Parshat Bereshit4 min read

God Destroyed Earlier Worlds Before Choosing Mercy

Before this world existed, God made worlds and destroyed them. Only when mercy entered the making did one world finally hold.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. This Was Not the First Attempt
  2. Evening Before the First Day
  3. The Worlds That Did Not Please God
  4. Judgment and Mercy Debate What Is Made

This Was Not the First Attempt

Before the first evening of Genesis, before the darkness that God divided from light, there were other worlds. They were made and they were destroyed. Not by accident, not through some external limitation, but by divine judgment: this one does not please Me. And another would begin, and another would be found insufficient, until this world, the one that stands, came into being under conditions that the previous worlds had not met.

This is the reading preserved in Bereshit Rabbah. God is not described as proceeding in a single smooth sequence from nothing to everything. God is described as proceeding through selection, refusal, and beginning again.

Evening Before the First Day

The textual clue that opens this reading is small and grammatical. Genesis says evening before morning. If the evening of the first day marks a transition, what came before it? The midrash answers: the trace of what did not last. The darkness at the beginning of Genesis is not simply the absence of light before God spoke. It is the residue of worlds already judged inadequate and destroyed. The text of creation opens in the middle of a history the text does not tell.

That reading transforms the opening of Genesis into something vertiginous. The familiar words do not describe a beginning so much as a surviving. This world, the one being described, is the world that made it past the selection. The evening before morning is not just the end of a day. It is the boundary between what failed and what was allowed to continue.

The Worlds That Did Not Please God

Rabbi Abbahu's teaching in Bereshit Rabbah does not name the earlier worlds or describe their failure in detail. The reticence is telling. What displeased God about the previous worlds is not the point. What remains is the terrifying precision of divine care: God will not preserve a world that cannot bear its purpose. Every act of creation is also an act of judgment, and judgment can result in destruction. The world that succeeded is the one that was allowed to be because it met a standard the previous worlds did not.

Later sources, including the traditions recorded in Sefer HaKanah and in the legends assembled by Louis Ginzberg, elaborate this into a debate between divine attributes. Judgment wanted to make the world according to strict justice. Mercy argued that strict justice would destroy what was made before it had a chance to demonstrate itself. The world that we inhabit is the world that mercy made possible, built with the concession that human beings would need more than perfect justice to survive their own existence.

Judgment and Mercy Debate What Is Made

The debate between Judgment and Mercy is not resolved by one winning and the other losing. It is resolved by partnership. This world was made with both, which is why it can hold things that pure justice would have destroyed and things that pure mercy would have left unaddressed. The two divine qualities were woven together in the making, and what they wove together was a world with enough strictness to be serious and enough mercy to be livable.

That partnership is what the earlier worlds lacked, according to one reading of the tradition. Worlds made with judgment alone shattered under their own standards. Worlds made with mercy alone could not hold their shape. This world holds because it carries both the evening and the morning, the trace of what failed and the opening of what might yet succeed.

CreationMercyJudgmentMidrashKabbalah
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From the tradition

Sources

5 sources

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

Bereshit Rabbah 3:7Bereshit Rabbah

Rabbi Yehuda bar Simon said: It is not written here "Let there be evening," but rather "And there was evening" (Genesis 1:5). From this we learn that an order of times existed before this. Rabbi Abbahu said: this teaches that the Holy One, blessed be He, would create worlds and destroy them, until He created these, and He said: These please Me; those did not please Me. Rabbi Pinhas said: the reasoning of Rabbi Abbahu is from "And God saw everything that He had made, and behold, it was very good" (Genesis 1:31), as if to say: These please Me; those did not please Me.

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Bereshit Rabbah 3:7Bereshit Rabbah

If you explore the ancient texts, particularly the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), you find some truly mind-bending ideas.

The tradition turns to Bereshit Rabbah, a classic collection of rabbinic interpretations of the Book of Genesis. Within its pages, we find a fascinating discussion about the very nature of creation itself. It all starts with a seemingly small detail in the creation narrative.

Think about the phrase "it was evening, and it was morning" used to mark the passage of the first days. Rabbi Yehuda bar Simon points out a subtle, but crucial detail: the text doesn't say "it will be evening," but rather "it was evening." What's the significance? He argues that this shows that a sense of time, of order, existed before the creation of the sun and moon on the fourth day, which are, of course, our conventional markers of time. (Bereshit Rabbah 3). Time, in this view, wasn't just invented with the celestial bodies; it was already woven into the fabric of existence.

Here's where it gets really interesting. Rabbi Abahu takes this idea a step further. He suggests that the phrase "it was evening" hints at something far more profound: that God continuously created worlds and destroyed them, until finally creating the one we inhabit now. Imagine that! A cosmic trial and error, a divine process of refinement on an unimaginable scale.

Why would he think that? Well, Rabbi Abahu says God looked at this world and said, "This one pleases Me; those did not please Me." He wasn't just snapping his fingers and hoping for the best!

And Rabbi Pinḥas finds support for this in the verse "God saw everything that He had made, and behold, it was very good" (Genesis 1:31). The word "behold" (hinneh in Hebrew) suggests something new, improved, something that wasn't there before. A sense of satisfaction, perhaps, at finally getting it "right."

According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, this idea of multiple creations becomes even more vivid. Imagine entire civilizations rising and falling, each experiment paving the way for the next. It paints a picture of a God deeply involved in the creative process, learning and adjusting until achieving a vision of perfection.

Now, some might see this as purely allegorical, a poetic way of confronting the mysteries of creation. But it also raises some profound questions. What were those earlier worlds like? What lessons did God learn from their failures? And what does it mean for our own world, knowing that it might be the result of countless iterations?

These are the kinds of questions that the Midrash invites us to ponder. It's not just about understanding the past; it's about wrestling with the big questions of existence and our place within it. So, the next time you look up at the night sky, remember the words of the Rabbis. Maybe, just maybe, you're looking at the culmination of a series of worlds, a evidence of the enduring power of creation, destruction, and ultimately, renewal.

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Bereshit Rabbah 9:2Bereshit Rabbah

All the beauty, all the challenges... could it have been any other way?

The rabbis of old certainly pondered this. They wrestled with the very notion of creation, asking whether this world was God's first try, or if it was, well, let's just say a more refined model.

In Bereshit Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations of the Book of Genesis, we find a fascinating discussion about this very question. It all starts with the verse: "God saw everything that He had made, and, behold, it was very good" (Genesis 1:31).

Rabbi Tanhuma opens the discussion with a quote from Ecclesiastes (3:11): "He made everything beautiful in its time." He then declares, "The world was created at its proper time; the world was not fit to be created before then." It's a bold statement, isn't it? It suggests a cosmic sense of timing, that everything unfolded exactly as it should.

But Rabbi Abbahu takes things a step further. He proposes something truly: "From here we learn that the Holy One blessed be He continuously created worlds and destroyed them, until He created the current ones, and said: This one pleases me, those did not please Me."

Whoa. Let that sink in. The idea that God experimented, iterated, even destroyed previous versions of reality before settling on this one? It's a radical concept. Imagine the possibilities! What were those other worlds like? What went wrong?

Rabbi Pinḥas even points to the very verse we started with as evidence. "God saw everything that He had made, and, behold, it was very good" – this, he says, means "this pleases me, those did not please Me." The word "behold" (hinneh in Hebrew) implies a new and improved situation, something that hadn't existed before.

So, is this world the result of divine trial and error? The rabbis don’t give us a definitive answer. But they invite us to consider the possibility.: the imperfections we see, the struggles we face... are they simply remnants of earlier, less-perfected worlds? Or are they integral parts of this world's unique and ultimately "very good" design?

Perhaps the most profound takeaway is this: the rabbis aren’t afraid to ask the big questions. They aren’t afraid to imagine possibilities that challenge our assumptions. And by doing so, they invite us to engage with the text, with our tradition, and with the very nature of existence in a deeper, more meaningful way.

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Legends of the Jews 1:5Legends of the Jews

A monumental work compiled by Rabbi Louis Ginzberg, God actually created and destroyed several worlds before He finally settled on this one! Apparently, He wasn’t quite satisfied with the earlier models. A divine beta test, if you will.

Even this world, the one we're currently inhabiting, wasn't a sure thing. Ginzberg tells us that God initially planned to rule it with strict justice, pure and unadulterated. But He quickly realized that unwavering justice alone would lead to its downfall. no room for forgiveness, no second chances. It's a pretty bleak picture.

So, what did He do? He combined justice with mercy. Rahamim, compassion. He made them rule together, a divine balancing act. And it’s this blend, this constant interplay between justice and mercy, that allows our world to endure. It's a powerful thought, isn't it?

The Zohar, a central text of Kabbalah, echoes this sentiment, emphasizing the primordial nature of Divine goodness. Without it, nothing could continue to exist.

And it doesn't stop there. The Legends of the Jews goes on to describe how Divine goodness actively protects us from all sorts of threats, both seen and unseen.

For instance, without God's intervention, the myriads of evil spirits would have wiped out humanity long ago. But every Nisan, the month of the spring equinox, the seraphim – fiery angelic beings – approach the spirit world and intimidate the evil spirits, preventing them from harming humans. That's right, angelic crowd control!

And what about the natural world? The text explains that if God didn’t protect the weak, the tame animals would have been devoured by the wild ones ages ago. In Tammuz, the summer solstice, the mighty behemot (often interpreted as a primeval beast of immense power) lets out a roar so loud that all the animals hear it. This roar instills fear and timidity in them for an entire year, curbing their ferocity. Talk about a natural alarm system!

Then, in Tishri, at the autumnal equinox, the enormous bird ziz (another mythical creature, a colossal bird) flaps its wings and cries out. This causes the birds of prey, the eagles and vultures, to hesitate and refrain from annihilating the smaller birds out of greed. It's like a divine check on predatory behavior.

And even the underwater world isn't exempt! Without God's goodness, the big fish would have quickly devoured all the little ones. But in Tebet, during the winter solstice, the sea grows restless as leviathan (a massive sea monster) spouts water, unsettling the larger fish and causing them to restrain their appetites. This gives the smaller fish a chance to escape.

These aren't just quaint stories. They are ancient ways of understanding the delicate balance of the world and the constant presence of Divine intervention, of Divine goodness, in maintaining that balance. They remind us that even when things seem chaotic or unfair, there’s a deeper order at play, a constant effort to protect and preserve.

So, the next time you feel overwhelmed by the world's challenges, remember the Legends of the Jews and the multiple worlds that came before. Remember the interplay of justice and mercy. Remember the seraphim, the behemot, the ziz, and the leviathan, all playing their part in maintaining the delicate balance of creation. It’s a comforting thought, isn’t it? That we're not alone, and that even in the face of immense forces, there’s a power working to protect and sustain us.

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Sefer HaKanah 45:4Sefer HaKanah

Tucked away in the mystical text of Sefer HaKanah (The Book of Reeds), we find a fascinating glimpse into the cosmic negotiation that makes it all possible.

A celestial courtroom, if you will. On one side, Din (Judgement), fierce and unwavering. On the other, Rachamim (Mercy), overflowing with compassion. They're locked in a divine debate about humanity’s fate.

The attribute of Mercy, personified as feminine (because in Hebrew, Rachamim is grammatically plural and often associated with the feminine principle of nurturing and compassion), pleads our case. She quotes (Psalm 130:3), "If you, HASHEM, kept a record of sins, Lord, who could stand?" Heaven forbid that GOD should only consider our failings! If GOD were to judge us solely with the attribute of Din, the text asks, using the unclear acronym מ''י, who could possibly survive? Everyone, with all their descendants, would be wiped out. Poof!

Then steps in the attribute of Judgement, equally forceful. "A sinner should die for their sins," it argues, "and no one else! The entire world shouldn't be destroyed because of them! There is enough merit to sustain the world, through the righteous. Let the wicked face the consequences of their actions." Seems harsh. But Judgement demands accountability, a cosmic sense of fairness.

And what about the potential for change? The attribute of Compassion steps forward again, paraphrasing a verse (pasuk) and reminding everyone that GOD "does not desire the dead to die." Meaning, even the wicked have the potential for teshuvah (repentance and return), and GOD, in their infinite mercy, accepts those who sincerely turn back. But if they die before repenting, what chance do they have for teshuvah? It’s a powerful question.

So, what's the answer? Sefer HaKanah suggests that GOD finds a way to join Din and Rachamim. To balance justice with mercy, rigor with compassion. Because if either attribute reigned supreme, the consequences would be catastrophic.

This cosmic negotiation isn't just some abstract theological concept. It's a reminder that within ourselves, we also wrestle with these opposing forces. We strive for justice, but we also yearn for compassion. We want accountability, but we also believe in the possibility of redemption.

Maybe that's why this ancient debate still resonates. It reminds us that the world, and ourselves, are complex and messy, and that finding balance – between judgement and mercy, between strictness and forgiveness – is a constant, ongoing process. A process, perhaps, that keeps the world spinning just a little bit longer.

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