It’s a question that’s captivated mystics and scholars for centuries. And the answer, as we find it in the ancient teachings, is more intimate, more personal than you might imagine.
Midrash Tehillim, a collection of interpretive teachings on the Book of Psalms, offers us some stunning glimpses into this very question. It’s not just about the mechanics of creation, but about the very nature of God’s relationship with the world, and with us.
The text begins with a powerful affirmation: "I will bless the Lord, the Lord, my great God." But then it quickly dives into a fascinating paradox. Rabbi Berachiah, quoting Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Joshua, suggests that before creation, God was already great. And yet, after creating the world, God became even more greatly exalted. What does that even mean? Is it possible for the infinite to become "more" infinite?
It’s a beautiful way of saying that God's greatness isn't diminished by creation; it's enhanced by it. The act of bringing the world into being, of sharing divine essence, somehow elevates God's glory. It’s a concept that stretches the mind, doesn't it?
The Midrash continues with an even more striking image. Rabbi Shimon ben Yehotzadak asks Rabbi Samuel bar Nahman how God created light. And the answer? "He wrapped Himself in a white tallit and illuminated the world with His light."
A tallit, for those unfamiliar, is a Jewish prayer shawl, often white with fringes, worn during prayer. The image of God, wrapped in a tallit, using that as the source of light... it’s incredibly powerful. It suggests that light isn't just some abstract energy; it's intimately connected to God's presence, to divine intention, and to the act of prayer itself.
But there's a little secret whispered in this teaching. Rabbi Shimon points out that the scriptures already say "God clothes Himself with light like a garment" (Psalm 104:2). Why the need for the tallit? Rabbi Samuel replies that just as he received the teaching in a whisper, so he passes it on in a whisper. There’s a sense of mystery here, a hint that some truths are best conveyed in hushed tones, between trusted friends.
Rabbi Berachiah adds another layer, saying he would only share this publicly because he heard it preached by Rabbi Isaac. This highlights the importance of tradition, of lineage, in transmitting these profound ideas. It's not just about individual interpretation, but about a chain of wisdom passed down through generations.
And where did God bring the light from? Rabbi Berachiah, again citing Rabbi Isaac, answers: from the Temple. He connects this to the verse in Ezekiel (43:2): "Behold, the glory of the Lord came from the way of the east; and the earth shone with His glory."
The Temple, in this context, isn't just a physical building. It represents the center of holiness, the place where heaven and earth meet. The light emanating from the Temple suggests that divine light is always accessible, always available to those who seek it. It is already here.
So, what do we take away from this ancient teaching? It's a reminder that light, both physical and spiritual, is deeply intertwined with God's presence. It's an invitation to see the world, and ourselves, as illuminated by that divine light. And it’s a whispered secret, passed down through generations, waiting to be discovered anew.