Etz Hayim Reader

Jewish mysticism gives us a fascinating, mind-bending concept: Adam Kadmon.

Adam Kadmon, literally "primordial man," isn't just some ancient dude. According to kabbalistic tradition, Adam Kadmon is the beginning of everything, the most ancient of all primordial beings. The Tree of Souls tells us that Adam Kadmon precedes all other creations, and from Adam Kadmon, all other worlds spread forth. Think of it: before there was anything, there was Adam Kadmon.

So, what is Adam Kadmon, exactly? Well, it's complicated! It’s described as the first creation to fill the void created by God's contraction. Remember that? God had to make space within Himself to allow the universe to exist. Adam Kadmon is what filled that space. Adam Kadmon consists of ten emanations in the form of circular wheels, one inside the other, followed by the form of a single human being – a completely spiritual being.

Here's where it gets really interesting. When we say that humans were created in the image of God, it's not referring to God directly. Because, let's be clear, God Himself has no form or image. Instead, it refers to the form of Adam Kadmon. Adam Kadmon is filled with the light of the infinite, extending from one end of the empty space God created to the other.

Where does this light come from? Some say it emerges from openings in Adam Kadmon's skull – his ears, nose, mouth, and eyes. Others say it issues from his mouth, his navel, and even his phallus. Wherever it comes from, the lights that issue from Adam Kadmon's mouth reach into all corners of the world. According to Tikkunim (spiritual repair), only the points of the lights, called the branches, go forth, while the roots remain within him.

Imagine lights shining from the forehead of Adam Kadmon in rich and complex patterns, some even taking the form of letters and words of the Torah! These lights, we're told, come forth from where the box of tefillin (phylacteries) is placed. All the lights that shine forth from Adam Kadmon eventually come together into a single circle. But the light that remains inside Adam Kadmon is far greater than the light that emerges. It’s like a cosmic filter, allowing us to perceive just a fraction of the divine.

Adam Kadmon contains thousands upon thousands of worlds! The first four to emerge are the Four Worlds: Atzilut (Emanation), Beriah (Creation), Yetzirah (Formation), and Asiyah (Action). According to Etz Hayim, Hekhal Adam Kadmon, these worlds correspond to the senses of vision, hearing, smell, and speech. The creation of Adam Kadmon and these lower worlds had a beginning in time. But the Infinite One, known as Ein Sof, has no beginning or end.

So, is Adam Kadmon a literal being? Probably not in the way we typically think of beings. Kabbalists see Adam Kadmon as both a mythic figure and an abstract function. It is the spiritual prototype of man, a kind of cosmic soul. But it's also understood as an anthropomorphic manifestation of God, a male deity assuming the shape and features of a human being. The concept likely evolved from the older idea, prominent in Philo's writings, of a heavenly man who was created at the same time as, or prior to, the earthly Adam. Yosef ibn Tabul, in Kerem Hayah leShlomo, even suggests that Adam Kadmon, like the earthly Adam, transgressed in some fashion.

Aryeh Kaplan points out in Inner Space that Kabbalah allows us to interpret these anthropomorphisms allegorically rather than literally. It's not about taking these descriptions at face value, but about understanding the deeper, underlying meaning.

Think of Adam Kadmon as a cosmic metaphor, representing a stage in the creation of the world and the universe itself. Jorge Luis Borges, in "The Aleph," even describes Adam Kadmon as representing the "inconceivable universe." Adam Kadmon also represents a cosmic realm. As Hayim Vital clarifies in Etz Hayim, Derush Igulim ve-Yosher, the human qualities attributed to Adam Kadmon shouldn't be taken literally. It's a way for us to understand higher spiritual matters that are otherwise beyond human comprehension.

Adam Kadmon is part of the complex kabbalistic theory of God's emanation of the world, containing the ten sefirot (divine attributes). From this perspective, Adam Kadmon isn't just a primordial being but a cosmic forcefield that contains the creative forces of existence.

So, the next time you look up at the night sky, remember Adam Kadmon. Remember that everything we see, everything we experience, is ultimately rooted in this first, primordial being, this bridge between the infinite and the finite. It’s a powerful reminder of the interconnectedness of all things, and the spark of the divine that resides within us all.

The notion that everything we've learned, everything we've strived to understand, is just a stepping stone to something even greater.

In some traditions, this Messianic Torah will be taught by the Messiah himself! Or, some even say, by God Himself! Can you imagine learning directly from the source of all wisdom? The Etz Hayim and Likutei Torah point toward this very idea.

This isn't some casual replacement, either. Now, before you get too shocked, remember that the great Kabbalist, Hayim Vital of Safed in the 16th century, emphasized that the literal meaning of the Torah is not its true meaning. Redemption, the messianic era, can only be achieved through kabbalah, through unlocking the secret, inner meanings.

Why "worthless"? Because the mundane aspects of the Torah, the ones governing our actions and interactions as human beings, simply won't be as relevant in the World to Come. As one midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) suggests, even Moses argued with the angels that they have no need for the Torah, since it only concerns humans!

But here's the crucial point: Kabbalists aren't throwing out the entire Torah. They're discarding the literal level, the surface reading. The deeper levels of interpretation, the hidden mysteries, those are considered infinite and eternal.

Think of it like this: Our current Torah begins with the letter bet (ב), the second letter of the Hebrew alphabet. But this Messianic Torah? It begins with aleph (א), the first letter! It's a whole new beginning, a fresh perspective on divine wisdom.

This idea of a Messianic Torah isn't entirely new. It grows from the tradition of the Two Torahs: the Oral Torah and the Written Torah. And it echoes the legends of the first tablets given to Moses on Mount Sinai. Remember those? (You can read more about that elsewhere.) According to tradition, they held a higher, more complete wisdom.

The Zohar tells us that this Messianic Torah is the one that God delights in, the one studied by the righteous souls in the heavenly Garden of Eden. Study of the Torah, then, isn’t just an earthly practice. It continues in the World to Come, but at a level of profound understanding that surpasses anything we can currently imagine.

So, what does this all mean for us, here and now? Maybe it means that we should approach our studies with a sense of wonder, knowing that we're only scratching the surface of an infinite ocean of wisdom. Maybe it means that we should strive to delve deeper, to seek out the hidden meanings and the mystical interpretations. Maybe, just maybe, it means that the very act of studying Torah is a preparation for the Messianic Age, a way of drawing closer to that ultimate revelation.

The idea of a Messianic Torah invites us to consider that our spiritual journey is never truly complete. There's always more to learn, more to understand, more to experience. And that, perhaps, is the most exciting prospect of all.

Tzimtzum, a Hebrew word that means "contraction" or "self-limitation," is a profound idea in Jewish mysticism, particularly within the Kabbalistic tradition. It suggests that, before creating the universe, God, the Ein Sof (אין סוף) or "Infinite," contracted Himself.

It: Before creation, God's light, an infinite light, filled all of existence. There was no empty space, no void. Everything was saturated with the divine presence. This light had no beginning and no end. But then, God decided to create worlds. And to do that, according to this powerful myth, He contracted Himself.

The primary source for this idea comes from Rabbi Hayim Vital (1542-1640) in his Etz Hayim (עץ חיים), "The Tree of Life." Vital was the chief disciple of Rabbi Isaac Luria, known as the Ari (1534-1572), a towering figure in Kabbalah. Vital explains that God contracted His essence into what's described as no more than a handbreadth. At that instant, darkness spread everywhere, because God's infinite light had been withdrawn. like this: "Like a person who draws in his breath," Vital writes, "so that the smaller might contain the larger, so did God contract His light into a handsbreadth, and the world was left in darkness." And in that darkness, God carved large boulders and hewed rocks to clear wondrous paths of wisdom.

Vital elaborates that the light, which formed a circle, contracted itself at its midpoint, withdrawing to the circumference and leaving an empty space in between. This is where the World of Emanation, and all other worlds, exist, with the light of the Infinite surrounding it.

Why this elaborate act of contraction? Because, as Vital explains, before the emanations were manifested and the creatures were formed, there was only a simple, ethereal light filling all of existence. There was no empty space, no vacuum, for everything was filled with that infinite light. When God desired to create the worlds and manifest the emanations, He contracted Himself in the very center of His light, creating an empty space. This tzimtzum was equally distributed around that empty middle point, forming a circular vacuum.

Now, the idea that God's presence fills the world isn't new. We see it in the biblical account of the Tent of Meeting. Remember when Moses couldn't enter because God's presence filled it entirely (Exodus 40:34-35)? Or the verse in Jeremiah (23:24) where God declares, "For I fill both heaven and earth"? Midrash Rabbah (Lev. Rab. 4:8) even quotes King David saying, "Just as the soul fills the body, so God fills the whole world."

But the idea that God can also contract His presence is also rooted in tradition. Think about God speaking to Moses from between the two staves of the Ark of the Tabernacle (Genesis Rabbah 4:4). Exodus Rabbah (34:1) is even more explicit, with God saying, "I will descend and concentrate My presence within one square cubit of the Ark." So, God can fill heaven and earth when He wishes, but He can also focus His presence as needed.

Dov Ber, the Maggid of Mezritch, had a slightly different take. He believed that tzimtzum took place in this world, where God contracted His infinite light, but that in the higher worlds, God's light remains unrestricted. He even found support for this in (Isaiah 60:19): "No longer shall you need the sun for light by day… For the Lord shall be your light everlasting, your God shall be your glory." (Maggid Devarav le-Ya'akov 184).

So, what does it all mean? The concept of tzimtzum offers a powerful way to understand the paradox of creation. It suggests that God, in His infinite generosity and love, made space for us – literally. He limited Himself to allow for our existence, our freedom, and our ability to create and shape the world alongside Him. It's a humbling and awe-inspiring thought, isn't it?

Did creation happen all at once, a cosmic Big Bang of everything? Or was there an order, a divine sequence to the unfolding of existence?

Jewish mystical tradition, specifically Kabbalah, offers a fascinating answer. The universe, it tells us, was built from the top down. From the highest realms of spirit, all the way down to…well, to us.

Etz Hayim, a foundational text of Kabbalah written by Rabbi Hayyim Vital in the 16th century, lays out this concept with intricate detail. Imagine a cascading waterfall, each level flowing from the one above. That’s how creation unfolded, according to this view. The upper worlds, the realms closest to the Divine, were created first. And then, each subsequent world emerged from the world above it. This wasn't a chaotic rush. Each development happened in its proper turn, at its appointed time. No speeding things up, no slowing them down. This orderly progression continued until, finally, it was time for olam ha-zeh (this present world) – this world, our world – to be brought into being.

This idea of a sequential creation raises some interesting questions that our sages have pondered for centuries. Did God start with the spiritual realms or the physical ones? It's a debate that echoes through the halls of midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), those rich collections of rabbinic interpretations and stories.

And what about the idea of "prior worlds?" the notion of a series of creations isn't entirely new. Earlier rabbinic traditions also speak of worlds that existed before our own. But there's a crucial difference. These earlier traditions, often found in Midrash Rabbah, describe prior worlds that were ultimately destroyed.

Kabbalah, however, presents a more continuous picture. Instead of annihilation, these earlier worlds become the very foundation, the building blocks upon which the universe is constructed. It's not about destruction, but transformation. The lower worlds aren't just created after the upper ones, they are created from them. One feeds into the other.

This concept, as explained in Etz Hayim (1:20-28), paints a beautiful picture of interconnectedness. It’s a reminder that everything in existence, from the loftiest spiritual plane to the most humble corner of our physical reality, is linked. We are all part of a single, unfolding story, a grand cosmic narrative that began long before we arrived on the scene.

So, the next time you gaze up at the night sky, remember this: you're not just looking at stars, you're looking at the latest chapter in a story that began with the highest heavens, a story that continues to unfold with each passing moment. What will we create from the world we've inherited?