Creation: Redux (B'reishit)

We gon’ pick up with creation: the redux
and check the influx of new narrative focus
as we switch from God by himself and add humans in a locus
to drive central themes forward.

God makes man anew, in explicit detail
from the dust of the earth and a divine kind of gale:
the breath of life – nishmat hayyim –
which gets mentioned just once in the Torah, it seems;
this proves the uniqueness of the human being,
seeing that God gave life directly to each person now breathing.

But back to the story – now there’s a garden in Eden
and god placed the man amidst a tree den
with plentiful food, one tree of life and one from which bad and good
could be understood.
One made you immortal and the other one would
give you perspective on what you should
decide independently about how you act presently,
though Ibn-Ezra targets this sexually,
saying carnal knowledge is textually
represented when shame’s manifested like it will be sequentially.

But first, a quick break, for a little geography.
Four rivers cut through the idyllic topography:
first, Pishon, in Havilah with gold.
Then Gihon in Cush and the Tigris we’re told;
the latter east of Asshur, a city of old.
Last is the Euphrates, not qualified, but bold.

Now that we know where Eden was at,
the narrative boomerangs and we’re suddenly back
in the garden, where we now find the man,
who’s intend to till and tend all the land.
So as we use the earth, we’re meant to revamp
the damage we do because we’re more responsible
for what we’ve invested in to.

But then God issued a warning of a thing not to do.
We remember the tree that knows good and bad?
Don’t eat from it, fool, or there’s no life to be had!
This commandment can be looked at two ways:
Tradition says it’s a chance for the human to stray
by making a choice in which he has a say,
but a more modern look might contemplate
on whether this was a warning on how life complicates
with full knowledge separating man from the apes.
And as for the death threat, it might follow in league:
Ramban says it hinted you’ll know mortally
is how you’re days are numbered
and no other animal is with that thought encumbered,
which is why God sought for man literally
“a helper corresponding to him”
not one to subordinate or for facilitation.

They couldn’t find it with animals, so God soon stole a rib
after Adam, now named, passed names to the beasts
and found himself asleep while God took the piece,
created a woman
and prompted a cry when God brought her to him.
He called her Ishah to his Ish,
words similar sounding but they have different roots,
implying equality, making sexism moot.

And as the chapter closes with a narrative boot,
the author inscribes
that a man leaves his parents in search of a wife,
a return to one flesh and a different time;
a union of persons, in love so sublime
that it’s not about reproduction
but an introduction of wholeness missing since the beginning.

Now for a quick reconstruction of the issues at hand:
God made all the animals, but held special status for man,
provided he kept tilling and tending the land,
gave him a warning, but provided companionship in female form
because lonely’s not good at keeping you warm
when you lay down to rest.
And you should treat your females well
because we know they’re the best
or equals with men, which we see when the pieces complement.
So sexism, fellas, needs to get bent
thrown off to the side
disposed of, discarded and never realized.

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