In Vayikra Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Leviticus, we find this very idea explored. It all starts with the seemingly simple phrase, "to set calibration of the wind [laruaḥ]." But as is often the case in Jewish tradition, there's a deeper current flowing beneath the surface.
Rabbi Aḥa suggests this calibration applies even to the ruaḥ, the Divine Spirit, that rests upon the prophets. It's not a free-for-all of inspiration, but something carefully measured. Some prophets, he says, prophesy enough for one book, others for two.
And Rabbi Simon takes it a step further. He points to Be’eri, suggesting that Be’eri prophesied on two specific matters. However, these weren't substantial enough to warrant their own separate book, and so they were incorporated into the Book of Isaiah. Specifically, Rabbi Simon refers to Isaiah 8:19 (“If they will say to you: Seek the mediums and the oracles”) and its counterpart, Isaiah 8:20. It's a fascinating glimpse into the editorial process, if you will, of prophetic literature.
The text continues, shifting from wind to water: “And allocate water by measure.” Rabbi Yehuda ben Rabbi Shmuel then expands this concept, arguing that even the matters of Torah given from above were given only by measure. : Bible, Mishna, Talmud, halakhot (Jewish laws), and aggadot (stories and legends). Each has its place, its own specific weight and purpose. Not everyone, according to this passage, merits understanding or mastering all of them. Some excel at Bible, others at Mishna, others at Talmud, and still others are drawn to the imaginative world of aggada. And then, there are the rare individuals who manage to delve into them all.
But the calibration doesn't stop with prophecy or Torah study. The text goes on to say that even a person's spirit is measured. We often describe people as being "broad of spirit" or "narrow of spirit." In extreme cases, a "spirit of pettiness" can take root, according to this understanding.
And here's where it gets really interesting. "A person is balanced," the text states, "half of him water and half of him blood." When we are in balance, when we merit that balance, neither the water nor the blood dominates. But when we sin, that balance is disrupted. Sometimes, the water becomes greater than the blood, leading to dropsy (edema, or swelling). Other times, the blood becomes greater, leading to leprosy. And the text connects this back to the word "adam" – Hebrew for "man" – linking it to "dam," which means blood.
What does all this mean? It suggests a universe, and even a human being, governed by a delicate balance. A balance that requires careful calibration, and that can be thrown off by our choices and actions. It's a powerful reminder that everything, from the Divine Spirit to our own physical bodies, is interconnected and subject to a kind of cosmic accounting. The question then becomes: how do we strive for balance in our lives, knowing that our actions have such profound consequences?