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Ruth Falls on Her Face and Philo Finds Three Theologies in It

Ruth bowed to the ground when Boaz spoke kindly to her. Philo read that gesture as three movements of the soul, each one pointing somewhere different.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Foreign Widow in the Field
  2. The First Movement: Pressing the Senses Down
  3. The Second Movement: Acknowledging What Is Above
  4. The Third Movement: Ruth's Right to Be There

The Foreign Widow in the Field

Ruth is gleaning behind the reapers, doing the work of the poor, the work the Torah commands be left available for those who have nothing. She is a Moabite woman in a Jewish field, a widow who chose to follow her mother-in-law into a land and a people that were not born into her. Boaz arrives and speaks to her with a generosity she did not expect: stay in my fields, drink from my water, eat with my workers. The simplest translation of his words is that he noticed her and decided she deserved protection.

Ruth "fell on her face, and bowed herself to the ground" (Ruth 2:10). A gesture of overwhelming gratitude. A gesture of someone undone by unexpected kindness.

Philo of Alexandria, writing in the first century CE, took that gesture and found inside it a complete theology of standing in the presence of something greater.

The First Movement: Pressing the Senses Down

The Midrash of Philo, section 3:2, reads Ruth's fall as three separate interior movements happening simultaneously or in sequence, each one a different reason a person might find themselves unable to remain standing.

The first is the suppression of the outward senses. Philo's account begins with the observation that the senses are the origin of the passions. What we see, hear, taste, touch, and smell: these feed the desires that pull us away from what we know is good. When Ruth falls to the ground, she presses those sensory impulses downward, below the level of the upright person who stands surveying the world and finding things to want. Falling is surrender. In Philo's reading, it is also freedom: the person who has successfully pushed the sensory appetites down is not less than the person standing upright. She is more free.

The Second Movement: Acknowledging What Is Above

The second movement is the recognition of something higher than the self. Boaz has spoken to Ruth as though she were a person of worth in a context where she had no claim to worth. She is foreign. She is poor. She is a widow with no male protector in a society where that means almost nothing. He speaks to her as though none of that matters.

The Tikkunei Zohar, the kabbalistic supplement to the Zohar compiled in the 13th century, reads Ruth's story through the lens of the Shekhinah. The chalitzah, the ceremony of removing a sandal that appears in the book of Ruth's legal context, becomes in the Zohar a cosmic act: the Shekhinah removing the shoe of the Holy One, a gesture of separation with the potential for reunion. Ruth herself becomes a figure for the divine presence that has been separated from its source and is finding its way home. Her fall to the ground before Boaz is also the Shekhinah bowing before the possibility of return.

The Third Movement: Ruth's Right to Be There

Sifrei Devarim, the tannaitic legal midrash on Deuteronomy from the school of Rabbi Ishmael, presses on the harshest objection to her standing in this field at all. Deuteronomy 23:4 excludes Ammonites and Moabites from the congregation of Israel: An Amoni and a Moavi shall not come into the congregation of the Lord. Ruth is Moabite. How is she standing in this field at all?

The answer in Sifrei Devarim is grammatical and precise. The text says Amoni, the masculine form, and Moavi, the masculine form. It does not say Amonith or Moavith, the feminine forms. The exclusion applies to males. Ammonite and Moabite women are not excluded by this verse. Ruth had the right to be there. Her fall to the ground before Boaz was not the gesture of someone begging for mercy from a system that should have expelled her. It was the gesture of someone who had already been granted entrance by the grammar of the law itself and was now receiving a kindness she had, in fact, earned by her faithfulness to Naomi.

ProphecyTzedakahRuthDivine PresenceAwe
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From the tradition

Sources

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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.

The Midrash of Philo 3:2The Midrash of Philo

The Midrash of Philo turns to Ruth Speaks for God.

The passage starts by talking about keeping oneself "free from stain." What does that even mean? Well, according to this midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), it’s all about our senses. It suggests that our senses, the "outward sense," are the very origin, the source of our passions. And if those passions aren’t kept in check, they can lead us astray. When someone "falls on his face," it's not just a literal tumble. It's a symbolic act, showing that he’s letting go of those sensory-driven temptations and dedicating himself to "all good works." He's pushing those "offences caused by the outward senses" to the bottom, where they belong. He's getting his priorities straight.

There’s more to it than just resisting temptation.

The midrash offers a second layer: sheer awe. encountering the living God! The individual "was so struck by the manifest appearance of the living God that he was scarcely able to behold him through fear." It's an overwhelming experience, a moment of such intense reverence that all one can do is fall to the ground in adoration. Who wouldn’t be overwhelmed in that situation?

And finally, a third layer of understanding. This falling to the ground isn't just about fear or resisting temptation. It's about recognizing Truth. It's about contrasting the unwavering constancy of God with the ever-changing, often disappointing, nature of the created world. The midrash says, the individual "fell to the ground on account of the revelation thus made to him, at the form of his appearance by the living God who exists alone, whom he knew and regarded as truth opposed to created nature."

Think of it this way: God is constant, eternal, unshakeable. The world, on the other hand, is in a constant state of flux, always shifting and changing, ultimately returning to the earth from which it came. To fall to the ground, then, is to acknowledge this fundamental difference, to recognize the ultimate reality of God in contrast to the fleeting nature of the world around us. It is an acknowledgement of truth, and an act of humility.

So, next time you find yourself feeling overwhelmed, whether by beauty, by awe, or even by difficulty, maybe there’s a lesson here. Maybe it's a chance to re-evaluate what truly matters, to ground yourself in something constant and true, and to let go of the fleeting distractions that keep us from connecting with the Divine.

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Tikkunei Zohar 120:20Tikkunei Zohar

In Jewish mystical thought, the concept of removing a shoe, ḥalitzah, takes on a profound symbolic weight, hinting at both separation and the potential for profound reunion. It’s far more than just taking off footwear; it’s a cosmic drama playing out on a very personal stage.

The Tikkunei (spiritual repair) Zohar, a central text of Kabbalah, explores this very idea. It tells us that the Shekhinah – the Divine Presence, often seen as the feminine aspect of God – removes the "shoe" of the Blessed Holy One. What does this even mean?

Well, it's tied to the verse in Deuteronomy (25:9): "..and she will remove his shoe." But it isn't just any shoe; it’s connected, through Kabbalistic interpretation, to the command given to Moses in Exodus (3:5): "Remove your shoe.." It's about recognizing the sacredness of the ground we stand on, and about a deeper union. The removal, ḥalitzah, allows God to unite with the Shekhinah. In this context, God becomes the "removed one of the shoe," the ḥalutz.

Think of it like this: the shoe can represent something that separates us from the Divine. Taking it off allows for a closer, more intimate connection. The Tikkunei Zohar suggests that this act prevents the need for what's called levirate marriage – a specific ancient custom described in the Book of Ruth.

Now, let's talk about Ruth. The Book of Ruth describes an ancient custom (Ruth 4:7): "And this used to be the manner in Israel. and a man would remove his shoe and give it to his fellow.." This act symbolized a transfer of rights and obligations. But the Tikkunei Zohar reads deeper meaning into the verse. What is this "shoe," na’alo, that is being removed? It's a kinui, an appellation or a metaphor.

And here's where it gets even more interesting. The text connects the word na’alo, "his shoe," to the verse in Song of Songs (4:12): "A locked garden, na’ul.." So, the shoe, na’al, is like a locked garden, na’ul, suggesting a hidden potential, a guarded secret.

What is this "locked garden" guarding? What connection has been severed? And what does it all mean for us?

Perhaps it's about acknowledging the barriers we put up between ourselves and the Divine, the "shoes" we wear that prevent us from truly connecting. Maybe it's about recognizing the potential for union, for tikkun olam, repairing the world, that lies within each of us. And maybe, just maybe, by symbolically removing our own "shoes," we can draw closer to the Shekhinah, and ultimately, to the Divine itself.

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Sifrei Devarim 249:1Sifrei Devarim

Take this little snippet from Sifrei Devarim (Deuteronomy) – it’s a perfect example.

(Deuteronomy 23:4) states, "An Amoni and a Moavi shall not come into the congregation of the L-rd." Sounds

The text specifies "Amoni" and "Moavi" – masculine forms. The question is, does this exclusion apply to women from Ammon and Moab as well? The Rabbis in Sifrei Devarim are unequivocal: Scripture speaks of males, not females. It says "Amoni," not "Amonith" (the feminine form); "Moavi," not "Moavith."

Why does this matter? Well, think about the implications. This seemingly minor grammatical point opens the door for women from these nations to potentially integrate into Israelite society, a door that would be firmly shut if the prohibition was understood as applying to both genders.

And this isn't just academic nitpicking. Consider the story of Ruth. Ruth, the Moabitess, is one of the most beloved figures in the entire Hebrew Bible. She's the great-grandmother of King David!

The book of Ruth never actually states that the prohibition of a "Moabi" entering the congregation of the L-rd doesn't apply to her. It's just that she is lauded for her devotion to Naomi, and to the Jewish people, and ultimately becomes part of the lineage of the Messiah.

Without this interpretation in Sifrei Devarim, the entire lineage of King David, and ultimately the future messianic line, could be called into question!

So, what can we take away from this? This passage from Sifrei Devarim highlights the power of interpretation, the importance of nuance, and the enduring relevance of these ancient texts. It reminds us that even seemingly small details can have profound consequences, shaping not just our understanding of the past, but the very fabric of our future. It's a evidence of the careful, thoughtful way our tradition approaches the complexities of life, law, and belonging.

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