The book of Kohelet, Ecclesiastes, wrestles with these very questions. And Kohelet Rabbah, the rabbinic commentary on Ecclesiastes, digs even deeper. Let’s explore a fascinating passage from it.
It starts with the verse: "He made everything beautiful in its time" (Ecclesiastes 3:11). Rabbi Berekhya, citing Rabbi Abbahu in the name of Rabbi Elazar, offers a striking example. Remember the division of the kingdom after King Solomon's reign? The split between Rehoboam and Jeroboam that led to the northern and southern kingdoms? The rabbis suggest this division could have happened earlier, during King David's time, with Sheva ben Bichri.
But, the Holy One, blessed be He, reasoned: Would it be right to cause a schism in the House of David before the Temple was even built? Better to wait, to allow the Temple to be established, and then let happen what will happen. Talk about playing the long game! It makes you think about the grand sweep of history, doesn't it?
Then Rabbi Binyamin, quoting Rabbi Levi, expands on the verse "The world, too, He has placed in their heart" (Ecclesiastes 3:11). He says this refers to the love of the world that God instilled in us. Rabbi Yonatan takes it a step further: It's also the fear of the Angel of Death. A sobering thought – love of life intertwined with the awareness of its end.
Next, Nehemya, son of Rabbi Shmuel bar Nahman, offers an interpretation based on Genesis 1:31: “And behold it was very good." He connects the two instances of "good" to the yetzer hatov, the good inclination, and the "very" to the yetzer hara, the evil inclination. Wait, the evil inclination is "very good"? How does that work?
Well, it teaches us that without the yetzer hara, we wouldn't build houses, marry, or have children! As Solomon says in Ecclesiastes 4:4, "[I saw all toil and all skilled action;] that it is man’s envy of his neighbor." That competitive drive, that ambition – it all stems from the yetzer hara. It's a powerful force, this "evil inclination."
Rabbi Berekhya and Rabbi Abbahu, again citing Rabbi Yochanan, say that God placed within us both love of the world and love of young children. They illustrate this with a parable: A king has two sons, one older and one younger. The older one cleans, the younger one makes a mess. Yet, the king loves the younger one more. It’s a reminder that love isn't always logical or based on merit.
Now, Rabbi Ahva son of Rabbi Zeira dives into the word "ha’olam" – "the world." He points out that the word is written without a vav, which allows it to be read as "ho’olam" – meaning "the ineffable name was concealed from them." It’s a play on words, a hidden meaning within the text.
He tells a story of a king who throws a feast and invites guests. After they’ve eaten and drunk, they ask for swords and spears to play with. Instead, the king gives them myrtle branches. But even with these harmless branches, they end up striking and wounding each other! The king laments that if they behave this way with myrtle branches, imagine what they'd do with real weapons.
Similarly, God says, "If, at a time when I concealed the ineffable name from them, they killed with appellations," – that is, invoked God's names to curse each other – "had I given and revealed to them the ineffable name, all the more so!" It's a cautionary tale about the power of knowledge and the responsibility that comes with it.
The text goes on to tell stories about the Shem Hameforash, the Explicit Name of God. We hear of a Persian woman who cursed her son using part of the Ineffable Name, and Shmuel immediately knew the boy was doomed. Rabbi Hanina, who knew the Name, refused to share it on his deathbed because the potential recipients were deemed unworthy. A doctor in Tzippori wouldn't entrust it to someone who had taken first tithe, fearing he might misuse the Name for personal gain.
There were strict rules about who could receive the Name: someone who had lived most of their life, in a place of purity, near water, and only while standing. Initially, they entrusted it to just anyone, but as sinners became more prevalent, they limited it to the most modest of priests, who would obscure it in the priestly melody. Rabbi Tarfon even recounts how he once overheard the High Priest using the Name and fell on his face in awe.
Those who heard the Name would prostrate themselves and recite, "Blessed be the name of His glorious kingdom for ever and ever." And they wouldn't move until the Name was forgotten from them – "shenitalem." The passage references Exodus 3:15, "This is My name forever [le’olam]," noting that it's written without a vav, so it can be read "le’elem" – "for concealment."
Why all this secrecy? The passage concludes by quoting Ecclesiastes 3:11: "But so that man will not discover the work that God has performed from beginning to end." The concealment of the Name, the mystery surrounding creation – it's all designed to prevent us from fully grasping the divine plan.
So, what does this all mean? Perhaps it's a reminder that some things are meant to remain hidden. That knowledge, especially knowledge of immense power, must be handled with care and reverence. And that sometimes, the beauty lies not in understanding everything, but in appreciating the mystery itself. We are left to ponder the delicate balance between revealing and concealing, between knowledge and wisdom, and the profound implications for how we live our lives.