Rabbi Michael Leo Samuel

To decipher the symbolic and mythic significance of the serpent, one must understand its role as personifying the trickster archetype. According to Jung, the trickster archetype is invariably associated with wisdom and the beginnings of spiritual endeavor. Sometimes, as is the case with Genesis 3, it represents the first obstruction to true self-knowledge.[1] Traditionally, there are four aspects of the trickster’s identity that include: the divine, the profane, the human, and the animal. Its powers in many myths seem to be more of a supernatural order, and as such, tricksters possess the uncanny ability of frustrating the Supreme Being’s creative plans. From a literary perspective, the present text suggests that the Creator is not present or is possibly a silent observer. In light of this dramatic staging, the trickster always lives up to its potential for creating mischief—often to its own detriment.

By many mythic depictions, the trickster has an enormous capacity for lust and sensuality, as well as a hearty appetite for the forbidden (which would explain why in many Midrashic traditions, the serpent had sexual relations with Eve). In many tales of its exploits, the trickster’s deception consists of feigning ignorance, while laying a trap for its adversary worthy of a hunter. Quite often, the trickster is the unwitting victim of his own complicated plots. Although it is an intelligent being, it usually does not think of the consequences of its behavior. Throughout human history, the trickster parodies the norms of society; their expertise is to evoke paradox, self-reflection, unpredictability, and alternate visions of reality. As a contrarian spirit, the trickster lives to break down a society’s taboos, although they are certainly capable of creating mischief. In the final analysis, they are catalysts of change.

True to the trickster archetype, the serpent in Eden blurs the boundaries between the categories of animal, human, and divine. Although the Torah describes the primordial serpent as an animal, it differs from its fellow creatures in that it possesses the ability to speak and reason. In addition, it has an esoteric grasp of knowledge that makes it more akin to God and the angels. The serpent’s mysterious personality leaves the reader wondering what its motivation might have been. Like other such myths, the pay-off for the trickster is both a gain and a loss for which humans pay the price (this pattern also occurs in the Greek myth of Prometheus, who steals the celestial fire of the gods to give it to the mortals). Frequently, it is the trickster who pays the price for his deceit.

In many cultures throughout the world, the serpent acts as the instrument and catalyst of change. Ancient Mesopotamian and Oriental literature associates the serpent with the destructive forces of chaos that threaten to unravel the fabric of creation.[2] When the serpent was untamed, it symbolized destruction and evil; when it was conquered and subdued, it assumed the role of a protector.[3] In other mythic traditions, serpents symbolize esoteric wisdom, as portrayed in Genesis 3, The Epic of Gilgamesh, and Buddha and the Boda Tree. For the unwary desert traveler, serpents were frequently associated with danger and death.[4] The ancients utilized snakes in many of their oracular magical rites; the serpent’s ability to rejuvenate itself by shedding its skin gave rise to the widely held belief that the serpent was immortal, as seen in The Epic of Gilgamesh, which dates back to about 2700 B.C.E. However, based on the appearance of serpents crafted onto numerous cultic objects dating back as early as the 6^th millennium B.C.E., some recent archeological discoveries indicate that the python was worshiped in African caves dating back 70,000 years ago—30,000 years earlier than the oldest previously known human rites.[5]

To decipher the symbolic and mythic significance of the serpent, one must understand its role as a personification of the trickster archetype. According to Jung, the trickster archetype is invariably associated with wisdom and the beginnings of spiritual endeavor. Sometimes, as is the case of the Genesis 3, it represents the first obstacle to true self-knowledge. [6] The serpent also epitomizes masculine potency and sexuality—a notion that Sigmund Freud would later heartily endorse. Across the cultural divide, mythic depictions of the serpent reveal a creature endowed with a mysterious knowledge, power, and wisdom. In Greek mythology, “being licked” by a serpent’s tongue was considered a good omen; it meant that the gods would bless a person with supernatural gifts such as prophecy or extraordinary strength. Snakes were also associated with Athena, the Greek goddess of wisdom, and later in the Middle Ages with Prudentia, the personification of prudence or practical wisdom. Then again, there is the well-known saying of Jesus: “Be wise as serpents” (Mt. 10:16).

The primordial serpent’s role as trickster in this narrative raises many questions that remain unanswered by the biblical narrator. Why does the serpent resent humankind? Why would it want to deprive God’s choice creation of the gifts of immortality? Was its intention sincere, or did it have ulterior motives? What did the serpent stand to gain by Adam’s disobedience? Exegetes propose several plausible answers. The serpent may have been motivated by envy.

If this early exegetical insight is accurate, one could argue that the serpent projects onto Eve its own inner and unresolved conflict with the Divine, and by doing so, the serpent triangulates the couple into a personal struggle with God. When triggered, a psychological defense mechanism may cause a person to project certain objectionable traits, feelings, desires, or motivations onto another person as a means of protecting the walls of one’s ego.

It logically follows that when the serpent asserts that YHWH is “jealous” of His foremost creation obtaining this esoteric knowledge of good and evil, the serpent’s accusation actually reveals more about its own jealousy and its contempt toward the Creator.[7] Josephus explains that the serpent grew jealous of the happiness Adam and his wife enjoyed by virtue of obeying the Divine commandments. The serpent realized that “these gifts would be lost if it could persuade the woman to taste of the tree of wisdom.”[8] Another variant of this idea is explored centuries later in Milton’s Paradise Lost. Milton writes that after a failed coup d’état against Heaven, Satan is expelled and later enters into the body of the serpent in order to estrange Adam and Eve from their Maker.[9] Ultimately, both stories of the Edenic “Fall”—as depicted in Genesis and in Paradise Lost—can be attributed to failure to live in accordance with the hierarchy that YHWH established for all of His Creation.

Some of the early Christian exegetes offer a number of possible motivations. John of Damascus (ca. 650-750) argues that the serpent did not wish to be under Adam’s dominion. Ambrose (ca. 333-397) makes a similar point: the serpent did not like the human couple’s special standing in the world of Paradise. Some Jewish mystics propose that the serpent acted out of jealousy for it sensed its existence was only temporary. It knew that God intended for Adam and Eve to live forever. By means of a cleverly laid trap,[10] it hoped to “even the playing field,” thus making them mortal, like itself.[11]

There is one answer the early exegetes did not consider—the serpent wished to appropriate for itself the very blessing that it had thought to deny the first couple—the gift of immortality. By diverting their attention away from the Tree of Life, and persuading them to eat from the Tree of Knowledge, the serpent hoped that it alone would eat of the Tree of Life and live forever. The Epic of Gilgamesh definitely resonates with this latter interpretation and provides the key to answering many of the questions thus far raised in the Genesis story. In this ancient tale about the origin of death, a serpent steals a magic plant from Gilgamesh that would have given him immortality, while he was bathing in a nearby pool. Although the story does not say that the serpent ate the coveted plant, the narrator implies that it did. However, in the Edenic narrative, the serpent does not achieve its goal. Unlike the Gilgamesh serpent, which disappears with the coveted prize, the serpent of Genesis suffers a talionic fate, and becomes the “most cursed of creatures.”[12] Continue Reading

Jonathan Edwards (1703-1758) was a brilliant theologian, philosopher, as well as a fiery preacher (I could hardly resist the pun!). One of his most famous sermons was “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God,” which he delivered in 1741; in this revival sermon he used the metaphors of hellfire and brimstone to inspire his followers to repent before it was too late. One his most picturesque portions of his sermon went something like this:

• The God that holds you over the pit of hell, much as one holds a spider or some loathsome insect over the fire, abhors you and is dreadfully provoked: his wrath towards you burns like fire; he looks upon you as worthy of nothing else, but to be cast into the fire; he is of purer eyes than to bear to have you in his sight; you are ten I thousand times more abominable in his eyes than the most hateful venomous serpent is in ours. You have offended him infinitely more than ever a stubborn rebel did his prince; and yet it is nothing but his hand that holds you from falling into the fire every moment. It is to be ascribed to nothing else that you did not go to hell the last night; that you suffered to awake again in this world, after you closed your eyes to sleep. And there is no other reason to be given, why you have not dropped into hell since you arose in the morning, but that God’s hand has held you up. There is no other reason to be given why you have not gone to hell, since you have sat here in the house of God, provoking his pure eyes by your sinful wicked manner of attending his solemn worship. Yea, there is nothing else that is to be given as a reason why you do not this very moment drop down into hell.”

Gulp!

Now, let us turn to the present. Anyone reading Edwards’ speech probably must wonder, “What kind of God image is Edwards conveying?” Obviously he seems to relish depicting a deity who definitely hates sin. But if God takes sadistic pleasure in eradicating sinners and sin, how could anyone feel comfortable worshiping such a blood-thirsty deity?

One imaginative and creative American Jewish thinker, Rabbi David Blumenthal, in his book, Facing the Abusing God, claims that abusiveness is one of the fundamental attributes of the Divine personality.[1] Not only has the shepherd image been discarded by Blumenthal and many modern Jews, the dangerous image of God as an “Abuser” has taken its place in light of the Holocaust experiences and centuries of continuous Christian/Muslim oppression. [2]

Out of fairness to Blumenthal, we must be honest: Blumenthal merely states what many thoughtful Jews have long suspected about their God—but were afraid to candidly admit—God is abusive. Is it not any wonder why Blumenthal’s theology strikes a visceral note with so many voices of the modern Jewish experience? Unfortunately, his book characterizes the severity of how dysfunctional and destructive God-images can be when God is portrayed as the Abuser Supreme.[3]

Historically, rabbis since the days of the biblical writers generally associate Israel’s collective suffering as an expression of retribution, for failing to follow God’s holy commandments. The “wrath of God” theology, though ancient, is still very much alive regardless of religious ideation. After WWII, the Satmar Rebbe, Yoel Teitelbaum (1888-1979) insisted that the Holocaust occurred because the Jews adopted Zionism instead of the Messiah. By insisting on a secular redemption, Israel became “prey” to their Nazi tormentors.[4] Teitelbaum’s reasoning is classically simple and clear: If Jews suffer; it is because of their sinful ways and attitudes. This idea finds numerous examples in the Bible[5] and especially in daily liturgy, “On account of our sins we were exiled from our land, and far removed from our soil.”[6]

Rabbi Mordechai Gifter (1915-2001), a prominent 20^th century Orthodox leader, argues that the Holocaust should “become a source of inspiration and encouragement for us. We are assured that we do have a Father in Heaven Who cares for us and is concerned enough with our spiritual status to demonstrate His disfavor.”[7] Though many Orthodox and Hasidic Jews portray great courage in affirming their faith during the Holocaust, nevertheless, many regard the Holocaust as a punishment for not observing Torah study and mitzvot (precepts). Consider Rabbi Mordechai Gifter’s quotation from the Telshe Rav (rabbi):

At the time when the Nazis took the Telshe community to their intended slaughter at the lake nearby, the Telshe Rav said in a drasha (homiletic commentary): ‘If we will be scrupulous in kashrus, in Shabbos (the Sabbath), in taharos hamishpacha (laws of family purity), the enemy will have no dominion over us.’ And from that day on plans were changed; they were taken away from Telz and were confined in a ghetto. The entire community suffered no harm until the first breach in kashrus (kosher observance).[8]

Here is a personal anecdote to illustrate. Once at a Jewish singles event I attended at Congregation Beth Jacob in Beverly Hills, California, I heard a rabbi from the Jewish Learning Exchange speak about God and the Holocaust shortly after the Jewish holiday commemorating the destruction of the ancient Temple known as Tisha ‘b Av. One person asked the rabbi about something he heard from an Orthodox Rabbi:

• I heard that the reason the Holocaust occurred was because married Jewish women failed to cover their hair, and the Jews were consequently punished for that infraction. Is that really true? I really must know! The Rabbi thought for a moment and answered, “You can’t say that is true, yet you can’t say that it isn’t true either!”

Most of the Orthodox Jewish singles present did not find anything objectionable to this particular theological view. Those, like myself, who found this answer offensive, were ignored and later silenced by the speaker. The theology of retribution continues to be popular in many of the ultra-right Orthodox and Hassidic seminaries in Israel and abroad. But is it only an “Orthodox” problem?

In another recent interview, the Sephardic Chief Rabbi Ovadia Yosef has frequently proclaimed that according to the Kabbalah, the Holocaust came to purge Jews of their generation’s sinful ways and attitudes.

• After all, people are upset and ask, “Why was there a Holocaust?” Woe to us, for we have sinned. “Woe to us, for there is nothing we can say to justify it,” he said. “It goes without saying that we believe in reincarnation,” continued Yosef. “It is a reincarnation of those souls. Our teacher The Ari said that there are no new souls in our generation…all the souls were once in the world and have returned. “All those poor people in the Holocaust. . . .” We wonder why it was done? There were righteous people among them. Still, they were punished because of sins of past generations.”

My Aunt Miriam is a remarkable woman; she is the sole Holocaust survivor remaining in our family. She was my father’s first cousin, who later married my father’s brother, Bernard. She attends the Beth Jacob Synagogue in Oakland. On one occasion a young rabbi came and spoke about the Holocaust to the Shul. He made it a point to criticize the Jews in Europe for not observing the mitzvoth (religious traditions) of our people. Aunt Miriam stood on her walker and asked the speaker, “Were you there in Auschwitz? What did small children do to deserve such a terrible death with their parents? I cannot believe in your kind of God.” The whole Shul stood up and applauded her, while the young Haredi rabbi “looked for a little “rabbi” hole in the ground to hide himself under,” so I was told.

Is such a belief limited to people who identify as “Orthodox”? Not necessarily. Across all religious denominations, whenever tragedy occurs to a person or a family, a common response is “Why pick on me, God?” or “What did I do wrong to deserve this?” Statistics have shown that religious victims of domestic violence often feel that God is punishing them through their husbands for some past sin. Rape victims are often made to believe (especially in court cases) that they did something to lure the offender into attacking them. This attitude is even reflected in the etymology of the English word pain which comes from the Greek word poine which signifies penalty. In other words, if there is pain, then it must serve as a penalty for doing a misdeed.

Obviously the God imagery invoked by Edwards and the Haredi/Hassidic rabbis certainly inspires a God of retribution and fear, but they cannot inspire a sense of love, security and healthy relatedness. Consider what Michael Shevack and Rabbi Jack Bemporad cleverly and comically dubbed this theological view of God as the “Marquis de God.”

• Wanted: Dominant deity for submissive person—must be into pain and bondage. Willing to inflict human suffering in pursuit of satisfaction—humiliation technique is a plus. Sense of humor not required. Inquire P.O. Box G.O.D . . . Get out the whips, the chains, the earthquakes and pestilence. It’s time for some good old-fashioned fun with a good old-fashioned God. Yes, this is the proverbial God of wrath—the Marquis de God—ready to show you how much he cares by punishing you, for the Marquis de God is simply a god who hates. This is a deity who despises sins and sinners with such a passion that he’ll murder in order to exterminate them. He forces his noblest creation to dance like a trained poodle on the brink of annihilation.[9]

In summary, metaphors of God may inspire relatedness and love of God; or they may cripple or even destroy a life of faith. Indeed, the metaphors we use to illustrate our relationship with God are of crucial importance. Continue Reading

וְרוּחַ אֱלֹהִים – while a wind from God — Older bible translations^[1] defined רוּחַ אֱלֹהִים (rûah´élöhîm) as “the spirit of God.” Both these readings are plausible.^[2] The term רוּח (rûah) connotes a moving power that is both mysteriously intangible and unseen; hence, “mighty wind” is an apt metaphor. When read in this context, °élöhîm is used not as a noun but rather as a descriptive adjective connoting a sense of that which is “powerful” and “awesome,”^[3] or suggesting a quality akin to that of a mighty tempest. This may also be the meaning of Genesis 2:4, where the Divine Name יְהוָה אֱלֹהִים (YHWH [´ädönäy] ´élöhîm) are linked so as to suggest the meaning, “Almighty God”, for only an Almighty God can create a world (see notes to 2:4).

One might further add that רוּחַ is the life-breath and life-principle that transforms the chaos of creation into a cosmos. In theological terms, רוּחַ alludes to the most profound dimension that converts, liberates, and sublimates human existence. Johann Peter Lange (1802-1884) is partial to the older translation, “The breath is the life-unity and life-motion of the physical creature; the wind is the unity and life-motion of the earth; the spirit is the unity and life-motion of the life proper to which it belongs; ‘the spirit of God’ is the unity and life-motion of the creative divine activity. It is not a ‘wind of God’ to which the language here primarily relates.”[4] However, it seems that both translations are equally worthy of consideration.

• A Hellenistic Reading of the Text

And the Spirit of God – Older bible translations like the KJV follow the Septuagint’s rendering πνεῦμα θεοῦ (pneuma Theo = “Spirit of God”)—an opinion that most modern bible scholars reject on the basis of the text’s contextual meaning. Obviously this translation differs considerably from the more recent rendering which prefers “a mighty wind.” However, one 19^th century scholar gives nothing less than a “spirited” defense of the older translation.

• Ruach Elohim is not a breath of wind caused by God (Theodoret), for the verb does not suit this meaning, but the creative Spirit of God, the principle of all life (Ps. xxxiii. 6, civ. 30), which worked upon the formless, lifeless mass, separating, quickening, and preparing the living forms, which were called into being by the creative words that followed.[5]

Several feminist theologians also prefer the older translation—albeit for different reasons. An assertion can be made that despite the seemingly ubiquitous amount of masculine metaphors that exist within the world of the Tanakh, there is much activity that is ascribed to God that is admittedly maternal: giving birth to and nurturing children.[6]

Yet it is important to keep in mind that God is never directly addressed as “mother,” or in feminine terms. According to some thinkers, רוּחַ is a feminine noun and this would imply that the “Spirit” of God ought to be viewed not in masculine terminology, i.e., not as “He,” but as “She.”[7] While it is true that רוּחַ is usually used as a feminine noun, sometimes it can connote the male gender as well. For instance, in Numbers 11:31, רוּחַ is masculine, as well as in Isaiah 57:16.

But more importantly, it is specious to exegetically assume that the gender of a word invariably indicates something about the sexual identity of the object being named. They are not one and the same. For example: the Hebrew word for “foot” רָגֶל (räºgel) is feminine; יָד (yad) “hand” is also feminine; עַיִן (aºyin) “eye” is feminine, אֹזֶן (´öºzen) “ear” is also feminine. Curiously, “penis” שָׁפְכָה (šäpkâ) is feminine while the name for “womb” רֶחֶם (reºhem) is masculine; the word for “breasts” שָׁדַיִם (šädaºyim) is also a masculine noun.

In the Hebrew language, gender is relevant only to grammar and not to sexuality; no logical reason is given as to why inanimate objects are engendered. On the semantic level, a distinction is made between masculine and feminine. Indeed, there are many more examples that can be cited, but the point of these illustrations is to show that one cannot theologically extrapolate the sexual ideation of the Divine on the basis of the gendered word. More important than linguistic shades of meaning—God is not bound by gender. Continue Reading

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term gobbledygook, our word refers to any kind of text that containing unusual jargon that makes the subject matter difficult or even nearly impossible to understand. Our nation’s tax code is a good example of modern day gobbledygook. There is also another example of gobbledygook that is surprisingly obtuse and difficult to understand—not because the subject is profound, but because the subject matter is expressed in language only the elite can understand—Kabbalah!

Thanks to the Kabbalah Center, Chabad, and a host of other (genuine) scholars and hucksters, everyone has now heard about the Kabbalah. Kabbalah commercials can now be heard on the radio. We sometimes hear that “Plato studied Kabbalah,” or that the Kabbalah is a “4000 year old tradition.” Or, “You don’t even have to be Jewish to study the Kabbalah!” There is not a shred of historical evidence to support these outlandish claims. Kabbalah and capitalism make strange bed fellows.

You might wonder, “Why do people gravitate to these Kabbalah salespeople?” The answer is simple: So many of us hunger for mysticism is real because we have become disenchanted with the usual pathways offered by organized religion. The rote readings, the absence of heart, synagogue/church politics has often flattened and annestized the heart from feeling anything that can even remotely be described as “spiritual.”

Promoters of Kabbalah frequently strike me as individuals who enjoy attracting a cult following. Many of the teachers I have watched over the year tend to portray themselves as Jewish gurus. Of course there are many Kabbalah teachers who really offer something profound. But how does one tell the difference between real mysticism from the counterfeit imitations? Are all Kabbalistic teachings even suitable for ordinary consumption? Not really; in fact some ideas can prove to be even quite toxic. In general, here are several questions that might prove to be beneficial for those wishing to study Kabbalah for the first time from a teacher who really understands the subject matter:

• Look for clarity and simplicity. Many (if not most) Kabbalah teachers love to couch their material in esoteric language that really doesn’t say much about anything. If Kabbalah sounds like gobbledygook, then I suggest you look elsewhere for your enlightenment.

• Stay far away from any Kabbalistic text that teaches you that gentiles are an inferior level of humanity when compared to the Jew.[1]

• Stay away from any Kabbalah teacher who does not wish to answer tough questions about the accuracy of the Kabbalah and its proponents’ ideas.

• See whether the Kabbalah teachers really understand who Plato was, and what he taught. Ask them if they know anything about the Neo-Platonic thought of Plotinus or Philo of Alexandria and how they have indirectly influenced the formation of the Kabbalah. Gershom Scholem, Moshe Idel, Elliot Wolfson, and Daniel Matt all have written superb expositions of the Kabbalah in a clear and modern idiom.

Here are some examples taken from a Chabad website:

• The partzufim referred to here are the partzufim of Atzilut; the meaning is that Abba of Atzilut nests in Atzilut, while Ima of Atzilut descends and rests in Beriah, and so forth.All this simply means that, although each world possesses its own array of ten sefirot (in the form of their respective partzufim), each world is nonetheless pervaded by an overall consciousness that is an expression of one of the partzufim of Atzilut. Abba is the partzuf of chochmah, which is the consciousness of bitul (“self-nullification”); a person experiencing a flash of insight is not aware of himself but is rather absorbed totally in the experience of the revelation. This, overall, is the general consciousness of the world of Atzilut; the revelation of G-d in this world is so great that it leaves absolutely no room for self-awareness.

• As you know, Zeir Anpin develops through three states of consciousness: fetal [ibur], suckling [yenika], and mature [gadlut]. Similarly, every soul develops through these states of consciousness.

Navigating your way through this kind of Kabbalah labyrinth requires a good road-map and a skilled guide, not to mention—lots of Kiddush wine and vodka. If the truth from a Kabbalistic text is not something that is immediately understood and clear, why waste your time trying to figure it out?

Although the German philosopher Nietzsche was unfamiliar with the Kabbalah, his cautionary words about the meaninglessness of useless metaphors certainly applies as well to much of the Kabbalistic literature:

• What is truth? A mobile army of metaphors, metonymies, in short a sum of human relations which have been subjected to poetic and rhetorical intensification, translation, and decoration, and which, after they have been in use for a long time, strike a people as firmly established, canonical and binding; truths are illusions of which we have forgotten that they are illusions, metaphors which have become worn by frequent use and have lost all sensuous vigor, coins which, having lost their stamp, are now regarded as metal and no longer as coins (emphasis added).[2]

Positive Examples of Kabbalistic Writing

On the other hand, there are some (but not a lot, however) of Kabbalistic works that attempts to distill the Kabbalistic language, rendering it somewhat more intelligible. R. Abraham Isaac Kook (1865-1935) offers some lovely thoughts on spiritual yearning that does not require a lexicon to figure out what he was trying to say,

• Confirm me not in cages of substance, or of spirit I am lovesick. I thirst, I thirst for God. More than the deer for water brooks. I am bound to the world, to life; All creatures are my brothers. But how can I share with them my light?

• A life-giving illumination flows always from the source of the Torah, which brings to the world light from the highest realm of the divine. It embraces the values of the spiritual and the material, the temporal and the eternal, the moral and the practical, the individual and the social. These spell life to all who come in contact with them, and guard them in their purity.
• Meditation on the inner life and moral conformity must always go together with those qualified for this. They absorb the light pervading the world, which abides in all souls, and they present it as one whole. Through the influences radiating from their life and their fellowship with others, through the impact of their will and the greatness of their spiritual being, through their humility and love for all creatures, they then disseminate the treasure of life and of good to all. These men of upright heart are channels through which light and life reach to all creatures. They are vessels for radiating the light of eternal life. They are the servants of God, who heed His word, the messengers who do His will to revive those near death, to strengthen the weak, to awaken those who slumber.[3]

As you can see, not everything has to be written in Kabbalistic gobbledygook; some Jewish mystics actually can be quite articulate. For those readers interested in the heart of the Hassidic message, please read anything written by Martin Buber—who may well have been one of Judaism’s greatest 2oth century mystics. His “I and Thou” and “The Way of Man” are among the best books on the subject. In addition, Abraham Joshua Heschel’s “God in Search of Man,” “The Sabbath,” and “Man is not Alone” are among the best examples of Jewish mystical writing without the traditional Kabbalistic gobbledygook. Continue Reading