In Zohar" target="_blank" rel="noopener" class="source-link">Tikkunei_Zohar" target="_blank" rel="noopener" class="source-link">Tikkunei Zohar 99, we find a fascinating idea: the left side is associated with Rosh Hashanah, the New Year, a time of judgment and introspection. The right side? That's Passover, Pesach, the festival of freedom and redemption. And between them lies…an oath. A "hand," or yad in Hebrew, upon the throne of YaQ. What does it mean?
The text references the verse from Exodus 17:16, "...for a hand is upon the throne of YaQ..." This is linked to a 14-day period. It's a subtle, almost hidden connection, but it hints at the power and the promise bound within these seemingly disparate moments in the year.
But here's where it gets even more intriguing. The Tikkunei Zohar brings in a verse from the Song of Songs: "Do not look upon me, for I am blackened." Who is speaking here? It's seen as the Shekhinah, the divine feminine presence, expressing her darkened state. The text interprets this "blackness" as stemming from the left side, from the lineage of Isaac (Yitzchak), often associated with judgment and severity. It is a difficult thing to comprehend.
Think about it: Isaac, in the Torah, famously blesses Jacob instead of Esau because his eyesight is failing. Genesis 27:1 tells us, "...and his eyes were dimmed from seeing (mei-re'ot)..." The Tikkunei Zohar doesn't just take this at face value. It connects Isaac's dimmed vision to a loss of the "visions" (mare'ot) of prophecy, to the light of redemption itself. Like in Ezekiel 1:1 "...the heavens were opened, and I saw visions of Elohim."
So, Isaac’s dimmed sight isn't just a physical ailment. It's a spiritual condition, a consequence of the dominance of the "left" side. And what happens when the left dominates? The text quotes Isaiah 50:3: "I shall dress the heavens with blackening..."
This verse paints a picture of a world shrouded in darkness, a consequence of imbalance. It's a powerful image, isn't it? A reminder that the choices we make, the balance we strike between judgment and mercy, between strictness and compassion, has a direct impact on the world around us.
What are we to take from all this? Perhaps it's a call to strive for balance. To recognize the inherent tension between opposing forces, not as a source of conflict, but as an opportunity for growth and understanding. To open our eyes, not just to the physical world, but to the "visions" of prophecy, to the potential for redemption that lies within each and every moment. Can we see beyond the blackness?