"And the earth was desolate and void" (Genesis 1:2). But how did it get that way? And what happened next?

It's a question that goes deep into the heart of Jewish mystical thought. And one source that wrestles with it is Kalach Pitchei Chokhmah, a text whose name literally means "One Hundred and Thirty-Eight Openings of Wisdom." (It's a title that promises a lot, doesn't it?)

The text grapples with this idea that the raw materials of creation, these "levels," as it calls them, initially had the potential to be directed toward…evil. Now, that's a loaded word, isn't it? But think of it less as conscious malice and more as… inherent disorder. Like a machine with all the parts but no instructions, capable of amazing things but just as capable of complete and utter destruction.

According to Kalach Pitchei Chokhmah, the very "law of these levels" included the "production of evil." In other words, the potential for everything to go wrong was baked right in. This "evil," it says, manifested as the "measures of the creations when in a state of disrepair." Imagine a sculptor's clay, before the sculptor begins. It holds immense potential, but also the potential to remain a shapeless lump forever.

This state of "disrepair," it suggests, is how the creations "came forth down below." That desolate and void earth wasn't just there—it was a consequence. The world, initially, was created full of this potential for disorder, this capacity for things to go wrong. And that potential, that "evil," actually destroyed the initial creation. "By not allowing anything to exist," the text says. Pretty powerful stuff, right?

So, what changed? What pulled the universe back from the brink of oblivion?

"And God said, Let there be light" (Genesis 1:3).

It sounds so simple, doesn't it? But according to Kalach Pitchei Chokhmah, this wasn't just a switch being flipped. This was the start of a painstaking process: the "sifting and cleansing" of the creations, "one by one." Imagine a cosmic gardener, carefully tending to each element, redirecting its energy, refining its purpose.

It's a beautiful image, isn't it? One of constant refinement, of turning potential chaos into ordered beauty. It reminds us that even in the face of overwhelming darkness, there’s always the possibility of light. But that light often requires effort, a deliberate act of "sifting and cleansing" to reveal the inherent goodness within. Perhaps that's a process we can all learn from, in our own lives.