Depths of Darkness

A reflection from the Zohar for Rosh Chodesh Kislev.

front view of an exit from inside a dark cave with no people around with sunlight in the background
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Classical rabbinic literature hardly overflows with discussions of Kislev, the Hebrew month that begins this week. Indeed, even the holiday which occurs toward its close, Hanukkah, receives scant attention — nothing like the entire tractate of the Talmud devoted to Purim, the other festival created by the rabbis. The Zohar is similarly circumspect with regard to the month and its notable celebration, though it does offer a few tantalizing clues that provide a glimpse into its mytho-poetic take on the month that witnesses the northern hemisphere’s descent into ever-greater darkness and the holiday that celebrates emergent light, the corner turned in the wake of the winter solstice. 

Every new moon (or Rosh Chodesh in Hebrew, literally “the head of the month”) is a celebratory event, a monthly reboot of the planetary body with which Jews so deeply identify. Jewish tradition imagines that the moon was once as great as the sun and that its present diminution is merely temporary. At some point, it will be restored to its former greatness, as Jews everywhere pray as part of Kiddush Levanah, the ceremony sanctifying the new moon. Surely the lachrymose state of the Jewish people throughout most of its history made this promise of restoration especially attractive. 

Kabbalistic symbolism famously identified the moon with the sefirah of Malchut (Kingship), which in turn is associated with Shekhinahthe feminine aspect of the Divine. The chronic rupture between this symbolic cluster and its “significant other” — the sun, associated with the sefirah of Tiferet (Beauty) and with the Holy One — gave Kabbalah much of its pathos even as it inspired Jews to play a vital role in ameliorating this intra-divine alienation. The renewal of the moon is thus cast by the Zohar as a day of celebration akin to the Sabbath, assuring us that the fires of hell are extinguished on the latter just as they are on Shabbat (Zohar II 150b; I 62b). The souls of departed saints are also said to make the ascent on Rosh Chodesh to the “upper” Garden of Eden to celebrate the new moon (Zohar I 81a). Even regular folks — well, at least the righteous among us — get a little extra glow on Rosh Chodesh. 

The Zoharic new moon is not, however, exclusively a time for joy. Only at the midpoint of the month, “when the moon is in full union with the sun” (Zohar Emor, 27:132), is there a truly bridal celebration. The 14th (or 15th) of the Hebrew month are days during which the full moon rises directly opposite the setting sun. The Blessed Holy One and the Shekhinah, Tiferet and Malchut, accordingly find themselves face to face. Indeed, almost all Jewish holidays occur on these days when the sun, earth and moon are in alignment. The following two weeks see the moon’s progressive waning, which culminates in the astronomical new moon, the point of its total disappearance. A day or two later, the crescent moon becomes barely visible, low in the western sky after sunset, in conjunction with the sun. Rosh Chodesh can be declared, but the night remains dark. The Zohar thus warns of “evil species [that] abound at new moon and spread throughout the world” that are only vanquished when it has fully waxed. 

Rosh Chodesh Kislev is the new moon of the darkest time of year. It features all the darkness we expect around the new moon, with the added impact of falling when the sun seems to be on its own path to extinction. The ancients did not regard the solstice as an astronomical event caused by axial tilt, of course, but as a turning point in the sun’s annual cycle, from death to rebirth. In this light (or lack thereof), Rosh Chodesh Kislev is a double-whammy: Both great lights seem to be petering out in tandem. 

But this conjunction of darkness holds the promise of a conjunction of light: the key that unlocks this promise is found in thanksgiving, making its proximity to the holiday of Thanksgiving particularly apt. This teaching may be teased out of an enigmatic passage concerning different types of song in Tikkunei Zohar, an early elaboration of the Zohar.

The eighth type of music is thanksgiving (hoda’ah). [King] David praised God in this mode, [singing] “give thanks (hodu) to the Lord” (Psalm 136:1) — clearly referring to [the eighth sefirah of] Hod (Splendor). 

And Hod is the eight days of the festival of Hanukkah, which follows the twenty-four [dark] days of Kislev, which correspond to the 24 letters of “Blessed is the Name of the Glory of His Kingdom for ever and ever.” And then suddenly, the dove returned to the ark with an olive branch in its mouth.

The 25th of Kislev [25 is represented in Hebrew by the letters kaf and hay, or “Kah”]  is the day upon which “Kah” dwelled (chanu) upon Israel. “Kah” (25) represents the Shema, “Hear O Israel,” the declaration of unity comprised of 25 letters.

Tikkunei Zohar 28b29a

Hod, the eighth sefirah, is the energy of thanksgiving (in Hebrew, hoda’ah), which manifests fully in the eight days of Hanukkah. The 24 dark days of Kislev that lead up to it are linked to the 24 letters of of the Hebrew phrase Barukh shem kavod malchuto l’olam va’ed (“Blessed is the Name of the Glory of His Kingdom for ever and ever.”) This formula is most commonly recited after the Shema prayer and in a whisper. The phrase thus at once declares the presence of God’s glory even as it obscures it. This normally hidden aspect is only revealed on Yom Kippur, when the line is recited out loud. Here, the 25-letter Shema prayer is linked to Hanukkah, the holiday that falls on the 25th of Kislev and which brings the light that dispels all darkness. The purest expression of that light is the act of thanksgiving, the energetic quality of Hod. 

Ultimately, the Zohar teaches us that the dark nights will subside and the dove will return with an olive branch in its mouth. The reference is to the dove sent out by Noah in search of dry land amidst the deluge. Its return with the olive branch marked the turning point from disaster to restoration. It is the harbinger of better days to come, of hope, borne of thanksgiving.

This piece was originally published as part of an original series produced by My Jewish Learning and Sefaria called A Year of Zohar: Kabbalah for Everyone. Sign up for the entire series here.

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