Why Christianity Never Got Out of the Garden

April 8, 2026 adongabriel Leave a comment

Where is The Tree Of Life

Three Questions You Can Not Answer

From the moment the funerals for my cousins Shaul Junior and Teresa ended yesterday, the comments started. “He doesn’t believe in Jesus,” “He’s on the other side.” Family members know I have served as rabbi and chazan for the Jewish community since 2002. Despite this, no one asked me to speak. The silence was loud. It reminded me once again why this conversation matters.

Roxy, you and many others keep returning to the same point. You claim we are all sinners because of what happened in the Garden of Eden. Adam and Eve were in a perfect paradise. The serpent, also known as the devil, lied. They sinned, and humanity inherited original sin. Thus, someone had to die — Jesus — to pay the price.

Where Is The Tree Of Life

That is the foundation of Christianity. But when we closely examine the Torah itself, we realize that the story is simply not there. We need the help of our sages and the oral tradition to see this. The Garden of Eden is not a tragedy that requires an external savior. It is the deliberate beginning of humanity’s mission.

Let us start with the question that always stops Christians in their tracks: “Where is the Tree of Life today?” Three answers usually come back. First, some say the tree no longer exists. But the Torah tells us God planted the Tree of Life in the very center of the garden. He commanded Adam to eat from every tree.

That command included the Tree of Life. If it simply vanished or was destroyed after the sin, then God created something with no purpose. This idea contradicts everything we know about the Creator. Second, others say the Tree of Life is Jesus. Yet Genesis gives Adam and Eve no hint whatsoever about a future dying-and-rising savior or a cross.

If the tree were Jesus, God would have concealed the most important information in the story. He would have blocked access to his own redeemer with cherubim and a flaming sword. That makes God a confusing and even cruel storyteller. The third common answer is that the tree is hidden somewhere on Earth.

One Tree Not Two

It is in Israel near Caesarea, where a river bubbles up. But the geography in Genesis is different. One river flows out and splits into four (Pishon, Gihon, Tigris, Euphrates). This does not match any known location on the planet. The Talmud states plainly that “no eye has seen” Eden. So the tree is not lost or destroyed; it is guarded for a reason.

Rabbi David Fohrman explains the deeper truth in his lectures on “A Book Like No Other.” The Torah is not describing two separate trees. It is one tree with two faces. One face shows pure life and intimate closeness to God (the relational, Hashem aspect). The other signifies knowledge of good and evil (the Elohim aspect of rules and judgment).

They belong together. Adam and Chava reached for the knowledge side before they were ready for the full unity. That created the fracture. God then blocked access to the Tree of Life. This was not as punishment, but as mercy. This was so that humanity would not be locked forever in an immortal but broken state. We are meant to earn our way back.

The Angels With No Swords

We see the Tree of Life reappear in new forms as the Torah unfolds. At the burning bush in Exodus 3, there is fire, a tree, and an angel — but no flaming sword. God simply says, “I will be with you.” Then, God gives the instructions for the Mishkan in Exodus 25.

He tells the people to build Him a dwelling place. Why? Because this world is still tohu vavohu — dark, watery chaos, the same raw state as before creation. Human beings can’t live in raw chaos, so we need an ark. Noah survived the flood inside a literal ark. We survive by building the Torah as our spiritual ark. This structure of laws and mitzvot transforms chaos into a home for Hashem.

These cherubim once guarded the Tree of Life in Eden. Now, they stand over the Ark of the Covenant. They protect the Ten Sayings. What once blocked access now invites service. There is no gap in the story that requires an external savior. The blueprint is finished from the beginning.

The Great Choice

Yet, this also brought the possibility of real love, real children, and real tikkun (repair) of the world. God responded by naming her Chava, mother of all life. The sages teach that the righteous women in Egypt had a significant merit. This merit ultimately redeemed the entire people (Sota 11b). Throughout our history, women like Miriam, Esther, and Yael have possessed intuitive, big-picture wisdom. Countless others have also contributed. Their wisdom has saved Israel.

My own wife, Bathsheba, has been that woman for forty-one years. She does not quote verses the way I do, but she lives them every day. She has held our family together through funerals, weddings, birthdays, and countless crises, treating every relative as her own. My niece recently told her, “You have been the backbone of this family. You are a true woman of the Bible.” That is the Tree of Life in action — not memorized words, but lived Torah.

Modern science actually confirms this ancient wisdom. Dr. Iain McGilchrist has shown why the human brain is divided into two hemispheres. The left brain is narrow.

It focuses on grabbing, controlling, and manipulating details. Think of the serpent’s “take it now” whisper or Cain’s possessive nature.

Kayin comes from the root qanah, to acquire. The right brain sees the whole picture — relationships, empathy, flow, and wonder. Our culture today is heavily left-brain dominant — academia, rules, “I know everything.”

But real growth and redemption often come from the feminine, right-brain wisdom that Chava demonstrated. Without that balance, we stay stuck in acquisition and control.

The Tree and The Serpent

The serpent itself is not the devil. Rabbi Tovia Singer points out that the curse placed on it is actually ironic. It crawls on its belly and eats dust. This means its food is everywhere. It never has to depend on God or pray.

Humans, by contrast, must work, struggle, and partner with Hashem. Rabbi Fohrman makes a powerful checklist. Before the curse, the serpent walked upright. It talked. It was more cunning (arum) than any beast. Distinguishing delicacies. It checked every human box.

Human Or Beast

The Torah is asking each of us a question. Will you live like an animal that follows raw instinct? Or will you live like a human being who can choose and overcome? The yetzer hara — the evil inclination — is not an external enemy sent by Satan. It is part of us. It serves as a divine tool. Isaiah 45:7 teaches, “I form light and create darkness, I make peace and create evil.” Without it, there is no real choice, no growth, no ascent.

There is no doctrine of original sin in the Torah. Adam and Eve began as beings of light, made in God’s image. After they ate, God clothed them in skin. The Hebrew words for “light” (or) and “skin” (or) are the same. It was a transition into physical life, not a total cosmic wreck. Even after Cain killed Abel, he confessed that his burden was too great to bear.

God did not destroy him; He placed a mark on Cain for protection and allowed him to live. Repentance and deliverance commonly recur again and again in Genesis. The story is teaching us the anatomy of the human soul. It shows us how to master our emotions. The Torah teaches us how to rule over the yetzer hara. It encourages us to take responsibility rather than fall into blame and victimhood.

Discipline and Auto Suggestion

This is where the teachings of Napoleon Hill, which I have studied daily since 1988, feel so deeply Torah. Hill repeatedly says that victimhood and blame are poisons. Discipline, not genius or strength, changes everything. We do not pray for miracles — we create them through consistent daily habits.

Judaism built exactly that system into daily life. Every morning in Shacharit, we recite the Shema and remind ourselves who we want to be. At Mincha, we pause the chaos of the day. In the evening, before sleep, we commit our spirit back to God. It is autosuggestion rooted in responsibility. Isaiah 26:3 captures the result: “Great peace have they whose mind is stayed on Thee, because they trust in Thee.”

At the funerals yesterday and in many conversations with Christian friends like Roxy, the deeper issue eventually surfaces: end-times theology. Both Christianity and Islam ultimately write endings in which Judaism does not continue as it is.

The End Of Your Book

In the Christian Book of Revelation, Jews return to the land and rebuild the Third Temple. They then follow a false Messiah (the Antichrist figure invented by Christian theology). Believers are raptured out. Jews endure the tribulation because they chose the “wrong” Messiah. Jesus returns to rule the world. It is a covert form of replacement theology. Islam is more overt.

Certain Hadith describe end-times battles. In which Muslims fight Jews. Until even the stones and trees cry out, “O Muslim, there is a Jew behind me, come and kill him.” In both visions — one whispered, one shouted — Jews ultimately disappear or submit. There is no ongoing role for the Jewish people as distinct witnesses to Torah.

The Torah itself never commands belief in a future “Messiah” as one of the 613 mitzvot. The word “mashiach” simply means “anointed one” and is used for kings, priests, and even the non-Jewish king Cyrus.

King David

Prophets speak of a Davidic king who will bring peace and ingathering. Nevertheless, the core demand of Torah is responsibility. We must fix ourselves and repair the world through mitzvot. We do not wait for a savior to do the work for us.

Zechariah makes this especially clear and closes the circle. Chapter 12 describes an end-time war in which nations attack Jerusalem like a heavy stone. God strengthens Israel, they prevail, and then comes great mourning over “the one they pierced.”

This can’t be Jesus’ crucifixion. The entire chapter is set in a future context of national victory and transformation. It is not a first-century Roman execution. Similarly, Zechariah 9:9 — the king comes humbly on a donkey. It is in the same end-time sequence of war. An ensuing peace follows after Gog and Magog (Ezekiel 38–39, the coalition war involving Iran).

Prophecy Unfulfilled

Christians claim this was fulfilled on Palm Sunday, but there was neither the crushing of enemies nor global peace. Some Muslim traditions claim that the second Caliph, Umar, fulfilled it when he entered Jerusalem on a donkey.

Neither reading matches the full prophetic picture. The real fulfillment still lies ahead. It will come after the final war. The true anointed king will ride in humility to bring lasting peace.

The Garden of Eden, then, was never a story about irreversible catastrophe. It was the deliberate setup for humanity’s mission: to descend, to choose, to struggle, to repair. The Tree of Life was never lost — it reappears as Torah itself.

Women have repeatedly been the ones who see the bigger picture and save us. The yetzer hara is not an enemy to be eradicated by an outside savior. Instead, it is a divine tool we are meant to master. Daily discipline and responsibility — not blame or victimhood — are the path.

Both Christianity and Islam, in their different ways, still need the garden to be a total fall. This makes their invented savior necessary. The Torah never leaves that question unanswered.

At the funerals yesterday, I was sidelined. This was not because I lack faith. It was because my faith is in the Torah as it is. My Messianic past disappeared. I called myself a rabbi, but was still thinking entirely as a Christian. This fell away when I returned fully to Judaism. Many turned their backs. That is painful, but it is also clarifying.

No Ordinary Tree

My wife has been the quiet backbone of our family for forty-one years. My mother is now in hospice, returning to the place where all souls were created on the sixth day. Our family’s Cohen lineage reaches back centuries. We are still here, still witnesses, still building the ark of Torah in a chaotic world.

The Torah is a book like no other. It is philosophy, psychology, and the anatomy of body, mind, and soul all in one. It shows us exactly how to fix ourselves. Without the oral tradition and the insights of our sages, the Bible remains incomplete and easily misunderstood.

I have studied both Napoleon Hill and the Torah for decades. That is why I see the same eternal thread running through both. We do not pray for miracles. We create them through daily responsibility, discipline, and a mind stayed on God.

Christianity never got out of the Garden because it needs the fall to be total and irreversible. The Torah shows us the fall was never a fall — it was the beginning of the ascent.

The Tree of Life is still here. The path is still open. We do not need a savior. We only need to choose, every single day, to become the human beings we were sent here to be.

Hazan Gavriel ben David

Daily Thoughts

Shabbat: Dennis Preger and Charlie Kirk

April 8, 2026 adongabriel Leave a comment

To Dennis Prager, my thanks for writing your Rational Bible and doing Men’s Hour. I listen here in Amarillo, Texas, on 940 KIXZ right after 911. Your program was on for a year or so here in Amarillo, Texas.

I do not know if I would have kept listening to Charlie Kirk if he had not mentioned Dennis Prager. Which kept me interested. The Rational Bible was in my Amazon E-Books. I started listening to Charlie because Rush passed away. I tuned in because Rush was gone, and that silence hurt—like losing a grandfather who argued with me over coffee. After hearing Charlie Kirk for a week. I knew he was the next Rush.

So there I was listening to Charlie March twenty-first, twenty twenty-one, flipping stations, landing on your voice. You were loud, unapologetic—Jesus as the answer, the world’s savior. Pastors on your show kept saying, “Jews will see Him one day, before the end.” I’d grip the wheel, mutter, “Not happening.”

Back then, I wasn’t Orthodox yet. I was a Baptist until I was seven years old. I served as an altar boy at Saint Martin’s Catholic church. Then the military pulled me back to Bible study. Loved the verses—read ’em like maps. Non-denominational by eighty-eight, Trinity Fellowship till two thousand one. Then Mom drops the bomb: “You’re Jewish.”

Hebrew Roots Messianic Jew

Messianic phase kicked in—Jesus plus Torah, trying to square circles. But by twenty twelve, the proofs ran dry. Virgin birth? Didn’t match Isaiah. Suffering servant? Not a god-man. End-times conversion? Torah says Israel stays Israel. I exhausted it all. What stuck? The nation—scattered two thousand years, hated, reborn nineteen forty-eight. That’s no accident. God left a sign: land, people, heritage.

So I walked. No more cross. Back to shul, davening, learning Hebrew like it was oxygen. Became Hazan at Beit Hashoavah—B-E-I-T H-A-S-H-O-A-V-A-H—leading services, singing Torah portions. Vayakhel-Pekudei? Mine. God gathers Israel after the calf mess and says to keep Shabbat. Not rules—reset. Holiness in the grind.

Now? The Iran war is twenty-one days old. Missiles arc over Jerusalem, Iron Dome lights up. Natanz gone again—no leak. The US and Israel hit energy grids and leadership. Proxies decimated. And I see it: prophecy live. Ezekiel thirty-six—mountains produce fruit for My people Israel. Land was swamps under Ottomans, Brits, Arabs—barren. Now? Galilee vineyards, Negev farms, tech exports. Only for us. Miracles stack—strikes miss civilians, wind shifts rockets. God steers.

Charlie Kirk- Socrates The Philosopher

Charlie, you preached truth. I yelled because your truth felt like erasure. But here’s mine: Israel isn’t a relic—it’s proof. Every word of God is true. No replacement. No fade-out. We’re waiting on the last war—redemption. And yeah, I still carry that Christian curse: Revelation’s drama, two witnesses, beasts. But now? I see ’em different. Not doom—testimony. America, Israel—Bible-believers standing amid chaos. Trump and Netanyahu? Preemptive hits, ending threats. Like Churchill vs. fascism.

So if you’re listening somewhere—reach me. We’ll sit Shabbat, unpack verses. God is involved every day. Don’t drift. Anchor there.

Prager’s Quiet Voice

Dennis, if Charlie were here, I’d tell him: you were the reason I didn’t shut off the radio that day. After the anger at his Jesus talk, your name came up—like a lifeline. I’d been hearing you since two thousand one, right after Mom’s revelation. 940 AM KIXZ only carried your program for a year or so, and I did not chase it down.

You weren’t yelling; you were reasoning. Rational Bible? That series changed everything. Not sermons—just logic: Torah’s not myth, it’s blueprint. Shabbat? God’s gift to everyone—unplug, recharge, honor the Creator. No halacha pressure, just human need.

Charlie raved about it. He devoured 245 hours and called you weekly. He even dedicated his last book, Stop in the Name of God, to you. I paused. He wasn’t borrowing; he was soaking it up. You flipped his life from grind to rest. And mine? From Messianic confusion to Orthodox clarity. You bridged worlds without forcing.

The Kippah – The One Above

“Live as if God exists,” you say—because without Him, good and evil become opinions. Your new book, If There Is No God: The Battle Over Who Defines Good and Evil—out February twenty-fourth—nails it. Morality floats without an anchor. “All is permitted,” Dostoevsky warned. You’re not proving God; you’re showing what happens if we pretend He isn’t there.

Look at this war—twenty-one days in, Iran missiles over Jerusalem, Iron Dome blazing. US and Israel hit back—Natanz dust, leadership gone. Proxies crumbling. Without God steering, it’s chaos: feelings rule, blame flies. But here? Purpose. Land blooms only for Israel—Ezekiel thirty-six: “mountains produce branches and fruit for My people.” Not random.

God’s involved, every day. You say reason fails alone—we need a divine compass. That’s why I stayed tuned: you taught me to clarify. You also taught me to listen to clarify what the other side believes. You unpacked the truth. Shabbat as reset, family as holy space—stuff Charlie echoed, but you rooted it deeper.

The World Needs Shabbat

Charlie got close—kids rushing in Friday night, everything off. But you? You showed why: time’s not ours. God sets the clock—new moons, festivals, Shabbat. Abraham kept it pre-Sinai. Noah’s rainbow? Universal sign—rest for all flesh. Your voice whispered: unplug, honor. No drift. As a Hazan, I sing it—Torah portions like Vayakhel: gather, keep holy. Home’s Mishkan now. Table, altar, meals, prayers. You taught that without saying it—steady, calm, like a lighthouse in fog.

So Dennis—thank you. You kept me listening when others would’ve shut me out. Charlie learned from you; I learned too. Now, with Iran raging, EU hedging, threats everywhere—your words ring: live like He’s real. Because He is. And if Charlie’s out there somehow—reach me at Beit Hashoavah. We’ll talk over coffee. God steers. We don’t drift.

Kirk’s Fire & My Anger

Charlie, you were all heat from day one. I remember that first broadcast—your voice booming, no brakes. “Jesus Christ is the savior, the world’s gotta know Him.” Pastors rolled in: “Jews will recognize Him before the end—it’s the final piece.” I’d sit in traffic, radio cranked, yelling back: “That’s not Torah! That’s replacement!” Felt personal—like you were erasing me. I fired off two emails: prophecies don’t match; Isaiah 53’s not a god-man; no mass conversion at the close. Nothing came back. Silence stung worse than the words.

I was fresh out of Messianic—still raw from ditching the cross. Baptist upbringing taught me the Bible’s literal; Catholic altars gave me ritual. But Jesus as Messiah? Proofs folded. So hearing you push it—hard, as truth demanded—hit like a betrayal. You weren’t just conservative; you were missionary. Every guest echoed: “Israel sees Him, game over.” I’d think, “Charlie, you love truth—why ignore this?” It grated because I wanted dialogue, not doctrine. Felt aimed at me, at every Jew who’d just found roots.

Turning Point

But then, your Prager mentions. You talked about the Rational Bible as if it saved you. “Dennis changed my life—Shabbat’s real, unplug, recharge.” Called him weekly, devoured hours of commentary. Even dedicated Stop in the Name of God to him—arguing Christians should keep Shabbat, phone off, family on. That cracked the door.

Prager wasn’t preaching Jesus; he was unpacking Torah—rest as God’s rhythm, time not ours. Suddenly, you sounded… student, not conqueror. Like you’d tasted something older, deeper. “Jewish thinking,” you’d say—discipline, cycles, Creator over chaos.

Anger eased. Not gone—your Jesus core stayed—but I kept listening. Saw overlap: Shabbat as reset, not rule. You lived it—Friday nights, kids piling in, everything else quiet. No grind, just holy. That’s what Torah whispers: Vayakhel-Pekudei, gather after mess, keep Shabbat. Home’s Mishkan—table altar, meals, prayers. You echoed it without knowing. Prager bridged us—you borrowed his wisdom, I found mine.

The Christian Bible

Still, the split lingered. Your Bible ends with Jews bending—Torah gone, Temple dust. Mine? Israel endures. No fade. Church Fathers backed that hate—Justin twisting Scripture, Chrysostom raging. But you? You weren’t venomous. Just… honest to your script. And yeah, it hurt. But Prager kept me tuned—your fire had light too.

If you were here, I’d say, “Thanks for the push.” Made me dig deeper. Now, with Iran missiles flying, EU hedging—your Shabbat call feels urgent. Rest under God, not drift. Reach me at Beit Hashoavah—we’ll talk. Truth’s bigger than any one verse.

Shabbat – Humanity’s Blueprint

Charlie, if we were sitting here with coffee, I’d lean in and say: Shabbat wasn’t just a Jewish practice. Shabbat was one you admired. The Sabbath was much more meaningful. It was something much more meaningful. It was the heartbeat you kept circling back to.

You’d describe coming home Friday night, kids running into your arms, phone off, everything else fading. “The world stops,” you’d say. “Family first.” That wasn’t rules or religion for you; it was reset. Recharge. Something deep and human. And here’s the truth I want you to see: that instinct wasn’t invented at Sinai. It’s baked into humanity from the very beginning—God’s blueprint for all of us.

Look at Genesis. Creation ends with day seven—God rests, blesses it, sanctifies it. Not because He was tired, but to stamp rest into the rhythm of the world. Then the flood hits: total wipe, chaos waters again like day one. But post-flood? It’s re-creation.

Noah steps out as the new Adam—blessed to be fruitful, multiply, rule the earth. His name? Noach—from “nuach,” meaning rest or comfort. Lamech named him, hoping he’d ease the curse on the ground, but really, Noah reboots rest for everyone.

Rabbi David Fohrman nails it in his Aleph Beta series on Noah: the flood is de-creation, then full reboot. Ark rests on the seventh month. Clean animals come in sevens. Rainbow covenant? Not “between Me and Israel”—it’s “with you and with every living creature,” all flesh, all Noah’s descendants.

Universal. Seven colors, seven-day waits—echoing creation week. Shabbat isn’t Sinai-only; it’s stamped into the reset world for all humanity. Before any Jew exists, God wires rest into humanity’s DNA.

Then Abraham picks up the thread. He wasn’t the first monotheist—Shem and Ever already knew God. But he broadcast it: your time isn’t yours. God sets the rhythm—new moons, appointed times, Shabbat as the big one. Genesis twenty-six verse five makes it clear. God tells Isaac, “because Abraham obeyed My voice.

I Am With You

He kept My charge, My commandments, My statutes, and My laws.” Full Torah language—before Sinai. Sages say the Torah was with Adam, passed from father to son. Abraham guarded it and taught Isaac. Rabbi Akiva Tatz puts it beautifully: Abraham wanted everyone to understand that time belongs to God, not us. Stop claiming your days. Honor the schedule.

My Torah Reading, Vayakhel-Pekudei, brings it home. After the golden calf chaos, God gathers Israel. “Six days’ work shall be done. On the seventh day, there shall be to you a holy day. It is a Sabbath of solemn rest to the Lord.” Not optional—anchor. Rabbi Warren Goldstein teaches that the home became the new Mishkan when the Temple fell.

Table turns altar, challah the offering, wine like libations. Every meal echoes the daily prayers—shacharit, mincha, and maariv. Elders sit, teach Pirkei Avot ethics. Kids learn: life isn’t an endless grind; it’s set apart for holiness. Focus higher than ourselves—individual gifts merge into one holy project, like the Mishkan builders. Contrast Babel: unity for self, no heaven—so scattered. Mishkan? “We built it” because God was the center.

You pushed this, Charlie—Shabbat for Christians too. Prager showed you the way. But Torah says it’s for everyone first—a pre-Sinai promise, a post-flood gift. Noah’s rainbow whispers it to all flesh. Abraham taught it widely. Sinai made a covenant for Israel, but the wording was always human.

That’s why your Friday nights hit different. Kids in arms, rest under God—not hustle. Judaism lives it: higher birth rates, strong families, and purpose. Without that anchor? Drift. Opinions clash, no unity. With it? Holy reset.

So yeah—Shabbat’s not Jewish-only. It’s humanity’s blueprint. God wired us for rest, for a higher purpose. In this war, with missiles flying and fear rising, we need it more than ever. Unplug. Recharge. Remember who’s steering.