We all know the story from Genesis: the serpent, the forbidden fruit, the exile. But what then? Did the Garden just sit there, empty and forlorn?
Not quite. According to Jewish lore, God placed mighty guardians east of the Garden: the cherubim, angelic beings, and a terrifying, ever-turning sword of flame (Genesis 3:24). Imagine that for a moment: a whirling, fiery blade, barring the way back to paradise. Chilling, isn't it?
The Zohar, a foundational text of Kabbalah, tells us that after this, no one could enter the Garden… except for the souls of the righteous. But even they had to pass muster.
Think of it like this: the Garden of Eden evolved. It wasn't just the place where humanity began; it became the gateway to Paradise for deserving souls. But those cherubim? They were still on duty, judging each soul that approached. If a soul was deemed worthy, the cherubim would allow it to pass. But if not? According to this myth from the Zohar, they'd be driven away, scorched by the fiery sword. Talk about divine security!
This raises a fascinating question: how did the cherubim know who was worthy? What cosmic yardstick were they using? The texts don't explicitly say, but it implies a profound sense of divine discernment.
In fact, there are really two distinct phases to the Garden of Eden in Jewish tradition. First, the story of Adam and Eve, their life there, and their expulsion. Second, the Garden’s role after that expulsion, as the destination for righteous souls on their journey to Paradise. You can read more about this dual role, and its fascinating implications, in The Path of the Soul in the Garden of Eden (Schwartz, Tree of Souls, p. 168).
The initial purpose of the cherubim seems clear enough. After tasting from the Tree of Knowledge, Adam and Eve became mortal. Allowing them access to the Tree of Life would have been… problematic, to say the least. Genesis implies they were barred to prevent them from achieving immortality.
But what about after that? What purpose did the cherubim serve then? They kept out anyone who tried to sneak in, including, according to legend, even Alexander the Great! (Schwartz, Tree of Souls, "The Gates of Eden," p. 406)
But as the Garden took on this new role as the entry point for righteous souls, the cherubim's function evolved too. They weren't just gatekeepers anymore; they became celestial bouncers, discerning who was worthy and who wasn't. And for those who didn't make the cut? Well, the Zohar tells us of the painful consequences, a burning purification by the ever-turning sword.
It's a powerful image, isn't it? This idea of facing judgment, of being assessed for our worthiness.
Interestingly, we see a similar concept in the traditions surrounding the High Priest and the Holy of Holies in the Temple in Jerusalem on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. The kapporet, the cover of the Ark of the Covenant, featured two cherubim. Midrash ha-Ne'elam and Zohar Hadash 19a describe them as standing guard, much like their Eden counterparts. The High Priest entered this sacred space in awe and dread. If he was worthy, he would enter and exit in peace. But if he was not? A flame, mirroring the fiery sword of Eden, would erupt from between the cherubim, and he would perish.
So, what does this all mean? Perhaps it's a reminder that the path to Paradise, whatever that may be for you, isn't always easy. It requires a certain level of righteousness, a dedication to living a meaningful life. And maybe, just maybe, there are celestial gatekeepers along the way, helping us to become the best versions of ourselves. Are we ready to face them?