It’s a question that bubbles up from the depths of Jewish tradition, and Shir HaShirim Rabbah, a collection of Rabbinic interpretations on the Song of Songs, offers some fascinating and beautiful answers. It's like overhearing a conversation in the beit midrash, the study hall, centuries ago.
Rabbi Azarya, or perhaps Rabbi Elazar, along with Rabbi Yosei ben Rabbi Ḥanina, and other Rabbis weigh in. Rabbi Elazar starts us off with a parable: Imagine a king with a magnificent wine cellar. He offers a cup to the first guest, another to the second. But when his own son arrives? He gives him the entire cellar! Similarly, Adam, the first man, was given seven commandments, or perhaps six, depending on how you count, as the commentaries note discrepancies with the listing that follows.
What were these initial commandments? Well, "The Lord God commanded the man, saying: From all the trees in the Garden you shall eat" (Genesis 2:16). The Rabbis unpack this verse, finding layers of meaning. "Vaytzav" – "He commanded" – represents the prohibition against idol worship, just as Hosea (5:11) says, "Because he willingly followed an order [tzav]". "The Lord" signifies the prohibition against blaspheming the name, as Leviticus (24:16) states, "One who blasphemes the name of the Lord shall surely die." "God [Elohim]" refers to the commandment to appoint judges, based on Exodus (22:8): "The statement of the two of them shall come to the judges [elohim]". And so it goes, each word revealing another layer of divine instruction. "The man" is the prohibition against bloodshed, "Saying" refers to forbidden sexual relations, and "From all the trees in the Garden" alludes to the prohibition against robbery.
Then comes Noah, with an additional commandment: the prohibition against eating a limb torn from a living animal, as Genesis (9:4) makes clear: "But flesh with its life, its blood [you shall not eat]". Abraham is commanded regarding circumcision, which Isaac fulfills perfectly on the eighth day after his birth. Jacob is associated with the prohibition against eating the sciatic nerve, and Judah with levirate marriage, the practice of marrying a childless brother’s widow. Finally, the children of Israel receive all the positive and negative commandments of the Torah.
Rabbi Yosei ben Rabbi Ḥanina offers another comparison: A king who distributes provisions to his troops through intermediaries. But to his son? He gives directly. It's a powerful image of intimacy and direct connection. Other Rabbis add to the metaphor: A king sharing fine pastry directly with his son. All these images emphasize the special, direct relationship between God and Israel, particularly in the giving of the Torah.
Then, the conversation shifts. Rabbi Abahu, or perhaps Rabbi Yehuda, with Rabbi Neḥemya, speak of two friends debating a point of halakha, Jewish law. Each offering sources and arguments. And the Holy One, blessed be He, says: "Their passion comes from Me." It's a reminder that the pursuit of truth, the dedication to understanding God's will, is itself a divine gift. Rabbi Neḥemya connects this passion to the verse, "Let him kiss me [yishakeni] with the kisses of his mouth."
Rabbi Yehuda even suggests that even mistaken claims made during halakhic debate still come from God! Imagine that. Even our errors can be part of the divine plan.
The Rabbis then connect this idea of a "kiss" to the departure of the soul. Rabbi Azarya notes that Aaron’s soul was taken with a kiss, as Numbers (33:38) implies: "Aaron the priest ascended Mount Hor at the command of [al pi] God and he died there." The phrase "al pi," literally "by the mouth of," is interpreted as a divine kiss. The same is said of Moses. And even Miriam, though it is not explicitly stated, the Rabbis infer that she also died with a kiss, because the Torah uses the word "there" to describe her death, the same word used for Moses' death.
The ultimate reward for those who engage with Torah, the Rabbis suggest, is a divine kiss at the end of life. It's a beautiful and intimate image of God's love and acceptance.
But the word "yishakeni" – "let him kiss me" – holds even more meaning. It also means "He will arm me," based on the word "noshekei" – "armed." Rabbi Shimon bar Naḥman says that Torah is like a weapon, protecting us in times of war. It also means "He will purify me," like joining two pools of water to create a mikveh, a ritual bath. And finally, it means "He will cleave to me," a powerful image of closeness and connection.
Through parables, interpretations, and layers of meaning, Shir HaShirim Rabbah opens a window into the complex and beautiful relationship between God and humanity. It's a relationship built on commandments, yes, but also on intimacy, love, and the passionate pursuit of truth. It leaves you wondering, what kind of relationship are we building? And how can we draw closer to that divine kiss?