Our tradition teaches us that God doesn't just create; God chooses. He elevates.
Think about the Sea of Galilee – the Yam Kinneret, that shimmering jewel in the north of Israel. According to Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer, a fascinating early medieval text, God created seven seas. But of all of them, He chose the Kinneret, and gave it as an inheritance to the tribe of Naphtali.
Why Naphtali? Well, Deuteronomy 33:23 tells us, "O Naphtali, satisfied with favor, and full with the blessing of the Lord: possess thou the sea and the south." Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer emphasizes that the "blessing of the Lord" is that inheritance: the sea and the south itself. It’s not just about owning land; it's about being blessed through the land.
This idea of divine selection, of choosing one out of many, resonates throughout Jewish thought. The text continues, expanding this concept beyond just geography.
Just as God chose the Kinneret from the seven seas, He created seven aeons – think of them as cosmic ages – and chose the seventh. The first six aeons, Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer says, are for "going in and coming out," for the push and pull of war and peace, the constant flux of existence. But the seventh aeon? That’s different. That’s entirely Shabbat and rest, a taste of everlasting life.
Isn’t that a powerful image? Six ages of striving, followed by an age of perfect peace.
And it doesn't stop there. The text draws a parallel to the seven lamps of the Sanctuary. Remember the menorah? The lamp of Shabbat, the seventh lamp, illuminated opposite the other six. "In front of the lamp-stand the seven lamps shall give light," Numbers 8:2 reminds us. The seventh, the Shabbat, casts its light back on all that came before.
Finally, of course, there are the seven days of the week. "God blessed the seventh day, and hallowed it," Genesis 2:3 tells us. God created seven days, but chose the seventh, the Shabbat, as holy.
So, what does it all mean? Why this recurring theme of seven, and the specialness of the seventh? Perhaps it's a reminder that within the multitude, within the everyday, there's always something extraordinary waiting to be recognized. Something that God has set apart. Something that can illuminate everything else.
Is it possible that within our own lives, amidst the chaos and the constant striving, there's a "seventh sea," a "seventh aeon," a "seventh day" waiting to be discovered? A place, a time, a practice that can bring us closer to that sense of divine blessing and everlasting rest? Maybe the real question isn't what God chooses, but what we choose to recognize as sacred.