The winter moon has always struck me as having a fairytale sort of beauty. In these days of midwinter, for those of us in the Northeast, the brightness of the moon is even starker and more visible without the leaves on the tree branches. In this season of the Jewish calendar, post-Hanukkah and pre-Tu Bishvat, the long post-solstice nights seem to invite dreaming and stories.
What stories does Jewish tradition tell about the moon?
In the Talmud (Chullin 60b), there’s a tale about the moon and the sun. The story goes like this: Once, at the dawn of creation, the moon and the sun were equally bright. (It’s fun to try to imagine what that might have looked like.) The moon wasn’t happy about this sameness and complained to the Holy One, saying, “Is it possible for two kings to wear a single crown?” The moon seemed to imply that she should be made bigger.
The Holy One responded to this request by making the moon smaller, so that the two luminaries would now not be the same. The moon complained, saying, “Because I asked a good question, should I be made smaller?” God agreed with the moon and tried to placate her, offering that she would also get to shine during the day some of the time, but the moon said, “What use is a candle in broad daylight?” God then told the moon the Jewish people would use her to measure days and years (the Jewish calendar is primarily a lunar calendar), and offered her other consolations as well. The moon was still unhappy and felt the situation was unfair. So the Holy One promised, every month, to bring a sin-offering (the monthly new moon offering) to apologize for having diminished the moon.
The idea that God would have to atone every single month for not making the two great lights of the sky equal is quite striking, suggesting that it was not possible for the Creator to justify why the moon should be smaller than the sun. There may be inequality in the world, the story seems to say, but that doesn’t make it fair.
The unfair diminishing of the moon has been connected, traditionally and in feminist circles, to the diminishment of the feminine in societal hierarchies. The new moon was considered a particularly sacred time for women — hence the Jewish custom of women refraining from work on Rosh Chodesh (the new moon), and the contemporary custom of women gathering on Rosh Chodesh. Those who read the Talmud’s moon story sometimes suggest that the moon, and the feminine, will one day, in the time of redemption, take an equal place.
The moon is also, in mystical circles, connected to the divine feminine, Malchut, Shekhinah, the lowest rung in the tree of life. So for kabbalists, the moon is related to the bride/queen who embodies divinity within the physical world, and the moon’s diminishment reflects her connection to fragile, mortal reality. The Zohar, the classic medieval work of the kabbalah, writes of the moon: “She descended to a lower rung to carry the world” (Zohar I, 20a). In other words, the moon accepted being smaller so she could dwell among and support mortal beings.
These stories reflect an unequal gender reality in the setting in which they were told, but they also reflect a curiosity about the moon. It’s true that the moon is not as bright as the sun, nor does it provide the light and heat we need. Still, the moon is deeply interwoven into our reality, pulling the tides and allowing us to measure time in more precise ways. It lights our nights and is a mysterious companion through the darkness. It may be diminished in its light, but that does not lessen its psychological power on the humans who look up at it.
Rabbi Nachman of Breslov, the Hasidic master, also tells a story about the moon. Z. Mark relates this story in his book Kol Sippurei R. Nachman mi-Breslov (All the Stories of Rabbi Nachman of Breslov). In the tale, the moon complains that the sun gets to shine the longest in the summer, while the moon must shine during the long nights of winter. The sun offers to give a garment to the moon so she won’t be cold. The sun summons all the top-rated tailors. The less-well-known tailors don’t bother to apply, knowing they’ll be passed over for this plum job. But the top-rated tailors have a problem: The moon waxes and wanes in size. How can they create a garment for an entity that changes size and shape? They give up. And then the lesser-known tailors figure out how to make a garment for the changing moon.
This story tells us something powerful about the diversity of our gifts. In this story, the tailors judged to have the most talent nevertheless have to defer to other tailors who have unexpected skills. We need one another’s gifts, and those gifts that society fetes may not always be the ones we need. We might need the gifts of those who have been more humble and less noticed. So the moon, which is always changing shape, becomes the image of the human community, which is also always changing and cannot be pinned down.
The Zohar (III, 163b) offers another moon story that resonates deeply with me. In this highly imagistic story, the moon shines its light on a sea, and in the sea is a fish, and the fish swims about, and draws out from the moon a blue thread, a thread of techelet, the same blue that was once used in the threads of the fringes of the tallit. The moon wraps herself up in this thread, and the auspicious blue color of the thread protects her from the evil forces that lurk under the water. Within this protective garment of blue thread, the moon can shine in all her colors.
The moon in this story represents the divine presence, and the blue thread is the shield that she uses against the forces of division in the world. The fish helps the moon to draw strength and protection from herself, so she can shine despite the harmful forces. I like to think, when I look up at a moon with a blue tinge, that I am seeing the moon’s garment of blue thread.
Perhaps this story is a model for us, when we feel diminished and overwhelmed, to recognize that we can draw on our own inner resources to protect our radiance and still shine. We may be living in a time when the light often seems dim, but the moon can be our role model: through all its phases, its light is renewed. As the Jewish prayer blessing the moon, kiddush levanah, which is offered when the moon begins to be visible each month, says: “You are a crown of glory for those borne in the womb, for we are destined to renew ourselves like you.”
May we be renewed for light and for good.
