My study partners and I have been talking about the characteristics of the human soul. We don’t really know much. The soul, which the Torah tells us was blown into Adam’s nostrils, has no obvious physical manifestation except – perhaps – our breath. But even breath, like the words we say or the songs we sing, is, at least physically, merely fleeting.
We do know, from the text itself, that we are supposed to grow connections with G-d – but doing so in a way that does not lead us to merge. Instead, we are supposed to try to bridge the gap between us, to find points of contact without ignoring or rejecting what makes us different from our Creator. So, for example, instead of denying our physical bodies and trying to live like ethereal mystics, we instead seek to elevate our bodies in spiritual directions.
What happens if we get too close to G-d? It seems that our spiritual souls are attracted back to their source, like a magnetic or gravitational pull. It is for this reason why mankind always seeks connection, relationship: we are drawn to others and to G-d because our souls know, at their core, that they are mere slivers, temporarily removed from their source, and destined to return to that very source.
Part of us seeks to connect to the spiritual – which is perhaps why man, alone among all animals, is fascinated by fire (just as Moses was to the burning bush): any physical manifestation of spiritual energy is attractive, just as certain people are charismatics, lightning rods for others.
In such a case (like the revelation at Sinai), our souls may indeed depart our bodies. It is why the people could not get too close at Sinai: “You speak to us,” they said to Moses, “and we will obey; but let not God speak to us, lest we die.”
In this reading, mankind cannot coexist in the same space and time with G-d – but not because the finite cannot coexist with the infinite, or because sinners cannot stand in the presence of the divine. The real reason is that our souls want to go back to their source, and they will leave our bodies in order to do so. Our death in that situation would be nothing more than a byproduct of non-physical forces beyond our reckoning.
This theory could shed light on much else in the Torah. It provides an explanation for why Moses had to remove his shoes: in the presence of G-d, Moshe had to be grounded, for his feet to make a solid and direct connection to the earth. In this way his soul could be closer to G-d, but still anchored to the mortal coil.
Similarly, we might immerse in the ritual bath, the mikvah, for the same reason: to anchor ourselves in the physical plane, to always keep in mind that our purpose in this world is not to elevate the soul by itself, but to always pull everything up together.
On the Festival of Sukkot (Booths) we memorialize being in the wilderness, closer to G-d than at any other time (Yom Kippur is “merely” preparation for Sukkot). And where do we live during that festival? Not in our homes, but in booths, closer to the ground, anchored in the natural physical world. I think this is also partly for the same reason: being anchored to the physical plane allows us to be close to G-d.
Going even further, I think food and drink accomplishes much the same thing! Avraham and Lot both serve angels food and drink, creating a physical link for spiritual beings. At least that is how it works in those cases – feeding travelers in need, creating a communal relationship.
I think this might also explain Moses’ survival on Sinai. He famously did not eat or drink for 40 days:
Now he was there beside G-d for forty days and forty nights; bread he did not eat, and water he did not drink, but he wrote down on the tablets the words of the covenant, the Ten Words.
If he did not eat on the mountain when was his last meal? It happened just before!
And he said to Moshe, Come up to the Lord, thou, and Aharon, Nadav, and Avihu, and seventy of the elders of Yisra᾽el; and bow down afar off. … And upon the nobles of the children of Yisra᾽el he laid not his hand: and they beheld God, and did eat and drink.
Before the Revelation, Moses and the elders went on the mountain and, directly perceiving G-d in some way, they had a picnic. Which seems almost nutty. After all, if you found yourself in G-d’s presence, would you think, “you know what would make this experience even better? A good meal!”
But this is much less peculiar, when we consider that having a meal with angels had already happened twice before. Even more directly relevant: this was Moses’ last meal. He was grounding himself in the people he represented. And, once grounded, he could ascend the mountain and meet with G-d without losing himself or his soul. Moses remained connected through the last meal he had eaten. It is similar to removing his shoes at the Burning Bush.
One does not have to be Moses to have this experience. The Torah tells us:
…then shalt thou turn it into money, and bind up the money in thy hand, and shalt go to the place which the Lord thy God shall choose: and thou shalt bestow that money on all that thy heart desires, on oxen, or sheep, or wine, or strong drink, or whatever thy soul requires: and thou shalt eat there before the Lord thy God, and thou shalt rejoice, thou, and thy household,
Which then helps explain why festive meals are so important in Jewish history and law: communal meals are a way of bringing the physical up with us, to emulate the meal before Moses ascended the mountain. They are a reminder that our souls are meant to be bound to our bodies, that the things we do with our bodies have a direct and proportional impact on our souls. This is why so much of Jewish Law is about the physical relationships we have with other people, and yes, the very food we eat. And as we see from the above examples, ideally we combine the two: eating should be social.
P.S. The only person in the Torah who does not eat socially is Esau: Yaakov gave Esav bread and boiled lentils;
he ate and drank and arose and went off. Thus did Esav despise the firstborn-right.
Given the opportunity to use food as a means to build relationships, Esau chooses instead to merely service his physical needs.
Part 2
If what we do with our bodies has a direct impact on our souls, then it might help us understand a basic question: why are we here?
Here is a proposed answer: While we live, G-d craves relationship. He craves acknowledgement, and conversation. Like a parent, G-d delights in seeing what people actually choose to do (in the Torah it is quite clear that the choices we make surprise G-d – for good and for bad).
And how does G-d create relationship? Men are not angels. We are capable of free will. Indeed, we are capable of emulating G-d, and even creating things that never existed before. The power of creation (of every kind) is a divine gift, and one for which the Torah emphasizes we must show gratitude to its ultimate source: G-d Himself.
So G-d creates relationship by putting a spark of Himself into each person. But that spark is raw – as we can see by looking at any baby. It experiences wonderment and an inquisitive nature. This spark on loan from G-d is a blank slate. It can be shaped and molded, grown into something magnificent, or degraded so much that the person is virtually indistinguishable from an animal. These are the results of our choices.
Which means that a possible second reason why we are here is what happens after our lives have ended. We have been loaned a soul, and when our lives are over, our souls return to their source, G-d Himself.
Consider what that means: Souls that have spent a lifetime seeking positive and holy relationships feel right at home in the presence of the divine. For them, this afterworld is heaven.
But souls from people who led evil lives, who never had a positive relationship with G-d, are entirely miserable in the proximity of G-d. For them, the afterworld is hell.
But that afterworld may very well be the very same place! It is we humans who decide, and we do it through the choices we make in our lifetimes. If we connect with G-d and other people (who also have divine sparks), then we are growing our souls both for optimizing the good we do in this world, as well as optimizing the outcome in the world to come.
To address the original question: why are we here? I propose that an answer may be that our lives, what we do with our souls, can add to G-d. We can grow Him by making good choices. And it is also possible that lives that are not well lived can detract from G-d, because the souls return to their source, but no longer fit there. Those sparks G-d loans out that become our souls can grow (or shrink) over a lifetime within a human body. After we die, the souls, the returning sparks, then can contribute to (or detract from) G-d Himself.
It seems, using the text of the Torah itself, that our choices really matter to G-d. This theory offers an explanation for why this is so.
P.S. To those who say that G-d cannot grow because He is already infinite, I suggest that this is not found in the text of the Torah, but is rather a Greek concept filtered through Christianity. The text seems to make it very clear that G-d indeed wants us to want him: to love G-d and to love where G-d is found – in other people.