Knowing Less, Understanding More
We like to feel that we know things. We live in an age where not knowing feels like a flaw. When a question arises, within seconds, we reach for a device that promises answers—instant, authoritative, complete. But in our rush to know, we often lose sight of something more valuable: the wisdom that comes from not knowing. From wondering. From sitting with a question long enough for it to shape us.
At the Passover Seder, we do something remarkable: we engage the youngest among us to ask The Four Questions1 which describe how this night differs from others. The very act of asking questions is elevated. Yes, a child is appointed to ask them, but perhaps this gentle strategy is to help others—especially those who may be unfamiliar with the Seder—access answers to fundamental questions. The door is opened by a child, but everyone is invited in. Yet even here, the answers we hear aren’t the whole story. They offer surface explanations, while the deeper understanding emerges only by staying present, by engaging fully with the experience of the Seder itself.
This layered approach to knowledge—starting with the simple, but inviting us to go deeper—is not unique to the Seder. It mirrors the way we often interact with Torah. We begin by reading the narrative, the parts that make sense to us. And often, we stop there, satisfied with what seems understandable, feeling like we’ve “got it.” But Torah asks more of us.
What about those parts of Torah that challenge us, that defy our logic or make us uncomfortable? We often skim them, or skip them altogether. We tell ourselves that if we can’t make immediate sense of something, it must not be meant for us. Sacrifices? Blood being sprinkled and spattered? By a ‘High Priest’2 no less? No way can that be relevant for our lives now!
But the truth is far more layered. You don’t simply “read” Torah the way you read a novel assigned by an English teacher. Torah reads you—unfolding meaning only with time, effort, humility, and conversation.
I was reminded of this recently when a group of 6th graders asked if I had read the whole Torah. I heard myself quickly say yes, as if to model achievement or expertise. But afterward, I wished I had paused. I wished I had told them that you can read every word, and still be at the very beginning. That it’s not about finishing, but returning—again and again—with new eyes and open questions. After our break, I will explain that to them.
It’s tempting to see Torah as ancient history—bound by time, bound by context. We tell ourselves we’ve outgrown it. We’re more enlightened now. More evolved.
And yet, the very struggles Torah explores—jealousy, fear, betrayal, hope, justice—are still alive in us. Our weaknesses haven’t evolved beyond the text. Torah continues to press us with questions: about who we are, how we live, and what kind of world we’re building.
What is my ethical responsibility, right here, in the part of the world I touch?
In what ways can I be a more loving person?
How am I ignoring the needs of others?
When do I act selfishly, unaware of how my choices ripple through my family, my community?
How do my words help—or harm—those around me?
Can I learn to speak with more care, more grace?
In what ways do I avoid my deeper responsibilities—as a friend, a parent, a neighbor, a child?
These questions often remain unspoken, unanswered, as we move through our days. But they are exactly the questions the Torah dares us to ask.
Again and again, the Torah calls us to rise—to be a little more awake, a little more kind, a little more attuned to the Divine spark in ourselves and others. It calls us to embody lovingkindness, to live with compassion, to pursue goodness not as a destination, but as a daily path3.
We may not have all the answers. But we are invited to keep asking the right questions.
This is really a misnomer. One basic question is asked, and four different answers are provided.
The Hebrew is much more palatable: Kohein Gadol.
This is the primary goal of Mussar: providing teachings and practices on a daily basis, to be the best version of yourself.