Parshat Bereshit5 min read

Lilith, the First Wife Who Would Not Submit

Before Eve, there was Lilith, made from the same dust as Adam, who refused his demand to lie beneath him and fled Eden on the name of God.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Before Eve, There Was Another Woman
  2. Made from the Same Dust
  3. The Angels at the Sea
  4. What She Became After Eden
  5. She Found Adam Again

Before Eve, There Was Another Woman

The Torah hides her in a gap between two verses. Genesis 1:27 says God made male and female together. Genesis 2:22 says God fashioned Eve from Adam's rib. Between those two verses, something happened that the text does not record. The rabbis who read closely gave that gap a name.

Lilith. The first woman Adam ever had. The first wife who ever walked out of a marriage.

Made from the Same Dust

The Alphabet of Ben Sira, composed between 700 and 1000 CE, tells the origin bluntly. God did not make the first woman from Adam's rib. He made her from the same earth he made Adam from, at the same time, in the same act. Because she came from the same dust, Lilith understood herself as Adam's equal.

The argument between them is almost domestic. Adam wants her to lie beneath him during intercourse. Lilith refuses. We are equal to each other, she says, because we were both created from the earth. The logic is unassailable. The argument is factual. The demand Adam makes is not about furniture arrangement. It is about which of them gets to name the structure of their life together. Lilith says: not you alone.

Adam would not yield. Lilith would not yield. And so she spoke the Ineffable Name of God, which she had learned because she lived in Eden where it could be learned, and she rose into the air and flew away.

The Angels at the Sea

God sent three angels after her. Their names are preserved in the tradition: Senoy, Sansenoy, and Semangelof. They found her at the Red Sea, the place the tradition associates with demons, the liminal water between worlds. They told her to return. She refused. They threatened her children. A hundred of her demon offspring would die every day, they said, unless she returned.

Lilith accepted the terms. Not because she capitulated to Adam. She accepted the cost. A hundred children a day, dying, and she would not go back. What she refused in Eden she refused at the sea. The Alphabet preserves her as someone who understood the exact price of her refusal and paid it.

What She Became After Eden

Lilith does not vanish from the tradition after she flies from the sea. She appears in the Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Genesis, roughly seventh to eighth century CE, as a presence in the world of demons, bound to the night, associated with infant death and male nocturnal emissions. The Chronicles of Jerahmeel, a medieval Hebrew compilation from the 12th century CE, knows her as the Queen of Demons, the consort of Samael, the embodiment of a particular kind of destructive female power.

The Testament of Solomon, a Jewish text from roughly the first to third centuries CE, records her as a wind demon who strangles infants, a figure of specifically maternal horror, a mother whose children die and who returns the grief to the children of others. The amulets placed in birthing rooms, inscribed with the names Senoy, Sansenoy, and Semangelof, are evidence that Lilith remained a practical threat in the lives of Jewish families for centuries, not a philosophical figure but a name written on parchment and hung over a newborn's bed.

She Found Adam Again

One thread of the tradition, preserved across the Ginzberg synthesis and the earlier aggadic sources he compiled, says Lilith found Adam again after Eve arrived. She slept with him while he was separated from Eve during the years of mourning after Abel's death. The children of those encounters, the demons who are Adam's but not Eve's, populate the hidden world alongside humanity. They press against the edges of ordinary life: in illness, in nightmare, in the particular vulnerability of childbirth and early infancy.

Lilith is not the only demon in the Jewish tradition. But she is the one who began in Eden, who had the same standing that Adam had, who spoke the same name he spoke and rose into the same air he breathed. She is the tradition's account of what happens when equality is denied at the beginning of everything.


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From the tradition

Sources

7 sources

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

Alphabet of Ben Sira 31Alphabet of Ben Sira

Before Eve, there was Lilith. According to the Alphabet of Ben Sira, a medieval text composed between 700 and 1000 CE, God didn't create Eve first. God created a woman from the same earth as Adam and named her Lilith.

The trouble started immediately. Adam insisted on being dominant. Lilith refused. "We are equal to each other," she told him, "inasmuch as we were both created from the earth." Neither would yield. So Lilith did something astonishing: she spoke the Ineffable Name of God - the Shem HaMeforash - and flew away into the sky.

Adam complained to God, and God dispatched three angels - Sanoy, Sansanoy, and Semangalof - to bring her back. They found her in the middle of the sea, in the very waters where the Egyptians would one day drown. The angels threatened to kill her if she didn't return. Lilith refused. But she made a deal: she would have power over newborn infants - boys for eight days, girls for twenty - unless she saw the names of those three angels inscribed on an amulet. If she did, she'd leave the child alone.

She also accepted a terrible price for her freedom. One hundred of her demon children would die every single day. This became the origin story behind Jewish birth amulets (kame'ot) inscribed with the names of Sanoy, Sansanoy, and Semangalof - a practice that persisted for centuries across Jewish communities.

The text also tells how Ben Sira cured the king's daughter of chronic sneezing by tricking her into holding her sneezes for three days, training her body to stop entirely. It's a strange pairing of stories - cosmic rebellion alongside folk medicine - but that's the Alphabet of Ben Sira for you. For more on Lilith's later mythological career, she becomes a far more powerful figure in kabbalistic tradition.

Full source
Legends of the Jews 2:43Legends of the Jews

The animals came to him two by two, male and female, but he had no companion. So, what did the Divine do? According to the legends, God decided to give Adam a wife.

Enter Lilith.

Unlike Eve, who was later fashioned from Adam’s rib, Lilith was created just like him, straight from the dust of the earth. The Zohar, that foundational text of Jewish mysticism, hints at the complexities of this primordial relationship. You’d think being made of the same stuff would make them equals. That's precisely where the trouble started. Lilith, fiercely independent, demanded equality. She believed her origins entitled her to it. But Adam, perhaps accustomed to his position as the sole human, wasn't having it. They argued, specifically about, well, marital positions, but that’s another story for another time. Lilith, feeling unheard and unvalued, took drastic measures.

Here's where things get really interesting. Lilith, in her desperation, uttered the Shem HaMeforash (שם המפורש), the Ineffable Name of God, a name of immense power. And with that, she flew away, vanishing into the air, leaving Adam utterly alone once more.

Can you imagine Adam's reaction? He complained to God, saying, "The wife you gave me has deserted me!" God, in turn, sent three angels – Senoy, Sansenoy, and Semangelof – to bring her back. They found her by the Red Sea, a place often associated with chaos and the untamed.

The angels delivered an ultimatum: return to Adam, or face a terrible punishment. Every day, a hundred of her demon children would die. A harsh choice, to say the least. But Lilith, in her resolve, chose the death of her children over subservience to Adam.

And that's where the legend takes a dark, vengeful turn. Lilith, rejected and scorned, vowed to take her revenge on humankind, specifically targeting newborn babies. According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, she would harm baby boys during the first night of their lives and baby girls until they were twenty days old. A terrifying prospect, isn't it?

But there’s a safeguard. To protect infants from Lilith's wrath, parents would create amulets bearing the names of her three angelic captors: Senoy, Sansenoy, and Semangelof. This, it was believed, would ward off the evil. Midrash Rabbah tells us this agreement was struck between the angels and Lilith herself – a fragile truce in an ancient battle.

So, what does this tell us? The story of Lilith is more than just a spooky bedtime tale. It's a powerful, albeit unsettling, exploration of equality, independence, and the consequences of feeling unheard. It raises questions about power dynamics in relationships and the lengths to which someone might go when they feel wronged. Is Lilith a villain, or a victim? Perhaps, like many figures in mythology, she's a bit of both. And perhaps her story serves as a constant reminder to listen, to value, and to strive for true equality in all our relationships.

Full source
Chronicles of Jerahmeel XXIIIChronicles of Jerahmeel (Gaster, 1899)

After the expulsion from Eden, Adam was separated from Eve for 130 years. He slept alone. According to the Chronicles of Jerahmeel, a 12th-century Hebrew chronicle translated by Moses Gaster in 1899, that solitude did not last. The "first Eve", that is, Lilith, found him, was charmed by his beauty, and lay beside him. From that union came demons, spirits, and imps in the thousands and myriads. These creatures attacked and killed anyone they encountered.

The terror continued until Methuselah intervened. He fasted for three days and begged for God's mercy. God granted him permission to write the Shem HaMeforash, the Ineffable Name, upon his weapon. Armed with it, Methuselah slew ninety-four myriads of demons in a single minute. He only stopped when Agrimus, identified as Adam's firstborn through Lilith, came to beg for mercy. Agrimus handed over the names of the remaining demons and their kings. Methuselah chained the demon kings in iron fetters, and the rest fled to the innermost recesses of the ocean, where they hide to this day.

Methuselah's greatness extended beyond demon-slaying. The text says he composed 230 parables in praise of God from every divine utterance and mastered 900 sections of the Mishna. When he died, thunder shook the heavens. Angels delivered a funeral oration. Nine hundred rows of mourners appeared, one for each section of Mishna he had studied. And tears fell from the eyes of the holy creatures onto the place where he died. His sword was buried with him.

The chapter closes with Enosh, son of Seth, who tried to demonstrate God's creation of Adam by molding a clay figure. When he breathed into it, Ha-Satan (the Accuser, heaven's prosecutor) entered the image and made it walk. The people began worshipping it, the first act of idolatry in human history.

Full source
Legends of the Jews, III. The Ten Generations, The Descendants Of Adam And LilithLegends of the Jews

Legends of the Jews (Ginzberg) turns to The Descendants Of Adam And Lilith.

In Legends of the Jews, Adam made a decision after Abel's death: he separated himself from Eve. He thought, "Why should I beget children, if it is but to expose them to death?" A reasonable question, given the circumstances! But life, as they say, finds a way.

The story continues with Lamech's wives who, upon hearing Adam's decision, turned on him, exclaiming, "O physician, heal thine own lameness!" Ouch. Harsh, but perhaps understandable.

Here's where things get really interesting. Though Adam avoided intercourse with Eve, he was, um, visited in his sleep by female spirits. The Zohar tells us of the existence of these spirits and, from his union with them, sprang shades and demons of various kinds, endowed with peculiar gifts. It's a rather… unconventional family tree, to say the least. These beings are sometimes referred to as the descendants of LILITH, Adam's mythical first wife.

And that brings us to the tale of Rabbi Hanina. This story, preserved in Legends of the Jews, tells of a very rich and pious man in Palestine who loved the Torah. On his deathbed, he instructs his son, Rabbi Hanina, to study Torah day and night, fulfill the commandments, and be a friend to the poor. He also predicts that he and his wife will die on the same day, and that the seven days of mourning will end on Passover eve. And he gives his son one very specific, very strange instruction: On Passover eve, go to the market and buy the first thing offered to you, no matter how expensive.

Everything happens as foretold. Rabbi Hanina goes to the market and finds an old man selling a silver dish for an exorbitant price. Obedient to his father’s wishes, he buys it. At the Seder table, he opens the dish to find another dish inside, and inside that dish? A live frog, hopping around!

He feeds the frog, cares for it, and the frog grows… and grows… and grows. Eventually, Rabbi Hanina has to build a whole chamber for this enormous amphibian. But the frog's appetite is insatiable, and Rabbi Hanina is eventually stripped of all his possessions.

Now, you might be thinking, "What a ridiculous story! What's the point?" But hold on. This is where the magic happens. The frog finally speaks, saying, "My dear Rabbi Hanina, do not worry! Seeing thou didst raise me and care for me, thou mayest ask of me whatever thy heart desireth."

Rabbi Hanina, ever the scholar, asks for nothing more than to learn the whole of the Torah. And the frog agrees! He teaches him the entire Torah, plus seventy languages, and even the language of beasts and birds! His method? Writing words on scraps of paper and having Rabbi Hanina swallow them. Not exactly the Rosetta Stone, but effective, apparently.

But the story doesn't end there. The frog also rewards Rabbi Hanina's wife, taking them both to the woods. There, the frog cries out, summoning all sorts of beasts and birds. He commands them to produce precious stones and herbs, teaching Rabbi Hanina's wife how to use the herbs as remedies. They return home wealthy and wise, enjoying the respect of the king.

Finally, the frog reveals his true origins: "I am the son of Adam, a son whom he begot during the hundred and thirty years of his separation from Eve. God has endowed me with the power of assuming any form or guise I desire." Talk about a plot twist!

So, what are we to make of this strange tale? Is it just a bizarre story about a giant, talking frog? Or is it a symbolic representation of something deeper? Perhaps it's a reminder that even in the darkest of times, even when we feel separated from God, from our loved ones, and from our own sense of purpose, there is still potential for connection, for growth, and for unexpected blessings. And sometimes, those blessings come in the most unusual forms… even a frog.

Full source
Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Genesis 3:6Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Genesis

The Torah says Eve saw the tree was good for food. Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on (Genesis 3:6) tells us she also saw something else.

"The woman beheld Samael, the angel of death, and was afraid." Samael, in later midrashic and Kabbalistic tradition, is the celestial being who rides the serpent, the accuser and the prosecutor. In Jewish thought, Samael is not an independent evil power; he is an angel of the heavenly court, sometimes identified with ha-Satan, the Accuser, fulfilling a role God permits. But he is terrifying nonetheless. Eve sees him and is afraid.

Then, this is the tragedy, she eats anyway. The Targumist refuses to let us read her action as naive. She knew something was wrong. She saw the shadow behind the serpent. "Yet she knew that the tree was good to eat, and that it was medicine for the enlightenment of the eyes, and a desirable tree by means of which to understand." The appeal of the fruit overwhelmed the fear. She took, she ate, and she gave her husband beside her, and he ate.

Why fear did not stop her

This verse teaches something hard. Knowing that a thing is dangerous, even seeing the angel of death standing next to it, is not always enough. Desire can outrun fear. Adam did not even get to see Samael, he just received the fruit from his wife and ate. The Targumist distributes responsibility carefully: Eve sinned with her eyes open; Adam sinned by not asking any questions. Both forms of failure are equally real.

Full source
The Aleph Bet of ben Sira, The Alphabet of ben Sira, (alternative version)Otzar Midrashim (Eisenstein)

When God created the first man from the dust of the earth, He looked at Adam standing alone and said what the Torah itself records: "It is not good for this man to be alone" (Genesis 2:18). So God formed a woman from the same earth, shaped her the same way, and called her Lilith.

The trouble started immediately. When Adam and Lilith tried to lie together, she refused to take the lower position. "I will not lie beneath you," she said. Adam insisted he belonged on top. Lilith's answer was devastating in its simplicity: "We are equal. We were both created from the earth."

Neither would yield. And when Lilith saw that Adam would never treat her as his equal, she did something no human had ever done before. She spoke the Ineffable Name of God, the secret, unutterable Name. And flew away into the sky.

Adam stood in the Garden and prayed. "Sovereign of the universe, the woman you gave me has run away." God dispatched three angels, Sanoy, Sansanoy, and Semangalof, to bring her back. They found her hovering over the sea, in the mighty waters where the Egyptians would one day drown.

"Return to Adam," the angels commanded. Lilith refused. They threatened to drown her. She made them a counteroffer: she would prey on newborn infants, boys for eight days after birth, girls for twenty, unless she saw the names of these three angels written on an amulet. In that case, she swore by the living God, she would have no power over the child.

God imposed one more condition. One hundred of Lilith's demon children would die every single day. She accepted even this. And so the first woman made from equal earth became something else entirely, a night creature haunting the edges of the world, her oath binding her, her freedom absolute, and one hundred of her children perishing daily as the price of her refusal to submit.

Full source
Zohar 1:19b, 3:19aZohar

I'm talking about Lilith.

The tales surrounding Lilith are wild and varied, and one particular story, found woven within the mystical threads of the Zohar (1:19b), paints a fascinating picture of her encounter with Adam... and a rather unusual Eve.

God creates Adam, but it's not quite the Adam The familiar version gives us. According to this tradition, Eve wasn't yet a separate being. Instead, she was attached to Adam's back! Some accounts go even further, suggesting she wasn't fully "real" yet, merely an apparition, a vision of perfect beauty "like that of the realms above." It's a truly striking image, isn't it? A being both male and female, whole and yet… incomplete. This idea seems to stem from the verse in (Genesis 1:27): "In the image of God He created him, male and female He created them."

Enter Lilith. She approaches Adam, perhaps with the intention of seduction, thinking he's alone. But then, she sees Eve. Not a fully formed woman standing beside him, but this… image attached to his back.

What happens next? Lilith flees.

But why? Was she simply intimidated by the fact that Adam wasn't alone? Or was it something more? The Zohar suggests that Eve’s beauty, being the image of God (tzelem in Hebrew), far surpassed Lilith’s own. It’s as if she recognized a divine perfection she couldn't compete with. Gershom Scholem, a renowned scholar of Kabbalah, even proposed that tzelem signifies a kind of astral body, adding another layer of mystique to Eve’s ethereal form.

So, where does Lilith run? According to this story, she flees to the cherubim, the angelic beings who guard the gates of the Garden of Eden, as described in (Genesis 3:24). Why she sought them out remains a mystery. Perhaps she desired a human body herself, or perhaps she thought she could somehow gain entry into the Garden. Whatever her intentions, the cherubim turn her away.

And then, God steps in. He sends Lilith to the depths of the Cities of the Sea. There she remains, exiled, until Adam and Eve commit their fateful sin. With their transgression, God frees Lilith from her watery prison, allowing her to roam the world. She returns to the cherubim, lingering near the fiery, ever-turning sword that guards the way to the Tree of Life. She's close, but still shut out.

The story doesn't end there. Some say she still bides her time, emerging when the moon wanes, seeking revenge on the children of Eve. But others believe God has exiled her again, to the Cities of the Sea, until the prophesied destruction of Rome. Only then, they say, will God bring Lilith from the depths and settle her in Rome's desolate ruins.

The Zohar (3:19a) offers another perspective, describing Eve as being fastened to Adam's side when God breathes the breath of life into him. This act infuses his body with a living soul. Here, the female, still connected to the male, almost feels like what Carl Jung called the anima – the feminine side of a man that he must integrate to achieve wholeness. Eventually, however, God separates them, "preparing" Eve as an independent person, perhaps transforming her from image to living being, or, as some midrashim (rabbinic interpretive commentary) suggest, preparing her as a bride for Adam (Gen. 2:22).

Kabbalistic thought offers a broader understanding, viewing Lilith not just as a demoness but as the embodiment of the Sitra Ahra, "the Other Side," the realm of darkness and demonic power. Eve, in contrast, represents the world of holiness.

What are we to make of this strange and evocative tale? It's a reminder that the stories we think we know often have hidden depths, filled with complex characters and challenging ideas. The story of Lilith's flight from the apparition of Eve forces us to consider the nature of creation, the meaning of image, and the eternal struggle between light and shadow within ourselves. It reminds us that even in paradise, there's always more than one story unfolding.

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