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Nearly six millennia since the Creation, we still directly experience and enjoy much of G-d’s original handiwork: water and land, trees and plants, the sun and the moon, fish and birds, animals and humans. Creation takes on a prominent and permanent position in our liturgy, in the reason behind Shabbos, and in our conception of G-d’s role in the universe. Yet, one component of the Creation story whose significance remains primarily historic – though perhaps futuristic too - is Gan Eden, that utopian but short-lived venue in which mankind got off to its sinful start.
 

As a child, I would scour my family globe with the hope to ascertain exactly where this celebrated Garden was supposed to be. I soon learned that the identification of its coordinates was no simple matter. Just as the Garden was said to be surrounded by four rivers, its location was similarly surrounded by much speculation and controversy. Even discounting some of the outlandish hypotheses such as Missouri and Scotland offered by later non-Jewish groups, within our scared tradition there are widely differing sources with some placing Gan Eden in Yerushalayim rather than in the more geographically-compelling Persian Gulf.
 

The mystery of Gan Eden also carries over to its centerpiece, the Eitz Ha-Da’as – the Tree of Knowledge. Curiously, when the Torah introduces us to this tree (2:9), it does not inform us of its species. Subsequently, however, when Adam and Chava became aware of their exposure and help themselves to fig-leaves as makeshift clothing (3:7), Rashi famously tells us that these fig-leaves came from the very tree - the Eitz Ha-Da’as - from which Adam and Chava had just eaten the forbidden fruit. Basing himself on Midrash Tanchuma, Rashi further opines that the Torah deliberately concealed from us the identity of this tree so as not to embarrass it. People should not forever say that it was on account of this tree that the world was so severely punished. Strangely, neither that Midrash nor Rashi found it problematic to go ahead and share with us that which the Torah consciously withheld from its students.
 

A conversation about this tree also appears in Midrash Ha-Gadol with four different views presented as to its identity: Rabbi Meir says it was wheat. Rabbi Yehuda bar Ila’i - grapes. Rabbi Abba de-Akko – citron (esrog). Rabbi Yosi – figs. Each adduces logical arguments and Scriptural support for his respective opinion. Apparently, even though the Torah saw fit not to disclose the type of tree, the rabbis in turn nonetheless seemed to have a clear tradition on this matter and no issue with discussing it. This paradox is especially borne out with a parallel passage in Midrash Rabbah that first mentions the same set of four rabbinic opinions and then concludes with a statement of anonymity that echoes and expands upon the one cited above from Rashi: “Heaven forbid, G-d never revealed that tree to man, and never will reveal it in the future.” This latter version is especially ironic as it declares in one breath that, though G-d will forever maintain his secret about the tree, the four rabbis not only knew the secret – with their mutually exclusive versions – but they blew it! The sensitive file on this tree was declassified and released as an enduring element of our Oral (and now written) Tradition.
 

How do we understand the position of these rabbis? It is one thing to speculate about the esoteric, but here they have seemingly become whistleblowers on one of the Torah’s earliest and classical secrets?
 

Perhaps what we are encountering here is the confluence of two perspectives on sinful behavior. The first recognizes it for what it is, at least most evidently: actions worthy of condemnation and as such, a source of humiliation. Ashrei nesui pesha kesui chata’ah – Praiseworthy is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered. (Tehillim 32:1) Confession is a private affair; sins – at least those between us and G-d – ought to remain between us and G-d. Even when others may suffer on account of their involvement – they need not necessarily be aware of the perpetrator’s participation. So, despite the interminable adverse impact that the tree might have on human civilization, it was to be spared the everlasting embarrassment.
 

At the same time, a phenomenal but fundamental principal in our concept of repentance is that transgressions – depending on the situation, either premeditated (zedonos) or accidental (shegagos) - na’asos lo ki-zekhuyos, are transformed into merits (Yoma 86b). Metaphysically, this conversion is just one of several features of repentance that makes it a supernatural process. It is no wonder that teshuva is described as approaching kisei ha-kavod - the Heavenly throne – because that is the only domain where it can be completely comprehended. Considering things on a rational level, however, we recognize that one’s prior experiences – even if prohibited at that time – can guide the rechanneling of propensities and the redirection of future actions, thereby creating a religiously stronger individual going forward.
 

It is appropriate then to note that when the four rabbis identify the type of tree, it is more than merely informational. Each of the four species mentioned takes on special significance in Halacha. The fig is a shiur – minimum size – for various food-related requirements in Jewish Law. Wheat, as the preeminent grain, is the staple of human sustenance, the primary ingredient in menachos-sacrifices, the mainstay of a seuda and its concomitant birkas ha-mazon, and the predominant type of matzas mitzva. The grape, once pressed into wine, is the sacramental beverage used in the weekly kiddush and havdala, and many other religious ceremonies, as well as in the libations that accompanied the sacrifices. The esrog, while generally shaped and colored like an ordinary lemon, is the object of a highly sought-after Biblical mitzva. The forbidden peri eitz ha-da’as ultimately became the requisite peri eitz ha-dar, at once perennial produce on the tree (ha-dar mi-shana le-shana) and a paradigm of glory (hadar). The tree that as the facilitator of the primordial sin, was once a source of consternation, is now the progenitor of a palette of mitzvos.
 

Parashas Bereshis, then, is not only the beginning of a new cycle of the Torah, but also the happy conclusion to the two-month period of Elul and Tishrei. We leave duly informed that repentance, when done correctly, can take the skeletons out of the closet and dress them not in fig leaves, but in the regal wardrobe of Torah observance.
 

Shabbat Shalom.

Dedicated in memory of my father R’ Binyamin ben Shmuel z”l, whose fourth Yahrzeit was the tenth of Tishrei.

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THE WEEKLY SIDRA- B’RAISHIS

Rabbi Moshe Greebel

            One of the most fascinating aspects of human psychology is how the introduction of the smallest amount of N’giyus (personal involvement) when it comes to choice, can cause us to go from one extreme to the other.  A case in point of this principle, is found in this week’s Sidra, when Chava ate from the forbidden Aitz HaDa’as (Tree of Knowledge):

            “…..And she took of its fruit, and ate, and gave also to her husband with her; and he ate.”  (B’raishis 3:6)

            The obvious question then is, after eating of the Aitz HaDa’as herself, why did she make certain that her husband did the same?  Rashi on this Passuk (verse), offered the following:

            “And gave also to her husband…..So that she should not die, and he live and marry another.”

            According to the Sifsei Chachamim, Rashi deduced this from the expression ‘And gave also to her husband with her.’  All the Torah had to say would have been ‘And gave also to her husband.’  What is the additional ‘With her’?  It is to show that she wanted him to be ‘with her only’- without any competition whatsoever.

            Basically, she wanted so much to be the only wife of Adam HaRishon, that she was willing to kill him.  Now, while this may seem a somewhat odd approach to the institution of matrimony, there is a slight difficulty with the explanation of Rashi. 

            Initially, Chava would only have eaten from the Aitz HaDa’as if she were truly not afraid of dying, which at this juncture, she was not.  This can be seen from the Gemarah in Sanhedrin 29a:

            “Chizkiya said, ‘Whence do we know that he who adds (to the words of HaShem) subtracts (from them)?  From the verse, “G-d has said, ‘You shall not eat of it neither shall you touch it.’”’”  (ibid. 3:3)

            This was Chava disclosing to the Nachash (serpent), what her husband told her.  Rashi on this Gemarah, explained:

            “Neither shall you touch it…..HaKadosh Baruch Hu never warned them about touching (the Aitz HaDa’as).  And, from the additional words (spoken by Adam HaRishon), they subtracted (from the words of HaShem).  For, the Nachash pushed Chava up against the tree, until she touched it.  He (Nachash) said to her, ‘See!  There is no death for touching it (Aitz HaDa’as)!  Neither will you die for eating (from the Aitz HaDa’as)!’”

            This adding on of additional words to what was spoken by HaShem, is the clear fault of Adam HaRishon, who indirectly, gave the Nachash more room to debate against Chava.  Nevertheless, it was after being bumped into the tree, that Chava was not afraid of death, and opted to eat from the tree.

            Yet, directly after eating, she was suddenly afraid she might die, and her living husband would marry another.  What made her so suddenly afraid of death?  In response, the Yalkot Lekach Tov (B’raishis page 20) offered the following parable.

            There once was a kingdom made up of provinces- some large, others smaller.  Each province had its own governor, who attended an annual meeting of the governors of that realm.  Now, on one of these annual meetings, a certain governor made the claim that in his very small province, there lived a particular Jew, who could forecast the future without fail.

            Another governor of a very large province was a chronic anti-Semite, who did not believe that a lowly Jew could read the future, and wanted to make a spectacle of this Jew.  At the conclusion of the annual governors’ meeting, he issued a summons for that particular Jew to attend next year’s annual meeting of governors.

            A year later, the Jew hating governor prepared himself to confront the Jew in the presence of the other governors, by hiding in his robes a pistol.  He would ask the Jew, “On which day will you die?”

            When the Jew would offer his response of some date in the future, the governor would remove the pistol from his robes, shoot the Jew point black, and denigrate his victim by proving he had no knowledge of the future whatsoever.  The trap was set.  For an entire year, the Jew was concerned day and night with what awaited him, and how he would fare in the face of such danger.

            On the fatal day, the Jew was summoned into the presence of the governors.  The anti-Semite arose, put his hand into his robes, confronted the Jew, and asked him, “On which day will you die?”

            “I will die on the same day that you will die!” retorted the Jew fearlessly.  At this, the Jew hating governor became terribly shocked and dismayed.  He was so terrified by this response, that his hand froze, and he could not remove the pistol from his robes.  The Jew was then dismissed.

            Once the factor of N’giyus was introduced (his own death), the governor went from not believing that a Jew could forecast the future, to being terrified of the Jew’s prediction- literally, from one extreme to the other.

            So too, was the situation of Chava.  She was truly convinced that death would not result from eating of the Aitz HaDa’as.  Yet, after she ate, a most threatening factor presented itself to her- her surviving husband might marry another.  The sudden terrifying realization that she might not be the only wife of Adam HaRishon therefore, caused her to go from not fearing death to being jealously terrified of death- from one extreme to the other.

            And so, we too in our lives must understand the overpowering influence of N’giyus in ourselves and in others.  When making choices, we must attempt to be as objective and open minded as possible.  And, if the factor of N’giyus becomes too overwhelming, advice from a respected individual should be sought.

May we soon see the G’ulah Sh’laimah in its complete resplendency- and in our times.

Good Shabbos.

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