It all starts on the fourth day of Creation.
According to Legends of the Jews, as retold by Rabbi Louis Ginzberg, the sun, moon, and stars weren't actually made on the fourth day. They were created on the first! The fourth day was simply when they were assigned their places in the heavens. And here's where things get interesting: initially, the sun and moon were equals! They enjoyed the same power and prestige.
So what went wrong? The moon, it seems, had a question for God. She asked, "O Lord, why didst Thou create the world with the letter Bet?" (Bet, in Hebrew, is the second letter of the alphabet, and also signifies the number two). God replied, "That it might be made known unto My creatures that there are two worlds." The moon continued, "O Lord: which of the two worlds is the larger, this world or the world to come?" God answered, "The world to come is the larger." The moon then pointed out a pattern: God had created two worlds, a greater and a lesser. Heaven and Earth, where Heaven exceeds Earth. Fire and water, where water can quench fire. Logically, the moon argued, one of the sun and moon should also be greater than the other.
Now, according to this ancient story, the kibbitzing didn't sit too well with the Almighty. God saw through the moon's seemingly innocent questions. "I know well," God said, "thou wouldst have me make Thee greater than the sun." And, as a consequence, God decreed that the moon would only keep one-sixtieth of its light.
Ouch.
The moon, naturally, was not happy. "Shall I be punished so severely for having spoken a single word?" she pleaded. God, in a moment of mercy, relented slightly, promising that "in the future world I will restore thy light, so that thy light may again be as the light of the sun."
But the moon, it seems, just couldn't let it go. "O Lord," she asked, "and the light of the sun, how great will it be in that day?" That was the final straw. God's wrath was rekindled, and He declared that in the world to come, the sun's light would be sevenfold what it is now!
So, that’s the story of why the moon shines less brightly than the sun, according to this fascinating piece of Jewish lore. A story of ambition, consequence, and just a little bit of cosmic sibling rivalry. But the tale doesn't end there. Oh no.
The sun, it turns out, isn't just a giant ball of burning gas. According to tradition, he's a bridegroom, running his course across the sky with joy. He sits upon a throne, wearing a garland, accompanied by ninety-six angels who work in shifts of eight every hour. They keep him on track. As Ginzberg tells us, the sun could complete his journey from south to north in an instant, but 365 angels hold him back with grappling-irons, releasing one each day.
And get this: the sun's movement is powered by song! As we find in Midrash Rabbah, the sun sings an uninterrupted hymn of praise to God as it travels. That's why when Joshua wanted the sun to stand still (Joshua 10:12-14), he commanded it to be silent. No song, no movement.
But there's more! The sun is double-faced. One side is fiery, directed towards the earth, and the other is made of hail, facing heaven, cooling off the intense heat. In winter, the sun turns its fiery face upward, causing the cold. In the evening, the sun dips into the ocean for a bath, extinguishing its fire for the night. In the morning, it bathes in a stream of flame to regain its light and warmth. The moon and stars do something similar, bathing in a stream of hail before beginning their nightly service.
According to the Zohar, the sun and moon even plead with God to be relieved of their duties, wanting to avoid witnessing the sins of humanity. They only proceed under compulsion. When they leave God's presence, blinded by the divine radiance, God guides them with arrows of light. The sun grows weaker as it approaches the horizon because of the sins it is forced to witness, appearing as a sphere of blood.
And finally, the sun's journey has a ripple effect on all of creation. As the sun begins its course each morning, its wings brush against the leaves of the trees in Paradise. This vibration then spreads to the angels, the holy Hayyot (divine beings), the plants, and all living things on Earth and in Heaven. It's a signal for everyone to look upward. When they see the Ineffable Name (God's unpronounceable name) engraved in the sun, they raise their voices in songs of praise.
A heavenly voice then laments humanity's failure to recognize God's honor as these creatures do. And, of course, humans can't hear this, just as they can't hear the grating of the sun against the wheel that moves the celestial bodies. This friction, however, produces the motes we see dancing in sunbeams. According to some, these are carriers of healing.
Interestingly, the fourth day, despite producing the life-giving sun, is considered an unfortunate day, especially for children, who are prone to illness. And the stars? They are, according to this tradition, tiny threads that fell from the moon when God diminished her light.
So, what are we to make of all this? It's easy to dismiss these stories as mere mythology, but they offer a powerful glimpse into how our ancestors understood the cosmos and our place within it. It's a reminder that even the most seemingly mundane things – the rising of the sun, the phases of the moon – can be imbued with meaning and wonder. And perhaps, a nudge to consider what songs of praise we might be missing in our own lives.