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The Garden Was Created Before the World Began

The rabbis said Eden was not made during creation week. It was one of seven things God built before the world existed, waiting for someone worthy.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Before the First Day
  2. Eden as the Holy of Holies
  3. What the Cherubim Were Guarding
  4. The Messiah's Name in the Garden

Before the First Day

The Torah makes the Garden of Eden sound like a creation-week detail, planted somewhere between the dry land and the animals, a feature of the finished world. But an older tradition, preserved in the early medieval midrash, said the Torah had the sequence wrong. Or rather: the Torah described only what was made during the six days, and there were things that existed before the six days began.

Seven things, the tradition counted. The Torah. The throne of glory. Repentance. The heavenly Temple. The Garden of Eden. Gehinnom. The name of the Messiah. Each one preceded creation. Each one was part of the divine plan before there was anything yet to execute the plan on. The world was not the beginning of God's work. It was the moment God's prior work became visible.

Eden as the Holy of Holies

The Book of Jubilees went further than most traditions in specifying exactly what kind of place the Garden was. It was not merely a pleasant garden in the east. It was the holiest place on earth, holier than the land of Canaan, holier than Mount Sinai, holier than Jerusalem. The Garden was the prototype of the sanctuary, and the rules that governed entry into it were the rules that governed entry into sacred precincts everywhere.

Adam had not been placed in the Garden on the day he was created. He entered forty days later, after a period that corresponded to the purification laws that would later govern the sanctuary. Eve entered eighty days after her creation. The laws of sacred entry that Moses would receive at Sinai were already written into the original human story. Eden was not a garden God happened to make before getting around to the rest of creation. It was a holy of holies that had been waiting before the first day for someone prepared enough to enter it.

What the Cherubim Were Guarding

When Adam and Eve were expelled, God placed cherubim at the eastern gate with a flaming sword that turned in every direction. The rabbis who examined this detail noticed that the expulsion was not final in the way that finalities usually work. The cherubim were guards, not walls. A guard implies the possibility of entry. You do not post a guard at a place that will never again be entered by anyone.

Bereshit Rabbah, the great Palestinian midrash on Genesis, explored what the exile from Eden really meant. Adam had not been expelled into nothing. He had been expelled into a world that was still connected to the Garden, still able to be transformed back toward it, still oriented toward return if human beings would orient themselves correctly toward return. The flaming sword turned in all directions not to strike down those who approached but to light the possibility of approach from every angle. The expulsion was not the end of the Garden's relevance. It was the beginning of history's project of recovering it.

The Messiah's Name in the Garden

The Messiah's name was one of the seven pre-creation things. The tradition meant this not as a prediction about a future person but as a statement about the structure of time. Before the world existed, God had already prepared the mechanism for its completion. The name was the mechanism. The Garden was the destination. Everything in between, the creation, the expulsion, the history of Israel, the exile, the return, was the path between a name written before time and a garden that existed before creation.

The Messiah's arrival would be the moment when the pre-creation plan and the post-creation world finally aligned. The seven original things would be returned to accessibility. The gates of Eden would open not because the flaming sword had been overcome but because the world would have finally become a place that the Garden could contain again.


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From the tradition

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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.

Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer 3:4Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer

Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer, an early medieval collection of biblical narratives and expansions, dives headfirst into this very question. It proposes that seven things were created before the world as we know it. Before the stars, before the mountains, before even the concept of "before" had any real meaning. What could possibly predate all of that?

In Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer, these seven primordial entities are: The Torah, Gehinnom (hell), the Garden of Eden, the Throne of Glory, the Temple, Repentance, and, perhaps most surprisingly, the Name of the Messiah. a little. The text itself doesn’t just make these claims, it backs them up with verses from the Hebrew Bible. Take the Torah, for example. The verse from (Proverbs 8:22) states, "The Lord possessed me in the beginning of his way, before his works of old." The phrase "of old," the text argues, signifies before the creation of the world. The Torah, in this view, isn't just a book; it's the very blueprint of creation.

What about the Garden of Eden? (Genesis 2:8) tells us, "And the Lord God planted a garden of old." Again, that phrase "of old" suggests a time before time, a primordial state.

The Throne of Glory is similarly situated. (Psalm 93:2) declares, "Thy throne is established of old." This isn’t just any throne; it’s the seat of divine authority, existing even before the universe itself.

Then there’s Repentance. This one’s particularly interesting. (Psalm 90:2-3) states, "Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the earth and the world… Thou turnest man to contrition." The connection drawn here is powerful: even before the physical world existed, the possibility for humans to turn back to God was already present.

The Temple, too, is presented as a pre-creation concept. (Jeremiah 17:12) calls it "A glorious throne, set on high from the beginning… the place of our sanctuary." It wasn't just a building in Jerusalem; it was a concept, a divine dwelling place, existing from the very beginning.

And finally, we arrive at the Name of the Messiah. (Psalm 72:17) states, "His name shall endure for ever; before the sun Yinnon was his name." Yinnon, the text asserts, existed even before the sun, before the cosmos. (Micah 5:2) further reinforces this idea, speaking of the ruler of Israel "whose ancestry belongs to the past, even to the days of old."

What does it all mean? It's easy to get lost in the poetic language and the ancient interpretations. But perhaps the core idea is this: that certain fundamental principles, certain divine attributes, existed prior to physical creation. These aren't just things that God created for the world; they're aspects of God's very being that were present from the ultimate beginning. The Torah as the blueprint for creation, the Garden of Eden as the ideal state, the Throne of Glory as divine authority, Repentance as the inherent possibility for redemption, the Temple as the divine dwelling place, and the Messiah as the ultimate hope – all existing before time itself. It’s a powerful and profound idea that invites us to consider the very nature of existence and the divine plan for humanity. What do you think it means?

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Genesis 2:8-17Torah (Masoretic Text)

And the LORD God planted a garden in Eden, in the east, and there He placed the man whom He had formed. And the LORD God caused to sprout from the ground every tree pleasant to the sight and good for food, and the Tree of Life in the midst of the garden, and the Tree of the Knowledge of good and evil. And a river went out from Eden to water the garden, and from there it divided and became four heads.

The name of the first is Pishon; it is the one that surrounds all the land of Havilah, where there is gold. And the gold of that land is good; there is the bdellium and the onyx stone. And the name of the second river is Gihon; it is the one that surrounds all the land of Cush. And the name of the third river is Tigris; it is the one that goes east of Assyria. And the fourth river, it is the Euphrates.

And the LORD God took the man and set him in the Garden of Eden to work it and to keep it. And the LORD God commanded the man, saying: Of every tree of the garden you may surely eat. But of the Tree of the Knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat from it, for on the day you eat from it you shall surely die.

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Bereshit Rabbah 21:8Bereshit Rabbah

The familiar story is this: they ate the forbidden fruit, gained knowledge, and were banished. But what was the nature of that banishment? Was it a final, crushing blow, or something…else?

Bereshit Rabbah, that magnificent collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Genesis, explores this very question. It all hinges on one little word in the verse: "He banished" (vaygaresh).

The text quotes (Genesis 3:24): "He banished the man; He stationed the cherubs east of the Garden of Eden, and the flame of the ever-turning sword, to guard the path of the tree of life.” Then it immediately dives into a debate between Rabbi Yoḥanan and Reish Lakish.

Rabbi Yoḥanan sees the banishment as utterly final. He compares Adam to the daughter of a priest (kohen) who marries another priest, then gets divorced (nitgarsha). She can never return to her husband, because Jewish law prohibits a priest from marrying a divorcee. Ouch. For Rabbi Yoḥanan, God dealt with Adam harshly.

But Reish Lakish offers a more… hopeful perspective. He compares Adam to the daughter of an Israelite who gets divorced. She can remarry her husband, if they both choose. In this view, God’s banishment wasn’t necessarily permanent. There's a glimmer of possibility, a chance for reconciliation. According to Reish Lakish, God was actually showing mercy.

Which interpretation resonates more with you? A door slammed shut forever, or a door left slightly ajar?

But the Rabbis weren’t done yet. Bereshit Rabbah offers another interpretation, linking Adam's expulsion to the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem. The text connects "He banished" (vaygaresh) to a similar-sounding word in (Lamentations 3:16): "He has ground (vayagres) my teeth with gravel." This is powerful stuff, suggesting that Adam’s punishment foreshadowed immense future suffering for his descendants.

Rabbi Luleyani bar Tavri, quoting Rabbi Yitzḥak, adds another layer. He says that Adam wasn’t just cast out into nothingness. He was banished to an empty field (migrash) adjacent to Eden. And God posted guards there, to keep him from returning. Rabbi Luleyani connects this to (Isaiah 5:6), which speaks of God commanding the clouds not to rain on a derelict vineyard. The vineyard is a metaphor for Israel, and the lack of rain symbolizes God’s disappointment. It all circles back to that initial disappointment with Adam, and the need for constant vigilance to prevent him from regaining paradise.

So, what are we left with? A complex, many-sided picture of Adam's banishment. Was it merciful? Harsh? A foreshadowing of future tragedy? Maybe it was all of those things at once. The beauty of these ancient texts is that they invite us to confront these questions, to find our own meaning within the stories. They remind us that even in moments of apparent finality, there might still be a seed of hope, a whisper of possibility, just beyond the ever-turning sword.

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Book of Jubilees 3:20Book of Jubilees

It’s a perspective that illuminates ideas about purity, holiness, and the very special status of the Garden of Eden.

The passage in question focuses on the period after a woman gives birth. Specifically, it deals with what we might call a period of purification. According to the Book of Jubilees, after giving birth, a woman undergoes a period where she's considered to be in a state requiring ritual purification. For a male child, this period lasts forty days. But. And this is key, for a female child, it extends to eighty days: fourteen days in the blood of her pain, and sixty-six days in the blood of her purification. Thus, a total of eighty days.

Why the difference? Well, that’s a question that has sparked much discussion over the centuries. The text itself doesn't explicitly state the rationale, but it clearly establishes a distinction based on the sex of the child.

Here's where things get really interesting. The passage continues: "And when she had completed these eighty days we brought her into the Gan Eden (the Garden of Eden, paradise)"–the Garden of Eden–"for it is holier than all the earth besides, and every tree that is planted in it is holy."

Wait, what? Brought her to the Garden of Eden?

It's important to understand that the Book of Jubilees isn’t necessarily describing a literal physical journey in every instance. Instead, it might be referring to a symbolic or spiritual return to a state of purity and connection with the divine. The Garden of Eden, in this context, represents the ultimate state of holiness and closeness to God. By undergoing the purification process, the new mother is, in a sense, prepared to re-enter this sacred space, symbolically or otherwise.

The text concludes by emphasizing the importance of adhering to these prescribed periods. It states that there was ordained a statute regarding childbirth, specifying that a woman should not touch any hallowed thing, nor enter the sanctuary, until the days of purification for the male or female child are completed.

This highlights the significance placed on ritual purity and separation in ancient Jewish tradition. The mikdash, or sanctuary, the place of ultimate holiness, was off-limits until the prescribed time had elapsed. This waiting period underscored the idea that entering sacred space required a state of ritual cleanliness, and that childbirth involved a process of becoming ritually pure again.

So, what can we take away from this ancient text? It offers a glimpse into a worldview where ritual purity, the holiness of the Gan Eden, and the rhythms of life were deeply intertwined. It reminds us that ancient traditions, even when they seem foreign to modern sensibilities, often hold profound insights into the values and beliefs of those who came before us. And it invites us to consider: what does it mean to create spaces of holiness in our own lives, and how do we prepare ourselves to enter them?

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Bereshit Rabbah 21:7Bereshit Rabbah

The familiar story is this: the serpent, the forbidden fruit, and then… exile. But what did that exile really mean?

The Book of Genesis tells us, "The Lord God sent him out of the Garden of Eden, to cultivate the ground from which he was taken" (Genesis 3:23). Simple enough. But as always, the rabbis of the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) dive deeper, exploring the nuances of those very words. Bereshit Rabbah, a classic collection of rabbinic interpretations of Genesis, offers some fascinating perspectives in section 21.

This teaching presents a debate between Rabbi Yehuda and Rabbi Nechemya about the scope of Adam's expulsion. Did he just lose the Garden of Eden in this world? Or did he also lose access to the Garden of Eden in the Olam Ha-Ba (עולם הבא), the World to Come?

Rabbi Yehuda argues that Adam lost both. Ouch. That sounds harsh, doesn't it? But Rabbi Nechemya believes Adam only lost the earthly paradise. He still has a shot at the World to Come.

Which is it? Was God being strictly just or mercifully compassionate?

The Midrash tells us that Rabbi Huna said that Rabbi Ada bar Ahava and Rabbi Hamnuna actually disagreed about which rabbi's opinion was correct. One supported Rabbi Yehuda, the other Rabbi Nechemya. Thankfully, we have some scriptural support for Rabbi Nechemya's view. The verse in (Psalms 17:15) says, "I, in justice [betzedek], will see Your face; Your image will fill my waking vision." The Midrash interprets this as saying that when the one created in God's image awakens (presumably after death), they will be exonerated and finally able to see God's face.

So, perhaps Adam's expulsion wasn't a total loss. There's still hope for redemption.

Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi adds another layer. He suggests that God created and expelled Adam using both the attribute of justice and the attribute of mercy. This is reflected in the Torah's use of both names for God – Hashem Elohim – which, in Jewish tradition, symbolizes God's duality.

Then comes this poignant question: "O Adam [hah haadam], were you unable to observe your command for even one hour?" It's a rhetorical question, dripping with sorrow.

Rabbi Yehuda ben Pedaya takes this idea further. He imagines future generations looking back at Adam and lamenting his inability to follow God's command, even briefly. He connects it to the concept of orlah (עָרְלָה) – the prohibition against eating the fruit of a tree for the first three years after planting. As (Leviticus 19:23) says, "Three years it shall be sealed off for you; it shall not be eaten." Adam couldn't even manage one hour, while his descendants patiently wait three years.

Rav Huna, upon hearing this interpretation from his sister's son, bar Kappara, praised it as a wonderful explanation.

So, what does it all mean? Maybe the story of Adam's expulsion isn't just a tale of punishment, but also a story of hope, of enduring mercy, and of the potential for redemption even after mistakes. It is a story about how even the first human, despite his failing, is still connected to us today. And, as the Rabbis suggest, it is a story about how we can learn from the past and strive to do better, to be more patient, and to ultimately see God's face.

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