The People of Israel are charged with crowning God as King of the universe.
By SHLOMO RISKINshofar 88(photo credit: )
Of all the difficult questions relating to the eating of the forbidden fruit, the most blatant is the fact that Adam and Eve did not die. Why was God not true to His word? And perhaps a proper understanding of the divine punishment may help us understand the deeper meaning of the commandment, the ramifications of the transgression, and the significance of mortal existence.
Let us first take a cursory glimpse into the traditional commentaries. Targum Yonatan ben Uziel translates: "For on the day in which you eat of it, you shall be guilty of death," that is, judged worthy of death, but not necessarily suffer an immediate execution. R. Haim ibn Atar generally follows this direction, but adds the traditional Jewish version of original sin: "All created beings have been fined with death [as a result of Adam and Eve's transgression] until the venom with which the serpent infused the first human creatures evaporates, and then death 'will be swallowed up forever.'" The additions to Rashi suggest that we must utilize the Psalmist's teaching: "A thousand years in Your eyes [God] are like one day yesterday [to humans]," and therefore when Adam died at age 930, the divine law was judicially carved out. But I believe that it is the Ramban (Nahmanides) who explains the biblical verse best, both in light of humanity's existential condition and in light of the festival period we have just experienced: "From the time that you eat of it [the forbidden fruit], you shall be a child of death, as it is written: 'Whenever you go here or there, you shall know, yes, know, that you shall die, yes die' (I Kings 2:42)'… that in accordance with My will, you shall not exist forever…"
In a very profound sense, the very Days of Awe, Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur Mahzor (prayer book) which cries out at us in the Unetaneh Tokef prayer, "on Rosh Hashana it is inscribed and on the fast day of Kippur it is sealed, who shall live and who shall die, how many shall be born and how many shall pass away," poignantly reminds us how very fragile we really are; indeed, "as a flower that fades, as a dream that flies away." And when we trade our permanent homes on Succot for tenuous huts whose flimsy walls and roofs are rendered virtually useless by the slightest sprinkling of rain or gust of wind, we likewise become painfully aware of the vulnerability of all physical structures, including our own bodies.
From this perspective it is not at all strange that we read the Scroll of Ecclesiastes (Kohelet) on Succot.
"Futility of futilities," said Kohelet, "futility of futilities, all is futile'" (Often translated as "Vanity of vanities"; Ecclesiastes, 1,:1; hevel, the Hebrew word, refers to the vapor emitted when one exhales into the cold air.) And along these lines, I can never forget visiting my beloved grandmother for the last time; she was in her 90th year, dying of old age and ovarian cancer, totally unafraid, grateful to the Almighty for weakening her slowly and preparing her for transition to what she called her "true home." As I opened the door to her efficiency room (she lived together with my aunt and uncle), she smiled weakly: "You see, my child, that is the whole of life: the opening and closing of a door. You, at age 20, might see me as an old woman; but for me, my entire life passes before me like the opening and closing of a door…"
But isn't all this difficult to understand? After all, Tishrei is the month of joyous celebration, Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur are days of rejoicing which cancel mourning, Succot (Tabernacles) is the consummate festival! So why Unetaneh Tokef, succa and Kohelet?
Let us return to the Ramban and the forbidden fruit. The Ramban explains that at the outset of creation Adam was a functional being, no different from the sun, moon or stars. The human being was to do God's will automatically (Ramban, Biblical Commentary to Genesis 2:9). In eating the forbidden fruit, the human became a moral being, with the free choice to act even in a way which God did not want. This fundamental change in the human persona occurred on the sixth day of creation as part and parcel of human creation; and from this vantage point, it is necessary to maintain that human freedom of choice ultimately be seen as the will of God, who wants human beings as partners rather than puppets. Hence on Rosh Hashana it is the human being who is charged with blowing the shofar, thus breathing his eternal divine spirit into the symbol of animal materialism in order to sanctify the physical; on Rosh Hashana, it is the People of Israel who are charged with crowning God as King of the universe.
This mammoth mission cannot be accomplished by any one generation; it must be cumulative, an outcome of trial and error, success and setback, the fruit of many generations. The old must leave room for the new, but remain part of them, part and parcel of time's genetic fabric. And living in the shadow of death must not frighten us into paralysis. Quite the opposite; given the divine guarantee (shofarot and Yom Kippur purification) that redemption will prevail, the sense of human time limits must inspire us to use every moment wisely, to appreciate every day and every hour. For each of us, time itself will end all too soon; this makes it all the more precious.
It is told that above the modest apartment of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev lived a shoemaker. Late one night, when Rabbi Levi Yitzchak was about to close his Talmud and sleep, he could hear his neighbor still at work, humming and hammering. The sage walked upstairs: "Aren't you tired? It's past midnight, and we must be at morning services in a little less than six hours."
"Yes," said the shoemaker, as he pointed to the candlelight by which he was working. "But as long as the candle remains alight, there is still time to mend."
Rabbi Levi Yitzhak began to weep. "How truly do you teach, my master," he said to the shoemaker. "As long as the candle of our soul remains alight with life, there is still time for each of us to mend ourselves, and the world…"
The writer is the founder and chancellor of Ohr Torah Stone Colleges and Graduate Programs, and chief rabbi of Efrat.
if(catID != 151){
var cont = `Take Israel home with the new Jerusalem Post Store
