Like you're being pushed away, pursued relentlessly, and then… well, let's just say things get complicated. The Tikkunei Zohar, a central text of Kabbalah, explores just such a dynamic, a spiritual cat-and-mouse game involving none other than the Divine itself.
It paints a vivid picture: "At first, He expels them, and after He pursues them, He captures them, after which He kills them." It's a stark statement, isn't it? It's easy to get lost in the intensity of the words, but let's unpack this a little. What does it all mean?
The text then shifts gears, linking this drama to the sounds of the shofar, the ram's horn blown on Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. Specifically, it mentions re-vi’a, shnei grishin, and shalshelet – these are all names for specific sequences of blasts. They correspond, we're told, to the sounds of te-qi’ah, she-varim, and te-ru’ah.
Now, the she-varim. The Tikkunei Zohar makes a fascinating connection. It points to Exodus 23:24, "...you shall surely smash (shaber) their idols." See the link? She-varim – smashing. But what are we smashing here?
The text takes us deeper, referencing Job 1:6: "...and the sons of ELQYM came, to stand ‘upon’ (al) before Y”Y..." In this verse, usually translated as "sons of God", stand before God. But the Tikkunei Zohar emphasizes the word al, "upon" or "over". It interprets this as a kind of adversarial stance, particularly in the context of judgement concerning Israel and the Shekhinah. The Shekhinah, often translated as the Divine Presence, is seen as the feminine aspect of God, immanent in the world.
And who else is present in that scene from Job? "...and the Satan also came among them..." Samael, the accuser, the adversary. According to the Tikkunei Zohar, this Samael came to accuse the Children of Israel and to judge the Shekhinah. And because he sought judgement concerning the Shekhinah and God's children, it's as if he stood over Him.
Think about that for a moment. Samael, the embodiment of opposition, daring to stand in a position of judgment, almost superiority. It's a powerful image, one that speaks to the constant struggle between good and evil, between the Divine and the forces that seek to undermine it.
Ginzberg, in his monumental work, Legends of the Jews, elaborates on the role of Samael, often portraying him as a fallen angel, a figure of immense power and cunning. He's not simply a tempter; he's a challenger, a prosecutor in the celestial court.
So, what do we take away from all of this? The Tikkunei Zohar isn't just offering a historical or theological lesson. It's inviting us to consider the nature of opposition, the ever-present challenge to the Divine, and the role we play in that cosmic drama. Are we passively watching the chase, or are we actively participating in the smashing of idols, in the defense of the Shekhinah, in the pursuit of a more just and compassionate world? Are we standing "before" or "upon"? That's the question it leaves us to ponder.