We often picture a grand, sweeping gesture, a divine command echoing through the void. But what if it was something… gentler? Something more akin to a breath?
The mystics certainly thought so.
Imagine this: before there was earth, before there was sky, there was only water. And hovering above it all, suspended in the nothingness, was God's Throne of Glory. How was it held aloft? By Ruah Elohim – the spirit of God. But Ruah, that's not just "spirit." It also means… breath. The very breath of God, holding the divine throne in place.
It’s a powerful image, isn't it?
Rashi, the great medieval commentator, highlights this in his commentary on Genesis 1:2. "And a wind from God sweeping over the water…" That wind? That’s the breath. Think of a dove hovering over its nest, wings gently beating. That's the image we get in Pirkei de-Rabbi Eliezer, a beautiful early rabbinic text. The Throne, suspended, like a nest cradled by the divine breath.
And what was happening around this incredible scene? Four gatherings of angels, singing praises. The waters themselves rose up, yearning to touch the throne, to connect with the divine source, as we learn from Midrash Tehillim 93:5.
And in the center of it all, God Himself. Seated on his lofty and exalted throne, elevated and suspended. His gaze encompassed the entire world, even before the world was. This imagery, of God on his throne, isn’t unique to the creation story. We see it echoed in Isaiah’s vision (Isaiah 6:1), and again in Daniel (Daniel 7:9). It's a recurring motif, a glimpse into the divine realm.
But back to that breath…
It's easy to get lost in the grandeur of it all – the angels, the throne, the all-encompassing gaze of God. But the detail of the breath, the Ruah Elohim, that feels so intimate, so personal. It suggests that creation wasn't just a command, but an act of profound intimacy, a gentle, life-giving exhalation.
So, what does this all mean? Maybe it’s a reminder that even the most monumental acts, the creation of the entire universe, can begin with something as simple, as fundamental, as a breath. And maybe, just maybe, it's an invitation to listen for that breath in our own lives, to recognize the divine spark in the quiet moments, the gentle whispers that hold us, and everything around us, in being.