It’s right at the beginning, in Bereshit (Genesis), when God says, “Let us make Man in our image, in our likeness” (Genesis 1:26). "Us"? Who's the "us?" It sounds like God is talking to someone else!
This drove the rabbis of old a little batty. According to Rabbi Shmuel bar Naḥman, quoting Rabbi Yonatan, when Moses was writing the Torah, he actually stopped at that verse. He turned to God and said, "Master of the universe, why are you giving the heretics ammunition? It sounds like you had partners! Like you needed to consult someone!" Can you imagine being Moses in that moment?
And God's response? It's pretty epic. "Just write it," He says. "If someone wants to err, let him err." Ouch. It’s a bit like saying, "The truth is here. If you choose to misunderstand it, that's on you."
But it doesn't end there. God then explains to Moses. He says, in essence, "Think about the people I'm going to create. Some will be great, some less so. What if someone important refuses to seek advice from someone less important? They should learn from Me! I created the heavens and the earth alone. But when it came to creating humanity, I 'consulted' with the ministering angels."
Now, Rabbi Levi offers another take. He insists there was no actual consultation. Instead, he tells a parable. Imagine a king strolling by his palace and spotting a huge rock. He wonders aloud what to do with it. Some advisors suggest public baths, others private bathhouses. But the king declares, "I'm going to make it into a statue... a statue in my image! Who can stop me?"
Rabbi Levi's point? God wasn't really asking the angels for permission. He was informing them of His intention. He was making a statement: This is what I’m doing, with or without your approval. As Ginzberg explains in Legends of the Jews, God told the angels that He was about to make man in His image, not to consult with them, but to inform them that He was doing so with or without their consent.
So, what’s the takeaway? Maybe it's about humility. Maybe it's about reminding ourselves that even the Creator can, in a way, acknowledge the existence of others, even if He doesn't need their input. As we find in Midrash Rabbah, it teaches us a profound lesson about leadership and collaboration.
Or maybe, just maybe, it's a reminder that the Torah isn't always straightforward. It's filled with complexities and paradoxes that invite us to wrestle with the text, to question, and to seek deeper meaning. It’s a conversation that continues to this day. And that, perhaps, is the most beautiful part of all.