We find a fascinating discussion about this in Bereshit Rabbah, a classic collection of rabbinic interpretations of the Book of Genesis. The passage focuses on the verse, "On the day that the Lord God made the earth and the heavens." Simple enough. Except… when exactly was that "day"?
The great rabbinic schools of Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel, known for their differing opinions on just about everything, had their own takes, naturally. Beit Shammai argued that God's thought – the planning, the cosmic blueprint – occurred at night, while the action of creation unfolded during the day. Their proof? The very verse itself: "...on the day that the Lord God made the earth and the heavens" implying, to them, that the "making" happened in the daylight hours.
Beit Hillel, characteristically, disagreed. They maintained that both God's thought and His action took place during the day. A more streamlined, efficient creation, perhaps?
But then comes Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish, a prominent figure in the Talmud. He throws a wrench into the whole debate. “I am astonished," he says, in the Bereshit Rabbah. How could these intellectual giants, these "fathers of the world," argue about something so fundamental? He offers a third, more nuanced perspective.
Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish suggests that God's thought occurred both day and night. A constant process of divine ideation, perhaps? And the actual creation? He places it specifically "with the dimming of the sun," just before sunset. Imagine that: the universe bursting into existence as twilight descends.
Why this specific time? The text doesn't explicitly say. But perhaps it suggests a transition, a liminal space between what was and what will be. A moment pregnant with possibility.
It's a beautiful image, isn't it? And it highlights a key aspect of Jewish thought: the ongoing process of interpretation. Even with sacred texts, there's room for debate, for different perspectives, for a constant seeking of deeper meaning. So, next time you watch a sunset, remember Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish and his intriguing idea. Maybe, just maybe, you're witnessing a faint echo of the moment when everything began.