things in our lives, but also for our relationships with one another, and with God. The Kotsker Rebbe once said, “There is nothing as whole as a broken heart.” Without brokenness, it is difficult to appreciate the wholeness that we can aspire to, and perhaps even achieve. 

I also see the broken tablets standing in fellowship with the undamaged tablets as a symbol of hope and possibility. We live in a world where things break..relationships fall apart, whether they be human-to-human, political party to political party, religion to religion, nation to nation. For the beauty that can be found in brokenness, it is also important to remember the damage the shards can do. We tell our children never to touch broken glass, for it could injure them. We avoid stepping on sharp shattered pieces for fear of damage. For everything that is broken, there sits directly adjacent to the fracturedness, an image of unification. There is great power in placing the severed by the side of the unscathed. We are in direct observation of the potential that exists in collapse. 

As we begin to approach the High Holy Days, we begin the process of Cheshbon HaNefesh, or accounting for our souls. It is time that we start thinking about both sets of tablets in our own lives. How can we make a beautiful repair with those whom we need to reconcile with? How can we rebuild our relationship with ourselves…with God? Remember, this is not about hiding anything that has been broken, but about embracing the process of teshuvah, or return. We can use the art of Kintsugi as inspiration. The golden lacquer of our teshuvah does not cloak the act of reconciliation, but heightens it to a level of holiness worth keeping. Let us be blessed to utilize the urushi, the beautiful golden lacquer of our lives, to fill in the cracks. Let us remind ourselves that in the laugh lines and crow’s feet dwell incredible wisdom and power. We have earned the perfect imperfections. We can carry with us the broken pieces…we just tend to them, and make sure we keep them in a holy place…always mirroring what makes us whole. Anyway, without any cracks or crevices, how would the light ever get in? Shabbat Shalom.