Sha'arei Orah Reader

The answers? Well, they're as varied and beautiful as the stars in the night sky.

Some say God dwells in the celestial realms, way up in the highest heaven, seated on the Kisei ha-Kavod, the Throne of Glory. A king on his throne, ruling over all creation. It's an image that evokes power and majesty.

Others propose a different picture. They say God hovers equidistant between the upper and lower worlds, a perfect balance between heaven and earth. Think of it like the fulcrum of a cosmic seesaw. This idea finds its roots in the verse from Isaiah (66:1): "The heaven is My throne, and the earth is My footstool."

So, which is it? Up in heaven or hovering in between?

Maybe… both.

Perhaps the most intriguing piece of this puzzle is the concept of the Shekhinah (the Divine Presence). Shekhinah, in Hebrew, refers to the Divine Presence. It's that feeling you get sometimes, that sense of something bigger than yourself watching over you. The Shekhinah is often described as making her home right here in this world, our world.

We often identify God as dwelling in heaven. We see this vividly in Isaiah's vision (Isaiah 6:1-8), where God is seated on a "high and lofty throne." But, as we’ve seen, there are other perspectives.

Now, the traditional view is that the Shekhinah's earthly home was the Temple in Jerusalem. A specific, sacred space dedicated to connection. A place where heaven and earth felt especially close.

But here's where it gets even more interesting. The Shekhinah isn't always defined the same way. Sometimes, the Shekhinah is identified as God. Sometimes, as simply the Divine Presence. And sometimes. And this is my favorite, as the Bride of God. for a second. The Shekhinah as the Bride of God. It suggests a relationship, an intimacy, a constant back-and-forth between the divine and the human. This idea, as we find in Sha'arei Orah 1, paints a picture of God not as distant and aloof, but as deeply involved in our world, in our lives.

So, where does God dwell? Maybe the answer isn't a place at all. Maybe it's a relationship. Maybe God dwells in the space between heaven and earth, between the divine and the human, between us and… well, everything. Maybe God dwells within the yearning itself. What do you think?

What about the other tree. the Tree of Life?

Here's a mind-bender: God actually didn't forbid Adam from eating from the Tree of Life. He was free to partake! Genesis doesn't say otherwise. It was the Tree of Knowledge, the one laden with that tempting, off-limits fruit, that was the problem. But after Adam took a bite of the forbidden fruit, everything changed. Suddenly, he was banished, and angelic beings, cherubim, were stationed to guard the path to the Tree of Life (Genesis 3:23). So, what gives?

The plot thickens when we turn to Kabbalistic interpretations. Joseph Gikatilla, a prominent 13th-century Kabbalist, offers a truly paradoxical idea: the Tree of Knowledge was actually the SAFE0 to the Tree of Life! According to Gikatilla, you couldn’t even reach the Tree of Life without first experiencing the Tree of Knowledge. It's like Kafka's idea of paradise – seemingly unattainable, as explored in his work "Paradise."

So, how can we understand this seeming contradiction?

Gikatilla, in his Sha'arei Orah (Gates of Light), sees the Tree of Knowledge through a Kabbalistic lens. He associates its fruit with the kelippot – the "shells" or "husks." These are the forces of evil, the things that create separation and exile. By eating the forbidden fruit, Adam brought banishment upon himself.

But there's more! In the Kabbalistic system of sefirot, the ten emanations of God, the Tree of Knowledge represents Malkhut, the tenth sefirah (a divine emanation), often associated with the physical world and receptivity. The Tree of Life, on the other hand, symbolizes Tiferet (Beauty), harmony and beauty, a higher realm. And in this system, Malkhut serves as the gateway to Tiferet.

Gikatilla suggests that Adam’s experience – even his sin – was a necessary step, albeit a painful one, on the path to ultimate spiritual understanding and connection. Without confronting knowledge, without facing the consequences of choice, could he have ever truly appreciated, or even accessed, the Tree of Life?

Perhaps the story of the Garden isn't just about obedience and punishment. Maybe it's about the complex, often paradoxical, journey of growth and the idea that even mistakes can hold the seeds of profound wisdom. What do you think?