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Esau Stands at the Candle and Sees the Name He Was Denied

The Tikkunei Zohar mapped the letters of God's name onto a candle flame. Esau inhabits the dark zone where judgment burns without mercy.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. What You Are Looking at When You Look at a Flame
  2. Esau as Judgment Cut Off From Its Source
  3. The Throne and Esau's Transgression
  4. The Name He Was Denied

What You Are Looking at When You Look at a Flame

Hold a candle at eye level and study it carefully. The small darkened point where the wick meets the wax is the first thing: dense, contracted, the source from which everything rises. The white cone of light above it is the next layer: brighter, expanding outward. Above that is the larger yellow flame, reaching toward air. And at the very top and edges is the faint blue corona, the barely visible outermost boundary where the fire touches the dark and does not consume it.

The Tikkunei Zohar, compiled in thirteenth-century Castile, mapped the four letters of the divine name, the Tetragrammaton, onto these four zones with a precision that makes every candle into a diagram. The small contracted wick-point is the Yod, the first letter, the smallest and densest. The vertical white inner flame is the Vav, the connector, the letter that joins what is above to what is below. The two outer layers of the flame, the yellow and the blue corona, are the two instances of Hei, the letter that appears twice in the name and twice in the structure of the fire. Every candle burning on every table is a working model of the divine name, the four letters in their proper order from the inside out.

Esau as Judgment Cut Off From Its Source

This is where Esau enters. The Tikkunei Zohar does not read Esau simply as the rejected brother, the man whose blessing was taken by Jacob's trick, the patriarch of Edom. It identifies Esau with the quality of Gevurah, divine judgment and power, in its disconnected form. Gevurah is one of the ten sefirot and is not evil in itself. It is the force of boundary and limit, the necessary contraction that prevents loving-kindness from dissolving everything into formlessness. Without Gevurah, Chesed, loving-kindness, would flood the world without distinction. Gevurah is what gives the world its shape.

The problem is Gevurah without Chesed, judgment without mercy, the flame without the inner warmth. In the candle diagram, Esau corresponds to the dark zone at the base of the flame, or to the outermost corona where the fire's intensity has dissipated into something cold and borderline. He represents divine judgment that has been separated from its root in the divine structure, that burns without the moderating warmth of the right side, that executes without compassion because the connection to the upper sefirot that would supply that compassion has been cut.

The Throne and Esau's Transgression

The tradition preserves a teaching about Esau and the divine throne. There is a specific transgression attributed to Esau that is connected to his relationship with the throne of God, a destabilization of the divine order that comes from Gevurah operating beyond its proper domain. The Kabbalistic reading of the Esau-Jacob struggle is not about sibling rivalry or stolen blessings. It is about which quality of the divine structure will dominate the world in a given era.

When Jacob wrestles with the angel at the Jabbok ford, he is wrestling with the guardian angel of Esau, the cosmic force of unmoderated judgment. He does not defeat it cleanly. He is injured in the hollow of his thigh, the nerve pulled, and he walks with a limp ever after. He also receives a blessing from the force he wrestled. The blessing is a new name: Israel. One who has struggled with God and with men and has prevailed. The prevailing is not absolute. The limp is permanent. But the name is new, and the force of judgment, once wrestled with directly, has acknowledged the one who struggled with it and lived.

The Name He Was Denied

When Esau came in from the field and found that his brother had taken the blessing, he wept a great cry and asked: have you not reserved a blessing for me also? Isaac told him the blessing had gone to Jacob. Esau said: he has supplanted me twice, once for the birthright and now for the blessing. He asked again: do you have only one blessing, my father? He wept. Isaac gave him a lesser blessing, one that included the sword and eventual independence but not the dew of heaven and the fatness of the earth that Jacob had received.

In the candle diagram of the divine name, Esau is the zone that cannot reach the inner warmth of the Yod, the contracted source. He sees the name burning. He sees where the letter of mercy and compassion originates. He cannot reach it because his nature is the outer fire, the severe edge. He is not evil in the way that the serpent in the Garden is evil. He is divine power that cannot moderate itself, that cannot access the softness at its own center. The blessing he was denied was not merely Isaac's blessing. It was the capacity to inhabit the full structure of the name, to be Gevurah connected to Chesed rather than Gevurah burning alone at the edge of the flame.


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The texts this telling draws on, in full. Open a card to read inline, or expand it for a wider, quieter read.

Tikkunei Zohar 104:18Tikkunei Zohar

The Tikkunei (spiritual repair) Zohar, a crucial text of Kabbalah, invites us to see something far deeper. It sees the candle as a representation of the divine, a microcosm of the cosmos itself.

The candle's components, according to the Tikkunei Zohar, each represent a different aspect of God's name. The still, small candle itself is the Yod (י), the first and smallest letter, often considered the seed of all creation. The flame that rises from it? That's the Vav (ו), the connector, drawing things together. And that flickering, dancing movement of the flame, going this way and that? That, my friends, is Hei-Hei (ה־ה). The very act of lighting a candle becomes a symbolic act, a connection to the divine name and the flow of creation. It's a powerful image, isn't it? Light illuminating the darkness.

The Tikkunei Zohar doesn’t stop there. It presents a contrasting image: a "candle of darkness" from gehinom – hell. And

This dark candle isn't just one color, but a disturbing mix of three, each representing a different organ and a different kind of negativity. Red, the color of the liver, is associated with Esau and Edom (Genesis 36:1), embodying conflict and earthly desires. Green, the color of the gall bladder, hints at bitterness and envy. And black, the color of the spleen, is linked to dimmed vision, as in the case of Isaac (Genesis 27:1) whose "eyes were dim, so that he could not see." This darkness represents a spiritual blindness, a failure to perceive the divine light.

The Tikkunei Zohar even gives us a sign to recognize these colors, drawing a parallel to the laws of tzara'at (often translated as leprosy) in (Leviticus 14:37): "...greenish or reddish stains...and their appearance is lower than the wall." This idea of being "lower" (shaphal) is equated with the color black, the deepest level of darkness.

So, what does this all mean?

The Tikkunei Zohar isn't just giving us a spooky story. It's presenting us with a powerful duality: light and darkness, purity and corruption, the divine and the… well, the other side. It's a reminder that within ourselves, within our world, both potentials exist. We have the capacity for great light, for connection to the divine, but we also have the potential for darkness, for spiritual blindness and negativity.

The choice, ultimately, is ours.

Which candle will we feed? Which flame will we nurture?

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Tikkunei Zohar 109:14Tikkunei Zohar

The Tikkunei (spiritual repair) Zohar, a crucial text in Kabbalistic literature, gives us a pretty fiery picture.

It focuses on Esau and Ishmael, often seen as representing forces opposing spiritual truth. And it uses some pretty intense imagery to describe their ultimate fate. The text zooms in on a verse from the Book of Daniel (7:9): "...His throne is sparks of fire..." Now, that's not just pretty language. The Tikkunei Zohar reads this as saying that from those sparks emanating from God's throne, all the mistaken idols, all the false beliefs, will be consumed. Imagine a cosmic cleansing, a spiritual purification by fire!

How does this happen? The text gets even more detailed, diving into the Hebrew alphabet itself. Sparks descend, it says, from the letter Yod (י), which has the numerical value of 10. Then, more sparks come from the letter Hei (ה). The idea is that these two letters, Yod and Hei, are aroused in fire, specifically to burn those erroneous idols. The Zohar is using the very building blocks of the Hebrew language, the letters that form God's name, to describe the process of spiritual purification. When this happens, (Isaiah 1:31) comes to pass: "And the strong will be as chaff.." Meaning all that seeming power, all that false strength, will be revealed as flimsy and easily burned away.

It doesn't stop there. The letter Vav (ו), with a numerical value of 6, then rises to its level. This is connected to a verse from 1 Kings (10:19), describing Solomon's throne: "Six levels to the throne.." The Tikkunei Zohar then makes an intriguing connection to cantillation notes – the musical notations used when chanting the Torah. Specifically, it mentions darga (֧) and trei ta'amei (֦). These are musical phrases used in Torah reading. What, the text asks, is trei ta'amei – literally, "two notes?"

Now, you might be wondering, what do musical notations have to do with burning idols? That's the beauty of Kabbalah, isn't it? It finds connections where we least expect them. The implication here is that even the seemingly mundane aspects of Jewish ritual, like how we chant the Torah, are connected to this larger cosmic process of purification. Everything is interconnected. The small details reflect the grand scheme.

So, what does it all mean? Maybe it's a reminder that negativity isn't permanent. That even the strongest forces of opposition will eventually be consumed by the fire of truth. And that even something as simple as chanting the Torah can play a part in that process. Food for thought, isn't it?

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Esh Kadosh p. 13Esh Kodesh (Rabbi Kalonymus)

It's one of the most enigmatic scenes in the entire Torah (Genesis 32:24-30), and Jewish tradition has offered some pretty wild interpretations over the centuries.

One compelling idea, found in various midrashim (rabbinic interpretive commentary), is that Jacob wasn't just wrestling any old being. Oh no. It was Esau's guardian angel. And not just any angel, but Samael (the angel of death) himself! Samael is often identified as a powerful, even demonic, figure in Jewish mystical thought.

The Zohar tells us that Samael is a powerful figure with a lot of influence. So what was he doing wrestling Jacob? The idea is that by wearing Jacob down, exhausting him through this all-night struggle, Samael hoped to make him vulnerable for Esau's attack the next day. He wanted to ensure Esau would finally triumph over his brother.

Jacob, stubborn and determined as ever, held on. He didn't let Samael win. And here’s where the story takes another fascinating turn. Before letting the angel go, Jacob demanded a blessing. "Your name shall no longer be Jacob," the angel declared, "but Israel, for you have striven with God and with men, and have prevailed" (Genesis 32:29).

Now, why would Jacob insist on a blessing from such a figure?

Rabbi Kalonymus Kalman Shapira, the Rebbe of the Warsaw Ghetto – may his memory be a blessing – offers a profound and moving insight in Esh Kadosh. He suggests that Jacob wasn't asking for a blessing for himself. He was asking for it on behalf of his descendants, the people of Israel. The blessing from Samael, forced as it was, meant that this powerful adversarial angel couldn't protest when God decided to liberate Israel from oppression in future times. It meant that even Samael had, in a way, given his reluctant assent to the Exodus from Egypt!

As we find in Midrash Rabbah, everything said about Jacob can also apply to the people of Israel, especially after Jacob's name was changed to Israel. It’s all intertwined. This blessing, therefore, wasn't just for one man, but for the entire nation that would spring from him.

This ingenious interpretation casts the whole wrestling match in a new light. It transforms it from a personal struggle into a cosmic battle with implications for generations to come. Even the dark forces of the universe, personified by Samael, could be compelled to serve the ultimate purpose of redemption.

The idea that Jacob wrestled with Esau's guardian angel, Samael, appears again in another myth, "The Magic Flock," found in Tree of Souls (Schwartz). It's a recurring motif, highlighting the ongoing struggle between good and evil, between Israel and its adversaries, a struggle that continues to this day.

So, the next time you read about Jacob's wrestling match, remember it's not just a story about a man wrestling an angel. It’s a story about a nation's destiny, a cosmic battle, and the enduring power of hope, even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds. What does this story mean for us today, and our own struggles against seemingly insurmountable odds?

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