Dear Friends,
Earlier this week, we celebrated Simchat Torah and brought the High Holy Day season to a close. As we begin reading the Torah anew, I’ve been reflecting on one small, easily overlooked detail in the Garden of Eden story—what seems at first like a minor “communication glitch,” but which, on closer look, offers profound insight into how we relate to one another.
After creating Adam and Eve, God sets clear boundaries for human behavior. We read:
“And God commanded the man, saying: ‘Of every tree of the garden you may freely eat; but of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, you shall not eat of it.’” (Genesis 2:16–17)
A short time later, Eve tells the serpent:
“God said: ‘You shall not eat of it, and you shall not touch it, lest you die.’” (Genesis 3:3)
In the midrashic collection known as Bereishit Rabbah, the rabbis noticed something subtle but significant: God’s command to Adam only forbade eating from the tree. Nothing was said about touching it. Yet by the time Eve repeats the instruction, an extra layer has been added.
According to the midrash, Adam added that part himself, reasoning that if Eve didn’t even touch the tree, she certainly wouldn’t eat from it. In modern terms, he was trying to “build a fence around the Torah”—to add a buffer of safety. It’s a little like telling a child not to step on the sidewalk so they don’t wander into the street. The rule isn’t about the sidewalk itself—it’s about protection.
But the serpent, the rabbis say, knew this. It pushed Eve against the tree, and when nothing happened, she assumed the entire command was false—and ate the fruit.
Adam’s fence, meant to safeguard the law, became the very thing that undermined it.
In Pirkei Avot, we’re taught, “Asu seyag laTorah”—“Make a fence around the Torah.” Fences can be good. They create structure, reinforce values, and protect what’s sacred. But our tradition also teaches, “Kol Yisrael arevim zeh bazeh”—“All Israel is responsible for one another.” (Shevuot 39a) When our fences become so high that they keep people out rather than drawing them in, we’ve missed the point.
In communal life, that balance can be tricky. Out of love for tradition, we sometimes make belonging harder than it needs to be. We add expectations, assumptions, or boundaries that exclude rather than embrace. But holiness doesn’t grow behind walls; it grows in the open spaces where people feel seen, valued, and welcomed.
Our task as a sacred community is to guard what is holy without losing the warmth that makes it come alive—to build boundaries, yes, but never barriers.
May this Shabbat remind us that Torah was never meant to separate us from one another, but to connect us—to help us bring a little more holiness, understanding, and compassion into the world.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Daniel M. Cohen