Have you ever noticed something in the Torah that just seems... off? Like a little wrinkle in the fabric of the story? I love those moments, because often that's where the really juicy insights are hiding.
Take the creation story in Genesis, for example. We read in Genesis 1:16 that God made "two great lights" – the sun and the moon – to rule the day and the night. Seems straightforward, right? But then the text goes on to say, "the greater light to rule the day, and the lesser light to rule the night." Wait a minute! They were both great, and now one is diminished? What happened?
That’s exactly the question that the rabbis grapple with in Bereshit Rabbah 6, a beautiful collection of rabbinic commentary on Genesis. Rabbi Yudan, quoting Rabbi Tanchum ben Rabbi Ḥiyya and Rabbi Pinḥas quoting Rabbi Simon, points out this very bewilderment. It seems contradictory. So, what's the explanation?
One answer, they suggest, is that "one of them entered into the realm of its counterpart." The moon, you see, sometimes encroaches upon the sun's territory – it's visible during the day. And because of this "trespassing," its light was diminished.
This idea is further illustrated by Rabbi Pinḥas, who draws a parallel to the offerings brought on holidays and the New Moon (Rosh Chodesh). For most holidays, the Torah specifies "one goat as a sin offering" (Numbers 29:5). But for Rosh Chodesh, it says, "one goat as a sin offering for the Lord" (Numbers 28:15). The Holy One, blessed be He, is essentially saying, "Bring atonement on My behalf for having diminished the moon, as it is I who caused it to enter into the realm of its counterpart."
It’s a powerful image: God, in a sense, taking responsibility for the moon's diminished state. And the underlying message? If even something that enters another's realm with permission is diminished, how much more so for one who enters without permission! It's a lesson about boundaries, respect, and the consequences of overreach.
But the story doesn't end there. Rabbi Levi, in the name of Rabbi Yosei bar Ilai, offers another layer of meaning. He suggests that the greater (older) entity should count by the greater thing (the sun), and the smaller (younger) entity should count by the lesser thing (the moon). Esau, often seen as the older brother representing the more worldly, immediate gratification, counts by the sun. Jacob, the younger, representing the more spiritual and enduring, counts by the moon.
Rav Naḥman then builds on this idea, saying that it's actually a good omen. Esau, associated with the sun, has dominion during the day but not at night. He has his share in this world, but not in the World to Come (Olam Ha’ba). Jacob, associated with the moon, has dominion during both night and day – he has a share in both this world and the next.
Rav Naḥman adds a final, beautiful thought: As long as the light of the greater one (Esau) is in existence, the light of the lesser one (Jacob) is not discernible. But when the light of Esau recedes, the light of Jacob will shine forth. It's a message of hope and resilience, echoing the words of Isaiah 60:1-2: "Arise, shine, for your light has come…. For, behold, the darkness will cover the earth, [and thick darkness the peoples, but upon you the Lord will shine and His glory will be seen upon you]."
So, what does this all mean for us? Maybe it's about recognizing the value in both the "greater" and the "lesser" aspects of our lives. Maybe it's about understanding that sometimes, what seems like a diminution is actually a necessary step towards a greater, more enduring light. And maybe, just maybe, it's a reminder that even when we feel diminished, our light still has the potential to shine brightly.