Adapted from Rabbi Shlomo Yosef Zevin in L’Torah U’l’Moadim
“IN THE BEGINNING...” (1:1)
Beginnings. And endings. The beginning has a quality that the end does not possess, and the end has that which the beginning lacks.
Beginning has its strength in quality, but it is weak in quantity. The beginning of something is its source, its root, its central point. It is the powerhouse of its strength, the wellspring of its life force.
On the other hand, ending is strong in quantity, in size, in extent, but it is weak in quality. The end of something represents its maximum span, its fullest extrusion into the physical world, its greatest presence, its most developed incarnation.
However, its greatest extent is also the weakest expression of its essence. The leaves of a tree may define its ultimate span, but they are also the weakest point of its life force. The roots, on the other hand, may be hidden, but they contain the tree’s very essence.
The greatness of an empire is evaluated by its furthest outpost, but it is also there that it is at its weakest, with its lines of supply and communication at full stretch.
All this is true in the physical world. But on the spiritual plane, quality and quantity are identical at the beginning and at the end.
This is the hallmark of Shabbos. Shabbos is the end of creation, but it is also its first purpose and goal. “Last in action; in thought, first.”
Shabbos has to come after the six working days. And even if you get lost in the desert and forget which day of the week it is, you first count six days and only then keep a day of Shabbos. Not the reverse.
But Shabbos is not just the end. For every Shabbos throughout the generations is still called “Shabbos Bereishis,” the first Shabbos, because every Shabbos contains the primal power of the first, of the root. The source of blessing and the root of holiness.
The Two Versions
Let us look at what the two creation accounts in Genesis 1 and Genesis 2-3 can tell us about creation. In Genesis 1, G-d creates things: chemical elements, stars, planets, lifeforms, biological species. In Genesis 2-3, He creates people. In the first chapter, He creates systems; in the second chapter, He creates relationships. It is fundamental to the Torah’s view of reality that these things belong to different worlds, distinct narratives, separate stories, alternative ways of seeing reality.
There are differences in tone as well. In the first, creation involves no effort on the part of G-d. He simply speaks. He says, “Let there be,” and there was. In the second, He is actively engaged. When it comes to the creation of the first human, He does not merely say, “Let us make man in our image according to our likeness.” He performs the creation Himself, like a sculptor fashioning an image out of clay: “Then the Lord G-d formed the man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being.”
In Genesis 1, G-d effortlessly summons the universe into being. In Genesis 2, He becomes a gardener: “Now the Lord G-d planted a garden ...” We wonder why on earth G-d, Who has just created the entire universe, should become a gardener. The Torah gives us the answer, and it is very moving: “The Lord G-d took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and take care of it.” G-d wanted to give man the dignity of work, of being a creator, not just a creation. And in case the man should view such labor as undignified, G-d became a gardener Himself to show that this work too is Divine, and in performing it, man becomes G-d’s partner in the work of creation.
Then comes the extraordinarily poignant verse, “The Lord G-d said, “It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him.” G-d feels for the existential isolation of the first man. There was no such moment in the previous chapter. There, G-d simply creates. Here, G-d empathizes. He enters into the human mind. He feels what we feel. There is no such moment in any other ancient religious literature. What is radical about biblical monotheism is not just that there is only one G-d, not just that He is the source of all that exists, but that G-d is closer to us than we are to ourselves. G-d knew the loneliness of the first man before the first man knew it of himself.
That is what the second creation account is telling us. Creation of things is relatively easy; creation of relationships is hard. Look at the tender concern G-d shows for the first human beings in Genesis 2-3. He wants man to have the dignity of work. He wants man to know that work itself is Divine. He gives man the capacity to name the animals. He cares when He senses the onset of loneliness. He creates the first woman. He watches, in exasperation, as the first human couple commits the first sin. Finally, when the man gives his wife a proper name, recognizing for the first time that she is different from him and that she can do something he will never do, He clothes them both so that they will not go naked into the world. That is the G-d, not of creation (Elokim) but of love (Hashem).
That is what makes the dual account of the naming of the first woman so significant a parallel to the dual account of G-d’s creation of the universe. We have to create relationships before we encounter the G-d of relationship. We have to make space for the otherness of the human other to be able to make space for the otherness of the Divine other. We have to give love before we can receive love.
RABBI YAAKOV ASHER SINCLAIR OHR.EDU
RABBI JONATHAN SACKS, Z”L
