The answer, as with so many profound questions, lies deep within Jewish tradition, and grapples with some pretty mind-bending concepts, especially when we delve into Kabbalah. But some later Kabbalists, particularly those influenced by the Zohar, presented ideas that stirred up some serious debate. Their ideas suggest a cosmic entanglement with the forces of evil, even within the divine realm.
To understand the pushback, we need to revisit a classic Rabbinic teaching. Remember the story in Shabbat 88a? It recounts Moses’s ascent to receive the Torah. The ministering angels, understandably, are a little put out. "What's a human doing here among us?!" they demand of God.
God's response is to show them that Moses is there to receive the Torah. But the story takes a turn. Moses, afraid the angels might incinerate him with their fiery breath, grasps onto God's throne for protection. Then, God tells Moses to ask the angels why they even need the Torah.
Moses, empowered by the Divine Presence, asks, "Master of the Universe, what is written in the Torah that You are giving to them?" He then quotes the first commandment: "I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt." He challenges the angels: "Did you descend to Egypt? Were you enslaved to Pharaoh? Why would you need the Torah?"
See, the Torah is intrinsically linked to our historical experience, to our liberation from slavery. It's a covenant forged in the crucible of human suffering and divine redemption. So, what does this have to do with later Kabbalists?
Well, some Kabbalists, as understood by their critics, suggested that even aspects of the divine realm – the Father (Abba), Mother (Imma), Ze'ir Anpin (the divine son or lesser countenance), and Nukva (the divine daughter or female aspect) – were, in a sense, enslaved to Pharaoh, representing the forces of evil, the Other Side (Sitra Ahra). If that's the case, the argument goes, wouldn't the angels be even more susceptible?
It's a provocative idea, to say the least. And it's one that traditionalists found deeply troubling. How could Ze'ir Anpin, the very emanation associated with giving the Torah and declaring "I am the Lord your God," also be enslaved in Egypt? It seemed contradictory. As the Chassidim taught, Ze'ir Anpin suffered greatly in exile, like a fetus in its mother’s womb!
The counter-argument acknowledges the suffering and exile, but reinterprets it. As we find in Midrash Rabbah and elsewhere, the Shekhinah – the Divine Presence – was with us in exile, in Egypt, and later in Babylon, as the verse says, "I am with him in distress" (Psalms 91:15). This doesn't mean God endured exile in the same way we did, but that God's presence remained with us, offering solace and hope.
The promise in Exodus 18:23 also offers a perspective: "For I do not desire the death of the wicked, but that the wicked turn from his way and live." Even in exile, divine providence clings to us, preventing our complete annihilation by our enemies. God's promise to us remains, even in the darkest of times.
Ultimately, as our Sages teach, there is no other deity in the world. The Torah, in its wisdom, sometimes speaks in ways that are accessible to human understanding. It uses language and imagery that resonate with our experiences, even if those experiences are limited and imperfect reflections of the divine reality.
So, what does this all mean for us? Perhaps it's a reminder that even in the face of suffering and exile, God's presence remains. The Torah, given to us after our liberation from Egypt, is a testament to that enduring bond. And maybe, just maybe, it's an invitation to grapple with the complexities of our faith, to question, to debate, and to ultimately find our own path towards understanding the Divine.