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Ruth Was Written Into Creation Before the Patriarchs

A foreign widow gleans barley at the edge of a field in Bethlehem while the Shekhinah itself moves through her toward redemption.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Three Times Naomi Said Go Back
  2. What Boaz Saw on the Threshing Floor
  3. The Shekhinah Returns Through Bethlehem
  4. What Naomi's Grief Carried

Three Times Naomi Said Go Back

Naomi had made up her mind on the road from Moab. She had buried her husband and both her sons in foreign soil. She was going home to Bethlehem with nothing, and she would not drag two daughters-in-law into a widow's poverty in a country that was not theirs. She stopped walking and told them both to return to their mothers' houses. She kissed them. She blessed them. She said God would show them kindness as they had shown kindness to the dead.

Orpah wept, kissed her back, and turned around. Ruth did not move.

Naomi tried again. Go back, follow your sister-in-law, return to your people and your gods. Ruth said nothing about gods. She said: where you go, I will go. Where you die, I will die. There let me be buried. The Lord do so to me and more, if anything but death parts me from you.

The rabbis, reading this exchange in the Legends of the Jews, noted that Naomi had tried three separate times to send Ruth away. The three refusals are the legal template for how a serious convert is treated: told once, twice, three times that the path is hard, that the restrictions are real, that the price is not romantic. Ruth heard all of it and came anyway. The rabbis concluded that her soul had been prepared. No instruction could have produced that kind of insistence from scratch. She had been readied before she was born.

What Boaz Saw on the Threshing Floor

Boaz was a man of property and standing who slept on his own threshing floor during the harvest season. The Legends of the Jews explains the detail: the moral corruption of the period was such that a man with grain could not leave it unguarded. Boaz was not being humble. He was being practical in a world where discipline had frayed.

At midnight he woke and found Ruth lying at his feet. He did not panic. He asked who she was. She told him she was his kinswoman, that he had the right of redemption, and she asked him to spread his cloak over her. Boaz understood what she was asking. He also understood that this woman, a Moabite widow who had refused to abandon an old Israelite woman on a foreign road, was making a claim that the legal structure of Israel would honor. He told her she had shown more loyalty in this second act than in the first. He would act.

The Tikkunei Zohar, reading this scene with the instruments of Kabbalah, found something in Ruth's prostration at Boaz's feet that exceeded what any social or legal analysis could reach. The divine feminine presence, the Shekhinah, had gone into exile when Israel's covenant life was interrupted. Ruth lying in the dust of the threshing floor was the Shekhinah in exile, pressing herself against the earth, waiting for a redeemer who would recognize her.

The Shekhinah Returns Through Bethlehem

The Tikkunei Zohar is not allegorizing Ruth out of her own story. It is reading her story as doing double work: the human drama of a loyal widow finding provision and a husband, and the cosmic drama of the divine presence finding its way home through human loyalty. These two readings are not in competition. The Zohar's method is to find the cosmic structure inside the human story, not instead of it.

The passage from Tikkun 100 describes a moment of future redemption when God will come to the Shekhinah and address her directly. The language is spousal. The exile of the Shekhinah is not permanent. But it ends through the actions of human beings who choose faithfulness when faithlessness would have been easier. Ruth choosing Naomi on the road to Bethlehem is precisely that kind of action. In the Zohar's reading, she was not just being loyal to a mother-in-law. She was enacting the structure through which the divine presence would eventually be gathered back.

High above the threshing floor, Metatron the celestial scribe bent over the book that matters and recorded what Ruth had done in the dust. Her name was already there. The book had been written before she arrived at the field.

What Naomi's Grief Carried

The Legends of the Jews records that Boaz made sure the dead received their due. Elimelech, Naomi's husband. Mahlon and Chilion, her sons. Boaz arranged proper burial for all of them, an act of covenantal loyalty extended to people who were no longer alive to benefit from it. He did this before he married Ruth. He understood that you could not redeem the living while ignoring the dead they carried.

Naomi returned to Bethlehem and told the women of the town to call her Mara, bitter, because the Almighty had dealt very bitterly with her. She had gone out full and come back empty. But she had come back with Ruth. The tradition reads that return as the first movement of a repair that was larger than Naomi could see. Bethlehem, the house of bread, was hungry. The famine that had driven Naomi's family to Moab in the first place had ended. The field was full of barley. Ruth went to glean in it before Naomi had finished unpacking her grief, and she happened upon the field of Boaz, though no one uses the word happened in that sentence without knowing the tradition behind it.


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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.

Legends of the Jews 2:31Legends of the Jews

Her story isn't just a sweet tale; it’s a foundation of Jewish tradition.

Ruth wasn's born Jewish. She was a Moabite princess. But her heart, it seemed, had other plans. Ruth's path crossed with Naomi, an Israelite woman who had suffered immense loss – her husband and sons had passed away while living in Moab. Naomi decided to return to her homeland, Bethlehem, and urged her daughters-in-law, including Ruth, to stay in Moab.

Ruth? She was different. Something had resonated deep within her, a connection to Naomi and her faith.

Naomi, as any good Jewish mother would, felt obligated to lay out the realities of Jewish life. As we find in the Talmud (Yevamot 47b), there's a requirement to dissuade converts, to explain the weight of the mitzvot (commandments) and the challenges of the Jewish path. It wasn't about pushing her away, but about ensuring she understood the commitment she was making.

So, Naomi warned Ruth. She spoke of the stringent observances, the Sabbaths and feast days that demanded dedication. She mentioned how Jewish women didn't partake in the kinds of amusements common in other cultures. Can you imagine that conversation? Naomi, weary and grieving, trying to explain the intricacies of a life so different from what Ruth knew.

But Ruth remained steadfast. Undeterred. She affirmed her willingness to embrace Jewish customs, to live by Jewish law. As Ginzberg beautifully recounts in Legends of the Jews, when Naomi declared, "We have one Torah (law), one law, one command; the Eternal our God is one, there is none beside Him," Ruth responded with words that have echoed through generations: "Thy people shall be my people, thy God my God." (Ruth 1:16)

Talk about a powerful moment!

And so, the two women journeyed together to Bethlehem. Can you picture them, these two figures bound by love and shared loss, walking towards an uncertain future?

Their arrival was no accident. As fate would have it, they reached Bethlehem on the very day that Boaz's wife was being buried. The whole town was gathered. The assembled crowd witnessed Naomi's return, a homecoming filled with both sorrow and, perhaps, a glimmer of hope. It's like a scene from a movie, isn't it? Everything aligning for a reason.

And what was that reason? Well, that's a story for another time. But let's just say that Ruth's unwavering devotion and her fateful encounter with Boaz would have consequences that changed the course of Jewish history. It makes you wonder, doesn't it? How seemingly small decisions, acts of faith and love, can ripple outwards, shaping the destiny of nations.

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Legends of the Jews 2:34Legends of the Jews

Their story, a evidence of love, loyalty, and unexpected blessings, unfolds against a backdrop of moral decay, as Ginzberg tells us in Legends of the Jews.

The times, they weren't exactly shining. The moral compass of society was spinning wildly. Even a man of Boaz's stature – noble, wealthy – felt the need to sleep on the threshing floor. Why? To keep things in check, to be a physical barrier against the licentiousness that ran rampant. Can you imagine?

Then, in the dead of night, Boaz is jolted awake. Someone’s right there beside him. His first thought? A demon!

No, it's Ruth. And she quickly soothes his fears. "Don't be afraid," she basically says. "You're a leader, you come from a line of princes, you're a respected man, and you're related to my late husband. I'm a young widow, and since leaving my parents' idolatrous home, I've been fending off unwanted attention from all sides. I've come to you, the redeemer, asking you to take me under your wing – 'spread your skirt over me'," a symbolic gesture of protection and marriage, echoing the words of the Book of Ruth itself (Ruth 3:9).

Boaz, being the honorable man he is, assures her that he'll do everything he can. He explains that there’s one older brother, Tob, who has first dibs. But if Tob declines, Boaz will step up and fulfill his duty as a kinsman-redeemer.

The very next day, Boaz brings the matter before the Sanhedrin, the Jewish high court. And wouldn't you know it, an angel, according to the Legends, hustles Tob right over so there won't be any unnecessary waiting for Ruth and Boaz. Divine intervention, perhaps?

Here's where it gets interesting. Tob, bless his heart, wasn't exactly a Torah scholar. He mistakenly believed that the Torah's prohibition against the Moabites marrying into the Israelite community applied to women as well as men. As we see in (Deuteronomy 23:3-4), the Torah does prohibit male Moabites from marrying into the community, but this was understood to only apply to men.

So, Tob declines to marry Ruth. His loss!

Which leaves the door wide open for Boaz. An octogenarian, no less! And Ruth? She was forty at the time of her second marriage. Quite the age gap. According to the Legends, it was against all odds that they would have children. But, as we know, miracles happen.

They were blessed with a son, Obed – and he was considered especially pious. As the story continues, Ruth even lived to see the glory of Solomon. Boaz, however, didn’t get to enjoy the fruits of their union for long. Legends of the Jews tells us that he died the day after the wedding. A bittersweet ending, perhaps? But what a legacy he left behind!: a love story born in a time of moral decay, defying expectations, and ultimately leading to the lineage of King David. Not bad for a couple who took a chance on love, loyalty, and doing the right thing, even when the world around them wasn't so righteous. What does this teach us about the power of individual choices, and the unexpected ways that goodness can blossom, even in the most unlikely of circumstances?

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Legends of the Jews 2:33Legends of the Jews

Legends of the Jews turns to Boaz's Compassion.

Here's something you might have missed: Boaz's kindness extended beyond just Ruth and Naomi. The Legends of the Jews, that incredible compilation of rabbinic lore by Louis Ginzberg, tells us that Boaz also made sure that Elimelech, Naomi’s deceased husband, and their two sons, were given a proper burial. for a second. This wasn't just about helping the living; it was about honoring the dead, fulfilling a sacred obligation, a mitzvah.

Naomi? She’s watching. She’s putting the pieces together. Was Boaz’s generosity simply the act of a good man, or was there something more? Did he perhaps, harbor deeper feelings for Ruth?

Naomi being Naomi, she wasn't going to just sit around and wonder. She tried, subtly at first, to get Ruth to spill the beans. Did Boaz say anything? Give any hints? But Ruth, bless her heart, remained tight-lipped.

So, Naomi takes matters into her own hands. "Okay, Ruth," she basically says, "we're going to make something happen." She hatches a plan – a plan to, shall we say, encourage Boaz to make his intentions known. And this is where it gets really interesting.

Naomi instructs Ruth to go to the threshing floor at night, after Boaz has finished overseeing the harvest. She's to wash, anoint herself with oil, and put on her finest clothes. You know, make herself presentable. But here’s a fascinating detail: Ruth, according to Ginzberg, deviated slightly from the plan. She waited until she was at the threshing floor to doll herself up. Why?

Because she was afraid! Can you imagine? Traveling alone at night, dressed to the nines? She feared attracting unwanted attention. It’s a small detail, but it makes Ruth so much more real, so much more human. It adds a layer of vulnerability to this powerful story. She's not just blindly following instructions; she's making choices, working through the world as best she can.

And it reminds us that even in the most epic stories, it's the small acts of courage, the quiet decisions, that often make all the difference. It was Ruth's combination of trust in Naomi's wisdom and her own careful choices that created the conditions for her and Boaz's love to blossom.

So, what do you think? Was Naomi right to nudge fate? Or should she have left things to chance? And how often do we, like Ruth, temper grand plans with our own fears and instincts? Maybe that's the real story here: not just a romance, but a lesson in how we navigate destiny, one small, brave step at a time.

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Tikkunei Zohar 100:7Tikkunei Zohar

Jewish mysticism is full of such moments, raw and relatable. a small but potent passage from the Tikkunei (spiritual repair) Zohar, a central text of Kabbalah, that uses the story of Ruth to explore themes of redemption and divine intervention.

The passage paints a vivid image: "And when she falls, she lies down in the dust between the legs." Stark, isn’t it? The Tikkunei Zohar sees this as a metaphor for the Shekhinah, the divine feminine presence, in exile. When the Shekhinah falls, it's a state of being distanced from the divine source, a kind of spiritual prostration.

Think of Ruth, a Moabite woman who chooses to stay with her Jewish mother-in-law, Naomi, after tragedy strikes. She's an outsider, a widow, and essentially penniless. Yet, she embodies incredible loyalty and courage. It's Ruth who, in the biblical story, "uncovered his feet and she lay down" (Ruth 3:7) at the feet of Boaz, a wealthy and righteous man.

The Tikkunei Zohar interprets this act as a prayer, a plea for redemption. "And She prays to the blessed Holy One, that He will raise Her up from the dust." It’s a powerful image of vulnerability and hope.

And what does Ruth ask of Boaz? "And you will spread your wing (khe-nafekha) over your maidservant, because you are a redeemer" (Ruth 3:9). The "wing" here isn't just a physical covering, but a symbol of protection, of divine grace, of being brought back into the fold. She's asking him to act as a vessel for divine redemption.

But there's a twist. The text continues, "At that time:... and the man (iysh) was afraid, and he turned aside (va-yilaphet)..." Why is the man, Boaz, afraid? And who is this "man" anyway?

The Tikkunei Zohar connects this to (Exodus 15:3): "Y”Y is a man (iysh) of war..." So, this isn't just about Boaz anymore. It's about God, about the divine masculine principle encountering this plea for redemption.

The fear, the turning aside (va-yilaphet), is interpreted through (Job 6:18): "The paths of their way were turned aside (ye-laphtu)..." The Tikkunei Zohar is suggesting a moment of hesitation, a pause before divine action. Perhaps it represents the challenge inherent in bringing about redemption, the complexities involved in answering such a profound prayer.

What does this all mean?

We see a powerful dynamic between the feminine and masculine aspects of the divine, a plea for redemption from a place of vulnerability, and a moment of divine hesitation before action. It reminds us that even in the face of fear and uncertainty, the possibility of redemption always exists. And that sometimes, the greatest strength comes from lying in the dust and daring to ask for help.

So, next time you feel like you’re in the dust, remember Ruth, remember the Shekhinah, and remember that even a whispered prayer can set the wheels of redemption in motion. What "wing" will you ask to be covered by today?

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Tikkunei Zohar 100:9Tikkunei Zohar

The Tikkunei (spiritual repair) Zohar, a collection of commentaries on the Torah, unveils some of the deepest mystical secrets of Judaism. And in the hundredth Tikkun, we find a powerful, almost poetic, vision of redemption. It speaks of a moment when the Holy One, blessed be He, will arrive and address Her. Who is this "Her"? Many understand this to be the Shekhinah, the Divine Presence, often seen as the feminine aspect of God. She is in exile, separated from the divine source, yearning for reunification.

The verse quoted is from the Book of Ruth (3:13): "Stay the night, and it shall be in the morning." But here, it's not just about Ruth and Boaz. The Tikkunei Zohar reads into these words a deeper cosmic significance. "Stay the night" symbolizes the left-hand side, the side of judgment and restriction. But, "it shall be in the morning." Ah, that's the promise of mercy, the right-hand side, where light shines forth. It’s the breaking dawn after a long, dark night. It's the hope that even in the deepest darkness, light is always waiting to emerge. And that light, as (Genesis 44:3) tells us, makes the "morning became light."

Here's the real kicker: this redemption isn't just a top-down decree from on high. We have a role to play. The text continues, referencing the verse, "..if he shall redeem you, ‘good’, he shall redeem." The Tikkunei Zohar interprets this as: If Israel performs good deeds, if we strive to elevate the Shekhinah, to raise Her "from between the legs" – a powerful metaphor for the state of exile – then "good" will happen. We will be redeemed by the hand of "Higher Israel," who is the Shekhinah's "good" husband. This "good" is the divine force specifically designated for this purpose.

What if we don't do good? What if we fail to live up to our potential? Then "..'I' shall redeem You." Anokhi – "I" – is a powerful, almost stark declaration. Even if we falter, even if we fail to do our part, God will still redeem us. It’s a promise of unconditional love and ultimate salvation.

So, what does this all mean for us today? It's a call to action. It's a reminder that we are not passive bystanders in the drama of creation. Our actions, our deeds, our very intentions have cosmic consequences. They can either hasten the coming of the light, or, well, prolong the night. But even if we stumble, even if we fall, there's always hope. There’s always the promise of redemption, the assurance that even in our darkest moments, we are never truly alone. The Shekhinah yearns for reunification, and the Holy One, blessed be He, is always there, ready to offer a hand.

It makes you wonder, doesn't it? What kind of "good" can we do today to help bring about that morning light?

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Tikkunei Zohar 121:4Tikkunei Zohar

One place where that code is explored with incredible depth is in the Tikkunei (spiritual repair) Zohar, a companion volume to the foundational Zohar. to a passage from Tikkunei Zohar 121.

" In our everyday world, we don't pronounce it as it's written. Instead, we substitute Adonai (אֲדֹנָי), meaning "My Lord." It's a way of showing reverence, of acknowledging the immense power and mystery behind that unpronounceable name.

The Tikkunei Zohar tells us that this substitution, this "exchange" as it calls it, is specific to this world. "Below," as it puts it, we swap YHVH for Adonai. But, get this: in the world to come, in the perfected future, that exchange vanishes! As the Masters of the Mishnah (the earliest code of rabbinic law) put it, "Not as I am written, am I read" (BT Kiddushin (the sanctification blessing over wine) 71a). But only here. In that future reality, the text declares, YHVH will be written as YHVH and pronounced as YHVH!

What does this mean? It suggests that the distance, the separation we feel from the Divine in this world, is somehow bridged, healed in the world to come. The veil is lifted. The hidden becomes revealed.

The passage then takes a fascinating turn, drawing upon the Book of Ruth. Remember the story of Boaz acquiring Ruth? There’s that unusual detail about removing a shoe (Ruth 4:7). The Tikkunei Zohar interprets this act symbolically. The shoe, it says, represents the body, which is like a wife, a vessel. And this vessel, this body, is associated with Metatron.

Metatron is a powerful angel in Jewish mystical tradition, often described as the "lesser YHVH," acting as a bridge between the divine and the human realms. The text says that sometimes the Middle Pillar, a central concept in Kabbalah representing balance and harmony, is found in Metatron. Other times, it's the Righteous One (Tzaddik). And sometimes, it's the Higher Shekhinah (the Divine Presence).

The Shekhinah (שְׁכִינָה) is the divine feminine presence, the immanent aspect of God dwelling within creation. Here, the text distinguishes between a "Higher Shekhinah" and a "Lower Shekhinah." The Higher Shekhinah is described as the "testimony" (te'udah) of Metatron. The Lower Shekhinah, on the other hand, is an "exchange" (te-murah) of it.

This is where things get really interesting. The Lower Shekhinah, the aspect of the Divine Presence that we can most readily perceive in this world, is presented as an "exchange." Just like YHVH is exchanged for Adonai, the fullness of the Divine Presence is, in a sense, veiled or mediated in our experience. We only get a glimpse, a reflection.

So, what are we left with? A profound sense of longing, perhaps. A yearning for a reality where the Divine is not hidden, where the exchanges cease, and we can experience the fullness of God's presence. It’s a reminder that our spiritual work in this world is to strive toward that future, to peel back the layers of illusion and separation, and to reveal the Divine light that is already present within us and all around us. Maybe, just maybe, each act of kindness, each moment of mindful awareness, brings us a little closer to that ultimate unveiling.

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