Ancient Jewish wisdom grappled with these questions too. Take this passage from Kohelet Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Ecclesiastes. It starts with a rather unsettling verse: "If the serpent may bite without a spell, there is no advantage to the charmer" (Ecclesiastes 10:11).
What does that even mean?
Rabbi Abba bar Kahana offers a powerful interpretation. He suggests that a serpent only bites, a lion only devours, and a kingdom only oppresses if it's been "whispered to from above" – nilḥash in Hebrew, meaning divinely ordained. In other words, everything, even suffering, has a source, a reason, even if we can't always grasp it. God, in essence, determines who will face hardship.
But the passage doesn't stop there. It personifies the serpent, engaging it in a kind of cosmic Q&A. Imagine asking a serpent, "Why does your venom affect the whole body when you only bite one part?" According to Rabbi Shmuel bar Naḥmani, the serpent would retort, "Don't ask me! Ask the one with a tongue – baal halashon" – a clever play on words, because baal halashon also means "slanderer."
Here, the serpent becomes a symbol of malicious speech, of lashon hara, the destructive power of gossip and slander. The serpent's bite, its venom, is like the damage caused by a lying tongue, spreading far beyond the initial point of contact.
The text continues, probing the serpent about its origins and its degraded state. "Why is your body lacking?" the questioner asks. The serpent replies, "My tongue caused it." This connects directly to the serpent's role in the Garden of Eden, where its slander against God led to humanity's exile (Genesis, chapter 3). The serpent's punishment, its physical form, is a direct consequence of its poisonous words.
Then comes a truly chilling observation. If you were to ask the serpent why it hides among the fences, it would say, "It is because I breached the fence of the world"– meaning that it caused the first sin. Rabbi Shimon ben Yoḥai adds that because the serpent breached this cosmic fence, it became the executioner for all who follow suit. This echoes in the verse "One who breaches a fence, a serpent will bite him" (Ecclesiastes 10:8).
This idea of boundaries, of staying within the "fence" of ethical behavior, is crucial. When we cross those lines, when we engage in harmful speech or actions, we invite the "serpent" into our lives, unleashing destructive forces.
But there's more! Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish vividly describes how, after God condemned the serpent to crawl on its belly (Genesis 3:14), angels descended and amputated its limbs. The serpent's voice then resonated across the earth, a sound likened to the roar of the Tigris River.
The text then shifts to the rivers themselves, personifying them. If you asked the Tigris why its sound is so loud, it would reply, "If only it would be heard among the rivers!" And if you asked the Euphrates why its sound is quieter, it would explain, "My actions speak for me. I bring forth life and abundance quickly."
So, what does this all mean?
This passage from Kohelet Rabbah isn't just a bizarre story about talking serpents and rivers. It's a profound meditation on the nature of suffering, the power of speech, and the importance of boundaries. It reminds us that our words have consequences, that slander and gossip can be as venomous as a serpent's bite. It also hints that even in the face of hardship, there can be a divine purpose, a lesson to be learned. And it certainly is a reminder to be mindful of our actions, lest we, too, breach the fence and unleash the serpent within.