This section delves into the mystical significance of the Shekhinah, the divine feminine presence, and its connection to the very structure of creation. It all starts with a powerful image: a Tree, vast beyond our comprehension, spanning a distance of five hundred years. Now, five hundred years isn't just a number plucked from thin air. It's linked to the Hebrew letter Hei (ה). Bereishyt Rabbah 15:6 tells us of this immense size. This Hei, the passage suggests, is tied to the story in Exodus (15:25) where bitter waters were sweetened.
But there's more. This isn't just any Hei; it's the latter Hei. And that brings us to a place of sorrow, of bitterness: marah (מרה). Think of Naomi in the Book of Ruth (1:20), who, after experiencing immense loss, cries out, "Call me not Naomi, call me Marah." The sweetness and the bitterness, both contained within this letter, within the divine presence. It’s a potent reminder that even in hardship, there is a connection to something greater.
The passage then shifts to the Lower Shekhinah. Imagine Her as a spring, a source that never runs dry. It's a continuous flow, a "drop that is drawn from the brain," and from it, many more drops emerge. What are these drops? They are the "virgins following her, her companions" (Psalm 45:15). Think of them as emanations, aspects of the divine feminine, each a reflection of the source.
But where does this flow originate? The Zohar" target="_blank" rel="noopener" class="source-link">Tikkunei_Zohar" target="_blank" rel="noopener" class="source-link">Tikkunei Zohar paints an almost anatomical picture. The skull is described as a "rock," sel'a (סֶּלַע), and within it lies a wellspring: the brain. It is from this wellspring that these precious drops emerge. The imagery is strikingly visceral.
And what do these drops represent? Here's where it gets really interesting. They are described as arrows in a quiver: "Happy is the man, who has filled his quiver from them..." (Psalm 127:5). These are not just any arrows; they are potent forces, weapons against "the enemies at the gate."
And what is this gate? It's "the gate of the righteous," the very symbol of the covenant. It's the "holy sign," the brit milah, circumcision. And as Psalm 118:20 proclaims, "This is the gate of Y”Y, the righteous shall enter through it." Y”Y is a substitute name for God, of course.
So, what are we to make of all this? It's a powerful, layered metaphor for the creative process, for the flow of divine energy, and for the challenges we face in upholding the covenant. It suggests that the source of life, the divine feminine, is not some distant, abstract concept but something deeply connected to our own bodies, to our own experiences of joy and sorrow. And that the very act of living a righteous life, of upholding the covenant, is a way of channeling that divine energy, of protecting the "gate" from those who would seek to defile it. It's a call to recognize the sacred in the mundane, the divine in the human. What could be more relevant today?