A New Look at Adam and Eve in the Garden
By [Gavriel ben David]
The story of Adam and Eve in the Torah is one we think we know: a paradise lost, a forbidden fruit, a fall from grace. But what if we’ve missed the deeper invitation woven into the very first commandment God gave humanity? Recently, Rabbi David Fohrman and Rabbi Friedman have offered a fresh lens on Genesis 2–3, turning the narrative upside down. They suggest that the command to eat from all the trees—except one—wasn’t a setup for failure, but a divine gift: the gift of choice, the seed of gratitude, and a path to trust in Hashem. Let’s explore this idea, drawing from Torah, Midrash, and Talmud, to see how Eden wasn’t about restriction, but about freedom.
The Commandment That Opens the World
Genesis 2:16–17 reads: “And the Lord God commanded the man, saying, ‘From all the trees of the garden you may freely eat; but from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil you shall not eat, for on the day you eat from it, you will surely die.’” At first glance, it’s a warning, a boundary. But Rabbi Fohrman asks us to pause: Why focus on the “no” when the “yes” comes first? God doesn’t just permit eating; He commands it—achol tochal, “you shall surely eat.” Every tree is a gift, described as “pleasant to the sight and good for food” (Gen. 2:9). The Garden bursts with abundance, and Adam and Eve are invited to partake.
“A world of abundance gifted by Hashem.”
This isn’t a passive allowance; it’s an active call. Midrash Rabbah (Bereishit 15:7) expands this, noting that the trees weren’t just food but symbols of divine generosity—each one unique, a testament to Hashem’s creativity. The Talmud (Berachot 58a) echoes this gratitude: “One who enjoys something of this world without a blessing, it’s as if he steals from God.” In Eden, eating was meant to teach Adam and Eve to say “thank You”—to recognize every bite as from Hashem.
The Tree That Belonged to Hashem
Then there’s the exception: the Tree of Knowledge, off-limits, belonging solely to God. Rabbi Friedman might frame this as a deliberate contrast—not to tempt, but to define. If all trees are gifts, this one’s exclusion creates a boundary, a space where Adam and Eve can say “no” back to God. Without it, they’d be like angels, or, as Rabbi Fohrman puts it, “old computers”—programmed to obey, input yielding output, no room for will. The Midrash (Bereishit Rabbah 19:3) hints at this: “Why was it called the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil? Because it gave the power to choose between them.” Choice didn’t exist until that tree stood apart.
“Hashem’s tree, the root of human freedom.”
The Talmud (Shabbat 55b) wrestles with human agency: “Everything is in the hands of Heaven except the fear of Heaven.” Eden’s design mirrors this—Hashem hands over the world, but keeps one tree to teach trust. Eating everywhere else was saying, “I trust Your gifts.” Touching that tree was questioning, “Do I need more?”
Here’s where it gets profound. Rabbi Fohrman suggests Eden wasn’t about perfection without choice—it was about planting the seeds of relationship. Angels don’t choose; they serve. Humans, though, can turn to Hashem out of love, not just duty. The command to eat was a lesson in gratitude: every fruit a reminder that “this is from You, God.” The Tree of Knowledge, left untouched, was trust: “I don’t need to take what’s Yours—I have enough.”
The Midrash (Bereishit Rabbah 16:5) imagines God showing Adam the Garden, saying, “All this I made for you.” It’s a parent handing a child a feast, leaving one dish aside—not to tease, but to teach appreciation. When Eve, then Adam, eat from that tree (Gen. 3:6), it’s not just disobedience—it’s a break in trust, a grab for control. Yet even then, Hashem’s response (clothing them, Gen. 3:21) shows mercy, a chance to rebuild that bond.
“The moment trust faltered.”
Beyond Eden: Choosing Like Humans, Not Angels
So why does this matter? Rabbi Friedman might say it’s our story too. We’re not in Eden, but we face trees daily—choices between taking and trusting. The Talmud (Avodah Zarah 3a) teaches, “Greater is one who is commanded and fulfills than one who isn’t commanded and fulfills.” Why? Because choice makes obedience meaningful. Angels can’t grow; we can. Eden wasn’t a trap—it was a classroom.
“Our Eden today: choosing gratitude.”
This reading flips the script. The first commandment wasn’t about saying “no” to sin—it was about saying “yes” to Hashem’s world, learning to thank Him, trusting Him. The Tree of Knowledge wasn’t a curse, but a gift of freedom, mishandled but not irredeemable. As we reflect on Adam and Eve, let’s ask: How do we choose? Do we eat from the gifts with thanks, or reach for what’s not ours?