There's a story about that. It's a bittersweet tale, really, about beginnings and forgetting, and it goes something like this...
Imagine a circle. Not just any circle, but a celestial gathering. In this circle sits God, surrounded by countless tiny spirits, each one on the cusp of being born. Now, these aren't just any spirits; they've known the pure, unadulterated joy of being in God's presence. They know the secrets of the heavens.
But God, being all-knowing, understands something profound: earthly life won't hold the same unbridled joy. There will be struggle, hardship, and loss. And God doesn’t want these brand-new souls to be forever comparing their earthly existence to the bliss they once knew.
So, according to this tradition recounted by Maury Schwartz of Chicago, God takes a single finger and gently touches each spirit just below their nose, right where that little indentation will form. That touch… it erases the memory of heavenly joy. It’s an act of compassion, really. A divine act of mercy.
Why? So that these new humans can adapt, can find contentment, and can experience the world without the constant, painful reminder of what they've left behind. It allows them to embrace the challenges and the joys, the bitter and the sweet, without being forever tethered to a memory of perfect bliss.
It's a poignant idea, isn't it?
Other versions of this story exist, of course. The Talmud, in tractate Niddah 16b, for example, mentions an angel named Lailah. Lailah, the angel of conception, accompanies the child throughout the pregnancy, imparting all the secrets of the heavens. But then, just before birth, as we also find in Sanhedrin 6a, Lailah touches the child on the upper lip, causing them to forget everything they've learned.
The Zohar Hadash 68:3, a later Kabbalistic text, and Midrash Tanhuma, Pekudei 3 also touch upon this idea of pre-birth knowledge and the subsequent forgetting.
It's fascinating how these different tellings weave together, isn't it? Some attribute the forgetting to an angel, others directly to God. But the core idea remains: a veil is drawn between the soul and its heavenly origins.
This particular version, though, with God as the one bestowing the "forgetting touch," carries a distinct weight. It emphasizes the inherent difficulties of earthly existence. It implies, perhaps, that life is a struggle, a test, and that the memory of pure joy would only make it harder to bear. It's a far cry from the Garden of Eden, isn't it?
You know, it makes you wonder… if we did remember everything, would we even be able to function in this world? Would we be paralyzed by longing for a paradise lost? Or is there something beautiful and necessary in this act of divine forgetting? Maybe it's what allows us to truly appreciate the small joys, the fleeting moments of connection, the unexpected beauty that pierces through the everyday. Perhaps forgetting is what allows us to truly live.