Tree of Souls

by Howard Schwartz

  Many of the Sabbath rituals have special meaning. It is traditional to have two challahs on the Sabbath. The two challahs (braided loaves of bread) represent the Israelites in the wilderness who collected manna on Friday for two days, for no gathering of the manna was permitted on the Sabbath. Another good example of the intimate link between myth and ritual is the reason given for the custom of eating fish on the Sabbath. This fish, it is said, is intended to remind us of the messianic banquet that awaits the righteous in the World to Come, when they will feast off of the great fish Leviathan and drink messianic wine saved since the six days of Creation. Once again the Sabbath and Creation are directly linked, and this reaffirms the purpose of the Sabbath ritual, which is to remind us of God’s six days of Creation and His subsequent day of rest. The creation of the world is God’s greatest miracle, and remembering this reinforces the fact that we would not even exist without God, nor can we continue to exist without Him. Ultimately, then, the purpose of this Sabbath ritual is to give honor to God and to God’s creation.

  Just as the Sabbath is welcomed on Friday night, so its departure is signaled at the end of the Sabbath with Havdalah, a closing ceremony that separates the Sabbath and the days of the week that follow. Here prayers are recited and songs sung, and certain ritual items are used: a braided candle, spices, and wine. These ceremonies are the ritual manifestation of the arrival and departure of the Sabbath. However, there is also a powerful mythical dimension to these rituals, for the arrival of the Sabbath brings with it two important spiritual presences, the Sabbath Queen and the neshamah yeterah, a second soul. The Sabbath Queen is one of the personas of the Shekhinah, the Divine Presence, who is the Bride of God. The neshamah yeterah is a holy spirit that inhabits a person for the duration of the Sabbath. Both the Sabbath Queen and the second soul are said to take their leave when the Havdalah ceremony that concludes the Sabbath is performed. The ritual of smelling the spices that is part of Havdalah is supposed to revive a person who has just lost his or her extra soul. Havdalah is supposed to be performed when three stars appear in the night sky, but many Hasidim were reluctant to end the Sabbath, and they would delay the ceremony as long as possible, until well after midnight. There was even one Hasidic sect that put off saying Havdalah until the middle of the week, and then began at once to prepare for the next Sabbath.

  Thus the Sabbath can be seen as a perfect melding of myth and ritual, which, since it recurs on a weekly basis, serves as a religious foundation for those who observe it. It is truly as the essayist Ahad Ha’am said, “More than Israel has kept the Sabbath, the Sabbath has kept Israel.” The myth, which comes first, is the Genesis account of the six days of Creation, and how on the seventh day God rested. All of the elaborate traditions of the Sabbath, including the ritual meal using challah and wine, the Sabbath songs, and refraining from any kind of work, serve to remind us that the Sabbath is a special day, when the people of Israel recall God’s great work of Creation, as well as the day God rested. The people act out the rituals that keep the myth alive, and the myth is remembered and reenacted, and the entire cycle reexperienced.

  Another important ritual in the Jewish life cycle is the saying of Kaddish, the prayer for the dead. This prayer is recited daily for 11 months for a deceased mother or father (B. RH 17a). Mourners stand to recite the prayer at the end of each prayer service, while facing Jerusalem. The Kaddish is also recited at the burial service, and whenever family members visit a grave.

  Although the Kaddish is mentioned as one of the synagogue prayers in the Talmud, the practice of mourners reciting the Kaddish seems to go back to the thirteenth century. Over time, the Kaddish has become inextricably linked to a constellation of myths about the fate of the soul after death. For the Kaddish is not only a remembrance of the dead, but also a theurgic invocation, calling upon God to protect the soul of the one who has died during the time that the soul spends in Gehenna. It was the widespread Jewish belief that only a few pure souls went directly to Paradise after death. Acknowledging that everyone has his or her share of sins, it was believed that the majority of those who died went to Gehenna, where they were punished by avenging angels for up to one year. These punishments are intended to serve as a purifying process, and they are generally identical to those associated with the Christian concept of hell. Sinners are struck with flaming lashes or hung by their offending organ. But then—in contrast to the Christian view of hell—they are released from Gehenna and permitted to make a slow ascent into Paradise. This belief is explicitly stated in the Midrash: “The son’s reciting of the Kaddish raises the soul of the parent from purgatory to paradise.”147

  It is in this context that the Kaddish must be understood as a theurgic practice, an action that brings about divine intercession, here protecting the soul of the father or mother from the punishments of Gehenna. The prayer serves as a kind of amulet—holding back the forces of vengeance in the same way that an amulet protects against the Evil Eye. This spiritual protection is required for up to a year, the maximum time a soul spends in Gehenna. However, the Kaddish is recited only for eleven months, out of respect for the deceased, on the assumption that one’s own parents were not so evil as to require the full twelve months of purification. Note that saying the Kaddish thus gives a compelling reason for mourners to be present for prayers. Indeed, the fate of a beloved parent’s soul hangs in the balance, and the ritual of saying the Kaddish and the myth of the fate of the soul after death were inextricably linked.

  Another outstanding example of a theurgic ritual is the ceremony known as Tashlikh, dating from the fourteenth century, which takes place during the afternoon of the first day of Rosh ha-Shanah. It is customary to go to the banks of a river, or any body of water, shaking the pockets of one’s garments into the water as a symbolic way of getting rid of one’s sins. Not only does Tashlikh serve as a symbolic purgation, but it implies that fulfilling the ritual will indeed serve to purify one’s soul and free one of sin. As is the case with many Jewish rituals, however, there are multiple interpretations of what it means. Some interpret Tashlikh as a rite of transferring the sins to the fish, while others view it as a ritual of moral purification. Still others claim that the custom was created as a magical ceremony to placate the water demons.148 While it is clear that Tashlikh presently plays a role of purification related to the larger observance of Rosh ha-Shanah, the implication that Tashlikh is also intended to placate demons shows that Jewish concerns during this time of judgment include the forces of evil.

  Another example of a Rosh ha-Shanah ritual with a mythic purpose is the sounding of the shofar. The ram’s horn is blown on Rosh ha-Shanah (when all Jews are required to be present to hear it), in a strictly prescribed series of short and long blasts. There are many reasons given for this custom. One of the most fascinating of these asserts that the sounding of the shofar causes God to move from His Throne of Justice (where His judgments are harsh) to His Throne of Mercy (where His judgments are merciful).149 This interpretation makes the shofar blowing on Rosh ha-Shanah a prime example of theurgy, since it is the ritual act itself that is said to make God render favorable judgment rather than any prayer or petition. Another explanation of this ritual is that God made up a secret language, that of the ram’s horn, which is only understood by Him, so that the Accuser should not know the pleas of His children.150 Identifying these blasts as a secret language is an acknowledgment that their meaning is unknown, except to God.

  In each of these cases, the ritual makes it possible to relive the myth and experience it personally. This kind of living mythic experience also is found in the Passover Seder, where it is emphasized that “We were slaves in Egypt,” rather than “They were slaves…” This makes it possible to relive the Exodus, to experience the slavery, the liberation, and the revelation at Sinai.

  So too is the reading of the account of the Exodus at the Seder intended to recall that epic journey. Likewise, the use of matzah is a reminder that the Israelites in the wilderness did not have
time to let their bread leaven, and therefore ate unleavened bread, and the other foods served at the Seder (ritual Passover meal) play similar roles as reminders of the Exodus narrative. Ultimately, then, as each of these examples indicates, ritual is intended to keep myth alive.

  It is interesting to note that some of the major Jewish holidays show clear evidence of having expanded their mythic origins by becoming associated with other mythical and historical events. The three holidays of Passover, Shavuot, and Sukkot offer excellent examples. These were originally the three major harvest festivals in ancient Israel, and elements of nature continue to be demonstrated with harvest decorations such as the hanging of fruits and vegetables in the sukkah. They were set at the time of even more ancient harvest festivals, such as those of the Canaanites. It was required that all Jewish inhabitants journey to Jerusalem, to offer their first fruits or the firstlings of their flocks to be sacrificed at the Temple. Thus these three holidays were also associated with the temple in Jerusalem, and are linked to the temple cult. However, over time each of these holidays also became associated with the Exodus from Egypt. Passover recalls the upheaval that preceded the Exodus, including the ten plagues, as well as the crossing of the Red Sea. Shavuot commemorates the giving of the Torah on Mount Sinai. And Sukkot recalls the hasty shelters built by the Israelites during their 40 years of wandering in the wilderness. But after the destruction of the Temple and the exile of the Jewish people eliminated the yearly pilgrimage to Jerusalem, the associations of these three festivals became even more closely linked to the Exodus narrative, until it became the dominant motif. Today, for most Jews, each of these three holidays revolves exclusively around the myth of the Exodus. And the Exodus myth, as a whole, is focused on the covenant between God and Israel, the central myth of all of Judaism. It includes God’s role, as well as that of Moses, in freeing the people from Egyptian bondage, in revealing the Torah on Mount Sinai, and in leading the people to the Holy Land. The only myth of comparable importance in Judaism is that of the creation of the world. Note that the rituals associated with these three holidays have been integrated into the lives of the people, as they are celebrated in a Seder at home, in the synagogue, and by eating in arborlike enclosures, known as sukkot, built outside a person’s house. Now on Sukkot that which was once brought into the Temple is hung in the sukkah, and homes and synagogues are decorated with greenery and flowers. In this way myth and ritual reaffirm each other and, at the same time, pay homage to God’s role in the destiny of Israel.

  V. The Light of the First Day

  The Jewish mythic tradition is unique in that it is possible to follow its evolution from the oral to the written tradition, and trace various stages of the written tradition. Thus a myth inspired by the Bible may be elaborated by the rabbis of the Talmud, as well as by kabbalistic and Hasidic rabbis, and versions of it might be found in the fifth century, in the eighth century, in the thirteenth century, in the seventeenth century and in the nineteenth century. In each of these stages, there is a clearly continuing mythic development. Furthermore, while the myths of most cultures seem to spring into existence on their own, it is possible to trace a mythmaking process in Judaism that is closely linked to the method of exegesis found in rabbinic texts. This technique, what we might call the midrashic method, searches for answers to the problems raised in the biblical text, and, in the process of resolving them, creates new myths.

  A fine example of the process whereby a mythic motif is first discovered, then embellished until it achieves the status of a full myth is found in the traditions concerning the light of the first day. 151Everyone is familiar with the words of Genesis 1:3, And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. But the ancient rabbis, who scrutinized the words of the Bible for every hidden mystery, wondered what light this was. After all, God did not create the sun, the moon, and the stars till the fourth day. So what was the light of the first day?

  In discussions scattered throughout rabbinic, kabbalistic, and hasidic literature, the rabbis consider this question. They search for clues about this mysterious light in every book of the Bible and find the clue they need in a prophecy of Isaiah. He speaks about what the world would be like in the messianic era: Moreover, the light of the moon shall be as the light of the sun, and the light of the sun shall be sevenfold, as the light of the seven days (Isa. 30:26). Here a biblical mystery is explicated right in the Bible: the light of the seven days—a clear reference to the primordial light—was seven times brighter than the sun.

  Drawing on Isaiah’s explanation, the rabbis conclude that the two lights—that of the first day and that of the fourth—are different.152 The light of the first day is a primordial light, what is called the or ha-ganuz, or hidden light. This resolves the problem. But it also raises a whole series of new questions—What was the nature of that sacred light? Where did it come from, and where did it go? These questions have been debated among the rabbis for many centuries, and they arrive at a variety of explanations. Along the way, they wrestle with profound questions about God and the way in which God created the world. What is actually happening is that a Jewish myth is taking form, a very essential myth about the nature of the divine and the Mysteries of Creation. Let us consider some of the primary permutations of this myth, which are often contradictory.153

  First of all, where did the light come from?

  Some say that God created it at the instant He said, “Let there be light” (Gen. 1:3). Others say it was the light of Paradise, seven times brighter than the sun, which God brought into this world at the time of Creation. For the first three days and nights, it shone undiminished. Rabbi Samuel Eliezer Edels, known as the Maharsha, said of this light, “The light that God created on the first day was the most important element of all, and for its sake the world was created.”

  Still others say that the light existed even before the Creation. When God said, “Let there be light,” light came forth from the place in the universe where the Temple in Jerusalem would one day be built. Surrounded by that light, God completed the creation of the world.

  How, then, did God bring the light into the world?

  Some say that God wrapped Himself in a prayer shawl of light, and the light cast from that prayer shawl suffused the world. Others say that God draped the six days of Creation around Himself like a gown and dazzled the universe with His glory. Then there are those who say that God took the light and stretched it like a garment, and the heavens continued to expand until God said, “Enough!” Still others say that the light was cast from the very countenance of God.

  And where did the light go?

  There is a rabbinic debate as to how long the primordial light shone and when it was hidden away for the righteous in the world to come. Some say it only lasted 36 hours.154 Some say that it only lasted until the creation of the sun, moon, and stars on the fourth day,155 while Rashi insists that it shone during the day for the entire week of the Creation. For those who believe it lasted till the expulsion from Eden, it was possible for Adam to see in that light to the ends of the universe.

  The clue to the fate of the primordial light is found in a verse from the Book of Job: But now one does not see the light, it shines in the heavens (Job 37:21). This verse was drawn upon to explain that God removed the light from this world and put it in the Olam ha-Ba, the World to Come. There it is one of the rewards awaiting the righteous.

  A reference to the restoration of the hidden light is found in Sefer ha-Bahir: “God said, ‘If My children keep the Torah and commandments that I gave them, one day the glow that was taken from the first light will be like the light itself, as it is said, It is a brilliant light which gives off rays on every side—and therein His glory is enveloped (Hab. 3:4).’ What light is this? It is the light that God stored away and hid, as it is said, that You have in store for those who fear You (Ps. 31:20).”156

  Some say that this sacred light pervaded the world until the very moment that Adam and Eve tasted the forbidden fruit. Then th
e first thing they lost was that precious light, for God, seeing the wicked deeds of the coming generations of Enosh (Gen. 5:6-11), hid the primordial light at once. Without it, the world grew dark around them, for the sun shone like a candle in comparison. Never again did they see the world in the splendor of that light, and that was the most painful punishment of all. Out of sympathy, God is said to have hidden a bit of that light inside a glowing stone, and given it to Adam and Eve when they were expelled from the Garden, as a reminder of all that they had lost. This stone, known as the Tzohar, is itself the subject of fabulous stories.157

  Other sources say that God was about to hide the light, but He did not, for He wanted to honor the Sabbath. Proof is found in the verse God blessed the seventh day (Gen. 2:3). What did He bless it with? With the primordial light.

  Still others say that the light was removed from the world at the time of the evil generation of the Flood, or, some say, at the time of the generation of the separation, which built the Tower of Babel.

  The Zohar suggests that it was necessary for God to hide the light, for the world could not have endured if He had not, due to its intensity. Yet the same text suggests that even though the light is hidden, the world is sustained by it and that every day something of this light emerges into the world and renews the work of Creation.158

  By now, most of the questions have been addressed—What was the light? Where did it come from? Where did it go? But still unanswered is one of the most important questions—did God create the primordial light or did it pre-exist? This question delves into the mysteries of Creation, and in rabbinic and kabbalistic circles it was believed that these kinds of questions could undermine monotheism. The advice of the Mishnah is to avoid them: “Whoever gives his mind to four things, it would have been better if he had not been born—What is above? What is below? What came before? And what will come after?”159 Despite this warning, the talmudic rabbis and all of their successors delved deeply into these questions, even when it brought them to the brink of Jewish gnosticism, that is, to the implication that God may have been assisted in the creation of the world.