A Story of Two Trees: The Paradox of בְּתוֹךְ (Betokh)

 A Story of Two Trees: The Paradox of בְּתוֹךְ (Betokh)

Rabbi Ari Kahn

The question of location within Gan Eden reveals profound textual and theological complexities that demand careful examination. At the heart of this inquiry lies a deceptively simple word: בְּתוֹךְ (betokh), conventionally translated as "in the midst of" or "in the center of." Yet this word, as we shall discover, generates an exegetical dilemma that has occupied commentators across the generations.

The narrative transition from the second to the third chapter of Bereishit is marked not merely by chapter divisions—themselves somewhat artificial constructs—but by a deliberate linguistic shift of profound significance. The second chapter concludes with humanity in a state of primal innocence: "And they were both naked, the man and his wife, and were not ashamed" (וַיִּהְיוּ שְׁנֵיהֶם עֲרוּמִּים הָאָדָם וְאִשְׁתּוֹ וְלֹא יִתְבֹּשָׁשׁוּ, Bereishit 2:25). The third chapter opens with a wordplay of striking intentionality: "Now the serpent was cunning (עָרוּם, arum) above all the beasts of the field which Hashem Elokim had made" (Bereishit 3:1). The identical root—ערום—serves dual purposes: nakedness in its previous iteration, cunning in its present deployment.

More significant than this linguistic echo is the serpent's calculated theological revision. Throughout the second chapter, the Divine Name appears consistently as ה׳ אֱלֹהִים (Hashem Elokim), the composite Name signifying both justice (מִדַּת הַדִּין, middat hadin) and mercy (מִדַּת הָרַחֲמִים, middat harachamim). Yet when the serpent addresses the woman, he strategically excises the Name of mercy: "Indeed, did Elokim say, 'You shall not eat from every tree of the garden'?" (אַף כִּי־אָמַר אֱלֹהִים לֹא תֹאכְלוּ מִכֹּל עֵץ הַגָּן, Bereishit 3:1). By invoking solely אֱלֹהִים (Elokim), the Name associated with strict judgment, the serpent reframes the Divine prohibition as arbitrary restriction devoid of compassionate purpose (Rashi on Bereishit 3:1). The prohibition, however, explicitly contains protective intent: death itself threatens those who consume from the forbidden tree—a warning that reflects מִדַּת הָרַחֲמִים rather than capricious legislation (Bereishit 2:17).

A striking absence pervades the dialogue between serpent and woman: neither participant identifies the forbidden tree by its proper designation. The serpent frames his query broadly: "Did Elokim say, 'You shall not eat from every tree of the garden'?" (Bereishit 3:1). The woman's response compounds the ambiguity: "From the fruit of the trees of the garden we may eat, but from the fruit of the tree which is בְּתוֹךְ הַגָּן (betokh hagan), in the midst of the garden, Elokim said, 'You shall not eat from it nor touch it, lest you die'" (Bereishit 3:2-3).

Nowhere in this exchange is עֵץ הַדַּעַת טוֹב וָרָע (Etz HaDaat Tov VaRa), the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, explicitly mentioned. The woman identifies the prohibited tree solely by location—that which stands בְּתוֹךְ הַגָּן(Ramban on Bereishit 2:9). Yet herein lies the textual conundrum: which tree, precisely, occupies this central position?

Targum Onkelos's treatment of בְּתוֹךְ proves illuminating and problematic in equal measure. In Bereishit 2:9, the verse states: "And Hashem Elokim caused to grow from the ground every tree pleasant to see and good for food, and the Tree of Life בְּתוֹךְ הַגָּן (betokh hagan), in the midst of the garden, and the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil" (Bereishit 2:9). Targum Onkelos renders בְּתוֹךְ as בִּמְצִיעוּת (bimitziut)—literally, "in the exact center" (Targum Onkelos, Bereishit 2:9). This translation suggests precision of location, identifying the עֵץ הַחַיִּים (Etz HaChaim), the Tree of Life, as occupying the garden's geographical midpoint (Rashi on Bereishit 2:9: בְּתוֹךְ הַגָּן - בָּאֶמְצַע).

Yet when the woman references "the tree which is בְּתוֹךְ הַגָּן" (Bereishit 3:3), Targum Onkelos again employs בִּמְצִיעוּת גִנְּתָא (Targum Onkelos, Bereishit 3:3). If the Tree of Life alone occupies the center, why does the woman's description—clearly referring to the Tree of Knowledge—utilize identical locational language? Moreover, when Adam and Eve hide "among the trees (בְּתוֹךְ עֵץ הַגָּן, betokh etz hagan) of the garden" (Bereishit 3:8), Targum Onkelos renders this as בְּגוֹ אִילָן גִּנְּתָא (bego ilan ginta), "within the trees of the garden"—a notably less specific formulation than בִּמְצִיעוּת, suggesting "inside" rather than "in the precise center" (Targum Onkelos, Bereishit 3:8). Within mere verses, בְּתוֹךְoscillates between pinpoint specificity and broad generality (Radak on Bereishit 2:9).

The medieval commentators grappled with this spatial impossibility. How can two distinct trees both occupy the garden's singular center? Ramban (Nachmanides) proposes that בְּתוֹךְ need not denote a mathematical point but rather an "expansive center" (אֶמְצַע רָחָב, emtza rachav): "It is as if a demarcated garden bed was fashioned in the garden's midst, and within this bed stood both trees" (Ramban on Bereishit 2:9). The center, according to Ramban, constitutes a zone rather than a point, for "the precise midpoint cannot be known except by Hashem alone" (כִּי אֶמְצַע הַדָּק כְּבָר אָמְרוּ שֶׁאֵין יוֹדֵעַ בּוֹ אֲמִתַּת הַנְּקֻדָּה בִּלְתִּי הַשֵּׁם לְבַדּוֹ). ​

Rabbeinu Bachya advances a more radical solution: the two trees shared a common root system, their trunks united below while their branches diverged above, creating two distinct entities from a single botanical source (Rabbeinu Bachya on Bereishit 2:9). Thus both trees could genuinely occupy the identical central location (Rabbeinu Bachya: שְׁנֵיהֶם הָיוּ בּוֹדַאי בְּתוֹךְ הַגָּן... חִבּוּרָן אֶחָד מִלְּמַטָּה וְהוֹלְכִים וּמִתְפָּרְדִים לְמַעְלָה). ​

Rabbi Chaim Paltiel offers yet another interpretation: the Tree of Knowledge physically encircled the Tree of Life, its branches forming a protective barrier. "This explains," he writes, "why God did not fear that Adam would immediately consume from the Tree of Life before eating from the Tree of Knowledge—the Tree of Knowledge surrounded the Tree of Life, preventing access until its barrier was breached" (Rabbi Chaim Paltiel on Bereishit 2:9: עֵץ הַדַּעַת הָיָה מַקִּיפוֹ לְעֵץ הַחַיִּים כְּדִמְתַרְגְּמִינָן בִּמְצִיעוּת גִנָּא). ​

Rabbi Yosef Kimchi (cited in HaTur HaAroch) proposes the most audacious reading: the Tree of Life and the Tree of Knowledge constituted a single tree bearing dual designations, much as one might describe a person as both "a wise man" and "a righteous man" (HaTur HaAroch on Bereishit 2:9). Yet this interpretation founders upon the later Divine declaration: "Lest he stretch forth his hand and take also from the Tree of Life, and eat and live forever" (Bereishit 3:22)—clearly distinguishing two separate entities (HaTur HaAroch's objection: וְאֵינִי יוֹדֵעַ מָה יַעֲשֶׂה בָּזֶה הַפָּסוּק הֵן הָאָדָם הָיָה... וְעַתָּה פֶּן־יִשְׁלַח יָדוֹ... וְלִפְנֵי דְבָרָיו הֲרֵי כְּבָר אָכַל מִמֶּנּוּ). ​

The woman's response to the serpent introduces two prohibitions absent from the original Divine command. God had commanded: "From the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil you shall not eat from it, for on the day you eat from it you shall surely die" (וּמֵעֵץ הַדַּעַת טוֹב וָרָע לֹא תֹאכַל מִמֶּנּוּ כִּי בְּיוֹם אֲכָלְךָ מִמֶּנּוּ מוֹת תָּמוּת, Bereishit 2:17). The prohibition concerns the tree itself, not specifically its fruit; moreover, touch is nowhere forbidden.

Yet the woman states: "From the fruit (וּמִפְּרִי, umipri) of the tree which is in the midst of the garden, Elokim said, 'You shall not eat from it nor touch it (וְלֹא תִגְּעוּ בּוֹ, velo tig'u bo), lest you die (פֶּן־תְּמֻתוּן, pen temutun)'" (Bereishit 3:3). Three deviations emerge: she specifies fruit rather than tree; she adds a prohibition against touching; and she employs פֶּן (pen, "lest"), suggesting uncertainty, rather than the Divine certainty of מוֹת תָּמוּת (mot tamut, "you shall surely die") (Ricanati on Bereishit 3:3; HaEmek Davar on Bereishit 3:3).

HaEmek Davar suggests that Adam deliberately withheld the tree's true name from his wife, fearing her desire might be inflamed by knowledge of its nature as the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. Instead, he identified it solely by location: the tree בְּתוֹךְ הַגָּן, warning her against both eating and touching, thereby creating a protective fence around the primary prohibition (HaEmek Davar on Bereishit 3:3: לֹא פֵירְשָׁה וּמֵעֵץ הַדַּעַת טוֹב וָרָע... אָמַר סְתָם מִפְּרִי הָעֵץ אֲשֶׁר בְּתוֹךְ הַגָּן).

The serpent's response deserves scrutiny: "You shall not surely die (לֹא־מוֹת תְּמֻתוּן, lo mot temutun). For Elokim knows that on the day you eat from it, your eyes will be opened and you shall be as Elokim, knowing good and evil (יֹדְעֵי טוֹב וָרָע, yod'ei tov vara)" (Bereishit 3:4-5). Remarkably, subsequent events vindicate each element of the serpent's claim. Their eyes indeed opened: "And the eyes of both of them were opened, and they knew that they were naked" (וַתִּפָּקַחְנָה עֵינֵי שְׁנֵיהֶם וַיֵּדְעוּ כִּי עֵירֻמִּם הֵם, Bereishit 3:7). Moreover, God Himself confirms their transformation: "Behold, the man has become like one of us, knowing good and evil" (הֵן הָאָדָם הָיָה כְּאַחַד מִמֶּנּוּ לָדַעַת טוֹב וָרָע, Bereishit 3:22). ​

The question of death proves more complex. They did not expire immediately, yet Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch observes that exile from Eden constitutes death in diminished form: "Exile is death in miniature; for death itself is not annihilation but rather transition from this world. Adam's expulsion from Gan Eden is death in miniature, tempering the decree of death" (Rabbi S.R. Hirsch on Bereishit 2:17). The sages taught that among three who spoke truth yet perished from the world, the serpent stands first (Pirkei d'Rabbenu HaKadosh, cited in Ramban on Bereishit 2:9: שְׁלֹשָׁה אָמְרוּ אֱמֶת וְאָבְדוּ מִן הָעוֹלָם וְאֵלּוּ הֵן נָחָשׁ).

Ramban offers a profound interpretation of דַּעַת (daat, knowledge) as it relates to the tree's function. Rejecting earlier commentators who identified the tree's effect as awakening sexual desire—based on Barzillai's lament, "Can I discern between good and evil?" (II Shmuel 19:36), interpreted as loss of sexual capacity—Ramban argues that such readings falter against God's own affirmation: "Behold, man has become like one of us, knowing good and evil" (Bereishit 3:22). "What seems proper to me," writes Ramban, "is that man acted according to his nature, doing what was fitting according to his inherent constitution, like the heavens and all their hosts, workers of truth whose actions are truth and who do not deviate from their appointed tasks, having in their deeds neither love nor hatred. The fruit of this tree generated will and desire (הָרָצוֹן וְהַחֵפֶץ, haratzón vechafetz), enabling its consumers to choose between a thing and its opposite, for good or for evil. Therefore it is called the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, for דַּעַת (daat) in our language denotes will" (Ramban on Bereishit 2:9: וּפְרִי הָאִילָן הַזֶּה הָיָה מוֹלִיד הָרָצוֹן וְהַחֵפֶץ... וְלָכֵן נִקְרָא עֵץ הַדַּעַת טוֹב וָרָע כִּי הַדַּעַת יֵאָמֵר בִּלְשׁוֹנֵנוּ עַל הָרָצוֹן).

Before consuming the fruit, humanity possessed neither moral choice nor desire; they acted in accordance with natural law, as celestial bodies follow their ordained paths (Ramban on Bereishit 2:9). Physical relations occurred solely for procreation, without passion or shame, which explains their pre-lapsarian nakedness: "All limbs were in their eyes as the face and hands, and they were not ashamed of them" (הָיוּ הָאֵיבָרִים כֻּלָּם בְּעֵינֵיהֶם כְּפָנִים וְהַיָּדַיִם וְלֹא יִתְבּוֹשְׁשׁוּ בָהֶם). Post-consumption, humanity acquired בְּחִירָה (bechira, free will)—"a Divine attribute from one perspective, yet harmful to humanity in that it brought desire and passion" (זוֹ מִדָּה אֱלֹהִית מִצַּד אֶחָד וְרָעָה לָאָדָם בֶּהֱיוֹת לוֹ בָהּ יֵצֶר וְתַאֲוָה).

When the woman observed the tree, her perception aligned precisely with the serpent's promise and the tree's intrinsic nature: "And the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a desire (תַּאֲוָה, ta'ava) to the eyes, and the tree was desirable (נֶחְמָד, nechmad) to make one wise (לְהַשְׂכִּיל, lehaskil)" (Bereishit 3:6). Three qualities manifest: palatability, visual allure, and wisdom-conferring capacity—echoing the Midrash's teaching: "Rabbi Yose bar Zimra said: Three things were stated regarding that tree—good for eating, beautiful to behold, and augmenting wisdom" (Bereishit Rabbah 19:5, citing Tehillim 89:1: מַשְׂכִּיל לְאֵיתָן הָאֶזְרָחִי, "A maskil of Eitan the Ezrachite," identified as Avraham by the Talmud, Bava Batra 15a). ​

Significantly, she perceived only טוֹב (tov, good), not רָע (ra, evil). The tree bore the name עֵץ הַדַּעַת טוֹב וָרָע (Etz HaDaat Tov VaRa), yet her vision registered solely its beneficial aspects—a selective perception that would prove tragic (Bereishit 3:6).

 

The question remains: does this textual confusion—the ambiguity surrounding בְּתוֹךְ, the location of the trees, the nature of the prohibition—constitute genuine complexity inherent to the text, or is it interpretive construction? Perhaps both. The Torah's narrative deliberately introduces ambiguity, challenging readers to grapple with questions of location, identity, and prohibition.

The transformation wrought by the Tree of Knowledge represents not merely acquisition of information but fundamental ontological change. Humanity shifted from operating according to fixed natural law to possessing moral agency—the capacity and burden of choice. This Divine quality, as Ramban notes, proves simultaneously elevating and destabilizing, conferring godlike discernment while introducing passion, conflict, and death (Ramban on Bereishit 2:9). ​

The spatial paradox of בְּתוֹךְ mirrors the theological paradox: two trees occupying one center, two modes of existence—natural obedience and moral choice—occupying one human soul. The ambiguity is not accidental but essential, reflecting the complexity of human existence post-Eden, forever suspended between the Tree of Life we lost and the Tree of Knowledge we gained.

The narrative continues in the second chapter with God's placement of humanity within Eden: "And Hashem Elokim took the man and placed him in Gan Eden לְעָבְדָהּ וּלְשָׁמְרָהּ (la'ovdah uleshomrah), to work it and to guard it" (Bereishit 2:15). The dual imperative—to cultivate and to protect—establishes humanity's covenantal relationship with the Divine, a relationship characterized by both privilege and responsibility.

Immediately thereafter, the prohibition is articulated: "And Hashem Elokim commanded (וַיְצַו, vayetzav) the man, saying (לֵאמֹר, leimor), 'From every tree of the garden you may freely eat (מִכֹּל עֵץ־הַגָּן אָכֹל תֹּאכֵל, mikol etz hagan achol tochel), but from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil you shall not eat, for on the day you eat from it you shall surely die (כִּי בְּיוֹם אֲכָלְךָ מִמֶּנּוּ מוֹת תָּמוּת, ki beyom achalcha mimenu mot tamut)'" (Bereishit 2:16-17).

Several elements demand attention. First, the term לֵאמֹר (leimor), typically translated as "saying," carries the connotation of transmission—God commands Adam "to say it over," implying instruction to communicate this prohibition to Eve, who had not yet been created (Bereishit 2:18). Second, the permission encompasses all trees without exception save one—yet notably, this permission references trees (עֵץ, etz), not their fruit (פְּרִי, peri). The prohibition likewise concerns the tree itself: וּמֵעֵץ הַדַּעַת טוֹב וָרָע לֹא תֹאכַל מִמֶּנּוּ (umei'etz hadaat tov vara lo tochal mimenu), "from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil you shall not eat from it"—again, the tree, not explicitly its fruit.

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Third, the consequence is stated with absolute certainty: כִּי בְּיוֹם אֲכָלְךָ מִמֶּנּוּ מוֹת תָּמוּת (ki beyom achalcha mimenu mot tamut), "for on the day you eat from it, dying you shall die"—an emphatic Hebrew construction denoting inevitability (Bereishit 2:17). Yet when the woman recounts this prohibition to the serpent, she employs פֶּן־תְּמֻתוּן (pen temutun), "lest you die" (Bereishit 3:3)—a conditional formulation suggesting possibility rather than certainty. The serpent exploits precisely this ambiguity: לֹא־מוֹת תְּמֻתוּן (lo mot temutun), "You shall not surely die" (Bereishit 3:4), directly contradicting the Divine decree.

Moreover, the serpent invokes the temporal frame God Himself employed: כִּי יֹדֵעַ אֱלֹהִים כִּי בְּיוֹם אֲכָלְכֶם מִמֶּנּוּ (ki yodea Elokim ki beyom achalchem mimenu), "For Elokim knows that on the day you eat from it your eyes will be opened and you shall be like Elokim, knowing good and evil" (Bereishit 3:5). The serpent's assertion—that on that very day their eyes would open—proved accurate: וַתִּפָּקַחְנָה עֵינֵי שְׁנֵיהֶם (vatipakachnah einei shneihem), "And the eyes of both of them were opened" (Bereishit 3:7).

 

Rabbi Chaim Paltiel raises a compelling question: "Why is the translation of בְּתוֹךְ different here from every other בְּתוֹךְ written in the Torah?" (Rabbi Chaim Paltiel on Bereishit 2:9). His observation points to Targum Onkelos's apparent inconsistency. In some instances, Onkelos renders בְּתוֹךְ as בִּמְצִיעוּת (bimitziut), "in the exact center," while in others he employs בְּגוֹ (bego), "inside" or "within"—a far less specific designation.

Examination of the Chumash reveals this pattern. In Bereishit 1:6, when God creates the firmament בְּתוֹךְ הַמָּיִם (betokh hamayim), "in the midst of the waters," Targum Onkelos translates בִּמְצִיעוּת מַיָּא (bimitziut maya), suggesting the precise center dividing upper from lower waters (Targum Onkelos, Bereishit 1:6). Yet when Noach becomes intoxicated בְּתוֹךְ אָהֳלֹה (betokh oholo), "within his tent" (Bereishit 9:21), Onkelos renders this בְּגוֹ מַשְׁכְּנֵיהּ (bego mashkenei), "inside his tent"—clearly not the tent's geometric center but simply its interior space (Targum Onkelos, Bereishit 9:21).

Similarly, when Avraham negotiates for Sodom, he speaks of fifty righteous בְּתוֹךְ הָעִיר (betokh ha'ir), "within the city" (Bereishit 18:24), which Onkelos again translates בְּגוֹ קַרְתָּא (bego karta), "inside the city"—surely not requiring that the righteous occupy Sodom's precise midpoint but merely reside within its boundaries (Targum Onkelos, Bereishit 18:24).​

Rashi, following Onkelos, defines בְּתוֹךְ הַגָּן as בָּאֶמְצַע (ba'emtza), "in the center" (Rashi on Bereishit 2:9). Yet why this precision in the Garden's case? Radak offers functional reasoning: the center provides maximal protection, as all surrounding elements form a protective barrier: "The center of a place is most guarded, for the things surrounding it serve as a wall and protection" (Radak on Bereishit 2:9: וְהַדָּבָר יִהְיֶה נִשְׁמָר יוֹתֵר בָּאֶמְצַע הַמָּקוֹם מִפְּנֵי שֶׁהַדְּבָרִים שֶׁהֵם סְבִיבָיו יִהְיוּ כְּחוֹמָה לוֹ). The beloved object, positioned centrally, gains protection from all sides—a consideration particularly apt for trees of such cosmic significance.

Radak's analysis of the Tree of Life introduces a crucial distinction between natural and supernatural properties. He writes: "The Tree of Life is a tree whose nature strengthens the nature of the person eating from it, enabling him to live a very long time" (עֵץ שֶׁהָיָה בְּטִבְעוֹ לְחַזֵּק טֶבַע הָאָדָם הָאוֹכֵל מִמֶּנּוּ וְיִחְיֶה זְמַן רַב מְאֹד, Radak on Bereishit 2:9). This formulation suggests medicinal rather than miraculous efficacy—the tree extends life through natural properties, not through magical intervention. "According to the parable, which represents the hidden mystical meaning, whoever eats from it shall live forever" (וּלְפִי הַמָּשָׁל שֶׁהוּא הַנִּסְתָּר כָּל הָאוֹכֵל מִמֶּנּוּ יִחְיֶה עֲדֵי עַד)—yet Radak distinguishes between the tree's natural function (longevity) and its mystical dimension (immortality). ​

This distinction proves critical when addressing the question that should trouble every thoughtful reader: Why did Adam not immediately consume from the Tree of Life before eating from the Tree of Knowledge, thereby securing immortality and immunizing himself against death's decree? The strategic logic seems inescapable—anyone familiar with basic game theory would recognize the optimal sequence.

Rabbi Saadia Gaon offers a profound resolution: the Tree of Life functioned solely as antidote, not as prophylaxis. It possessed efficacy only after transgression, counteracting the Tree of Knowledge's deadly effects (Rabbi Chaim Paltiel on Bereishit 2:9, citing Rav Saadia Gaon: כָּל זְמַן שֶׁלֹּא חָטָא לֹא הָיָה מוֹעִיל לוֹ עֵץ הַחַיִּים רַק לִרְפֹא מֵחֵץ מִיתָה הָאוֹכֵל מֵעֵץ הַדַּעַת). Like a physician's remedy that benefits the ill but offers nothing to the healthy, the Tree of Life remained inert for one living in primal innocence. Only sin activated its restorative potential.

This interpretation transforms our understanding of Eden's arboreal architecture. God created humanity with the capacity to sin and simultaneously provided the means of repair—immediate, accessible, salvific. "The antidote preceded the affliction" becomes literal truth: the Tree of Life stood ready before the sin occurred, awaiting only Adam's return in contrition (Rabbi Chaim Paltiel on Bereishit 2:9). Had Adam, confronted by God, acknowledged his transgression with genuine remorse, God presumably would have plucked fruit from the Tree of Life and restored him to immortality. The tragedy lies not in the sin itself but in the refusal to own it, the inability to repent authentically.

Rabbi Chaim Paltiel proposes an additional resolution to the spatial conundrum, one that addresses both the dual בְּתוֹךְdesignations and the strategic question of Adam's choices: "The Tree of Knowledge encircled the Tree of Life with its branches, surrounding it entirely. When Adam breached this barrier by eating from the Tree of Knowledge, only then did he gain access to the Tree of Life" (Rabbi Chaim Paltiel on Bereishit 2:9: עֵץ הַדַּעַת הָיָה מַקִּיפוֹ לְעֵץ הַחַיִּים... וְכַאֲשֶׁר פָּרַץ הַגָּדֵר מֵעֵץ הַדַּעַת אָז אָמַר וְעַתָּה פֶּן־יִשְׁלַח יָדוֹ).

This elegant solution addresses multiple problems simultaneously. Both trees occupy the center because the Tree of Life stands at the epicenter while the Tree of Knowledge surrounds it in concentric rings. The term בְּתוֹךְ applies to both: one occupies the geometric point; the other occupies the central zone. Moreover, this configuration explains God's apparent lack of concern that Adam might immediately consume from the Tree of Life—a physical barrier prevented access until Adam first violated the prohibition encircling it. The Divine declaration, "Now, lest he stretch forth his hand and take also from the Tree of Life" (וְעַתָּה פֶּן־יִשְׁלַח יָדוֹ וְלָקַח גַּם מֵעֵץ הַחַיִּים, Bereishit 3:22), makes chronological sense: only now, after breaching the outer tree, does access to the inner tree become possible.

Ramban systematically dismantles earlier interpretations that identify the Tree of Knowledge's primary effect as awakening sexual desire. "The commentators said that its fruit generated desire for sexual relations, and therefore they covered their nakedness after eating from it" (Ramban on Bereishit 2:9: אָמְרוּ הַמְפָרְשִׁים כִּי הָיָה פִּרְיוֹ מוֹלִיד תַּאֲוַת הַמִּשְׁגָּל וְלָכֵן כִּסּוּ מֵעֵרוּמֵיהֶם אַחֲרֵי אָכְלָם מִמֶּנּוּ). This reading, he argues, cannot withstand textual scrutiny.

"This is not correct in my view," writes Ramban, "because it says, 'And you shall be like Elokim, knowing good and evil' (Bereishit 3:5). And if you say the serpent lied, behold, God Himself declares: 'Behold, man has become like one of us, knowing good and evil' (Bereishit 3:22)" (Ramban on Bereishit 2:9: וְאֵינֶנּוּ נָכוֹן אֶצְלִי בַּעֲבוּר שֶׁאָמַר וִהְיִיתֶם כֵּאלֹהִים יֹדְעֵי טוֹב וָרָע... הִנֵּה וַיֹּאמֶר ה' אֱלֹהִים הֵן הָאָדָם הָיָה כְּאַחַד מִמֶּנּוּ לָדַעַת טוֹב וָרָע). God's own testimony validates the serpent's core claim. Moreover, the sages taught that among three who spoke truth yet perished from the world, the serpent stands first (Pirkei d'Rabbenu HaKadosh, cited in Ramban). ​

Ramban's alternative interpretation proves far more profound: "What seems proper to me is that man acted according to his nature, doing what was fitting to do according to natural constitution, as the heavens and all their hosts do—workers of truth whose action is truth and who do not deviate from their appointed task, having in their deeds neither love nor hatred. The fruit of this tree generated will and desire (הָרָצוֹן וְהַחֵפֶץ, haratzón vechafetz), enabling its consumers to choose between a thing and its opposite, for good or for evil" (Ramban on Bereishit 2:9).

Before the sin, Adam and Eve inhabited a state of pure natural law, acting without volition, desire, or moral agency—like celestial bodies following ordained paths. "At this time there was no sexual relations for desire between Adam and his wife, but at the time of procreation they would unite and bring forth offspring" (וְהִנֵּה בָּעֵת הַזֹּאת לֹא הָיָה בֵּין אָדָם וְאִשְׁתּוֹ הַמִּשְׁגָּל לְתַאֲוָה אֲבָל בְּעֵת הַהוֹלָדָה יִתְחַבְּרוּ וְיוֹלִידוּ). Consequently, "all their limbs were in their eyes like the face and hands, and they were not ashamed of them" (וְלָכֵן הָיוּ הָאֵיבָרִים כֻּלָּם בְּעֵינֵיהֶם כְּפָנִים וְהַיָּדַיִם וְלֹא יִתְבּוֹשְׁשׁוּ בָהֶם). Shame requires self-consciousness; self-consciousness requires choice; choice requires knowledge of good and evil. ​

"After eating from the tree, choice resided in his hand—to do evil or good according to his will, whether for himself or for others. This is a Divine attribute from one perspective, yet harmful to humanity in that it brought desire and passion" (וְהִנֵּה אַחֲרֵי אָכְלוֹ מִן הָעֵץ הָיְתָה בְיָדוֹ הַבְּחִירָה וּבִרְצוֹנוֹ לְהָרַע אוֹ לְהֵיטִיב בֵּין לוֹ בֵּין לַאֲחֵרִים וְזוֹ מִדָּה אֱלֹהִית מִצַּד אֶחָד וְרָעָה לָאָדָם בֶּהֱיוֹת לוֹ בָהּ יֵצֶר וְתַאֲוָה). Humanity gained godlike discernment at the cost of innocence, acquiring both the capacity for righteousness and the vulnerability to temptation. ​

Ramban addresses the textual peculiarity that has permeated our analysis: why does neither the serpent nor the woman explicitly name the Tree of Knowledge? "When the Holy One commanded Adam regarding the tree, He did not inform him that it possessed this quality [of generating moral choice]; rather, He said to him simply, 'From the fruit of the tree which is in its midst (אֲשֶׁר בְּתוֹכוֹ, asher betocho) you shall not eat'—meaning the one known by its central location. This is the woman's statement to the serpent" (Ramban on Bereishit 2:9: וְכַאֲשֶׁר צִוָּהוּ הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא עַל הָעֵץ שֶׁלֹּא יֹאכַל מִמֶּנּוּ לֹא הוֹדִיעוֹ כִּי בוֹ הַמִּדָּה הַזֹּאת רַק אָמַר לוֹ סְתָם וּמִפְּרִי הָעֵץ אֲשֶׁר בְּתוֹךְ הַגָּן... וְהוּא מַאֲמַר הָאִשָּׁה אֶל הַנָּחָשׁ).

According to Ramban, God deliberately withheld the tree's true name and nature from the original command. The prohibition identified the tree solely by location—"the tree which is בְּתוֹךְ הַגָּן"—creating ambiguity that both protected and tested. "The Scripture that states, 'From the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil you shall not eat' (Bereishit 2:17) mentions it to us by name," Ramban notes—meaning the Torah reveals to readers what God concealed from Adam.

This deliberate ambiguity returns us to our original confusion: if the Tree of Life is designated בְּתוֹךְ הַגָּן in Bereishit 2:9, and the woman identifies the forbidden tree as בְּתוֹךְ הַגָּן in Bereishit 3:3, from whence derives this confusion? Ramban's answer: God Himself introduced it. The prohibition employed locational rather than nominal identification, perhaps to test obedience uncontaminated by knowledge of consequences, or perhaps because revealing the tree's true nature—its capacity to generate moral consciousness—would itself constitute a form of foreknowledge incompatible with genuine innocence.

The confusion that troubles us as readers may reflect the confusion experienced by Eve, transmitted imperfectly by Adam, exploited cunningly by the serpent. The textual ambiguity mirrors existential ambiguity, and both point toward a profound truth: the transition from innocence to knowledge, from natural law to moral agency, from obedience to choice, necessarily involves confusion, uncertainty, and risk. The Tree of Knowledge could not have been clearly marked without defeating its purpose. To know it was to have already begun eating from it.

Rabbeinu Bachya confronts the בְּתוֹךְ paradox directly, proposing a botanical solution of remarkable elegance. Both trees, he argues, occupied the precise center because they constituted a single organism: "Both were certainly בְּתוֹךְ הַגָּן(betokh hagan), in the midst of the garden. Their connection was unified below and diverged upward" (שְׁנֵיהֶם הָיוּ בְּוַדַּאי בְּתוֹךְ הַגָּן... חִבּוּרָן אֶחָד מִלְּמַטָּה וְהוֹלְכִים וּמִתְפָּרְדִים לְמַעְלָה, Rabbeinu Bachya on Bereishit 2:9). The shared root system enables both trees to occupy the identical geographical point while manifesting distinct characteristics through separate branches extending in opposing directions. ​

Rabbeinu Bachya supports this interpretation through analogy to Eden's hydrological structure: just as four rivers emanate from a single source—"A river went out from Eden to water the garden, and from there it divided and became four headwaters" (Bereishit 2:10)—so too can two trees emerge from unified origins (Rabbeinu Bachya on Bereishit 2:9). The pattern of unity birthing multiplicity recurs throughout Eden's architecture.

Yet Rabbeinu Bachya appends a critical caveat: "All this concerns the literal level. However, according to the mystical understanding (דֶּרֶךְ הַסּוֹד, derech hasod), everything is spiritual, and one cannot grasp it except through tradition" (וְכָל זֶה עַל דֶּרֶךְ הַפְּשָׁט אֲבָל עַל דֶּרֶךְ הַסּוֹד הַכֹּל רוּחָנִי וְאֵין לָדַעַת אֶלָּא מִפִּי הַקַּבָּלָה, Rabbeinu Bachya on Bereishit 2:9). The physical description, elaborate as it may be, merely gestures toward deeper realities accessible only through esoteric transmission.

The Moshav Zekeinim advances the most radical proposition: the Tree of Life and the Tree of Knowledge constituted not merely botanically unified but actually identical—a single entity bearing two names descriptive of different aspects (Moshav Zekeinim on Bereishit 2:9). This interpretation traces to Rabbi Yosef Kimchi, father of the Radak, who reasoned that since both trees are designated בְּתוֹךְ הַגָּן (betokh hagan), and since two distinct entities cannot simultaneously occupy the precise geometric center, they must represent one tree known by dual nomenclature—"just as one might describe a person as both 'the wise man' and 'the righteous man'" (Rabbi Yosef Kimchi, cited in HaTur HaAroch on Bereishit 2:9).

HaTur HaAroch—the Tur's unabridged original commentary, composed by Rabbi Yaakov ben Asher, son of the Rosh—preserves far more extensive analysis than the abbreviated version familiar from printed editions. Publishers historically excised the Tur's comprehensive textual discussions, retaining primarily gematria and brief glosses to maximize market appeal while minimizing production costs. The complete HaTur HaAroch, now available in modern editions, reveals the Tur's profound engagement with his predecessors, particularly extensive reliance on Ramban's interpretations, often reproduced verbatim without explicit attribution—a practice reflecting medieval scholastic norms rather than plagiarism (HaTur HaAroch, Introduction).

The Tur carefully presents the competing interpretations: Ramban's expanded central zone, Rabbi Chaim Paltiel's concentric configuration, and his own father Rabbi Yosef Kimchi's unified tree hypothesis (HaTur HaAroch on Bereishit 2:9). Yet when addressing his father's position, the Tur's language betrays polite but unmistakable skepticism: "Rabbi Yosef Kimchi explained that they are one tree... However, I do not know what to do with this verse" (וְאֵינִי יוֹדֵעַ מָה יַעֲשֶׂה בָּזֶה הַפָּסוּק, HaTur HaAroch on Bereishit 2:9).

The devastating objection: "Behold, the man has become like one of us, knowing good and evil. And now, lest he stretch forth his hand and take also from the Tree of Life, and eat and live forever" (הֵן הָאָדָם הָיָה כְּאַחַד מִמֶּנּוּ לָדַעַת טוֹב וָרָע וְעַתָּה פֶּן־יִשְׁלַח יָדוֹ וְלָקַח גַּם מֵעֵץ הַחַיִּים וְאָכַל וָחַי לְעֹלָם, Bereishit 3:22). God's own declaration distinguishes two trees: Adam has already consumed from one (הָאָדָם הָיָה, "man has become"—past tense), and God fears he will now consume from the other (וְעַתָּה פֶּן־יִשְׁלַח, "and now, lest he stretch forth"—future possibility) (HaTur HaAroch on Bereishit 2:9). If the trees were identical, the Divine statement becomes incoherent—Adam cannot both have eaten from the Tree of Life (implied by its identification with the Tree of Knowledge) and be prevented from eating from it.

The Tur's restraint honors filial piety while maintaining intellectual honesty. He cannot reconcile his father's interpretation with explicit Divine testimony, yet he refrains from direct contradiction, employing instead the diplomatic formula: וְאֵינִי יוֹדֵעַ (ve'eini yodea), "I do not know"—a phrase signaling respectful disagreement throughout rabbinic literature.

Notably, the Radak—Rabbi Yosef Kimchi's son and the Tur's contemporary—never references his father's unified tree theory, neither to endorse nor refute it. Silence speaks volumes. One imagines the young Radak learning Chumash not with Rashi but with his father's commentary, absorbing interpretations he would later quietly decline to perpetuate (Radak on Bereishit 2:9).

The entire interpretive edifice—unified roots, concentric circles, identical trees—rests upon a foundation demanding scrutiny: the equation of two בְּתוֹךְ references. God describes the Tree of Life as בְּתוֹךְ הַגָּן (Bereishit 2:9); Eve identifies the forbidden tree as בְּתוֹךְ הַגָּן (Bereishit 3:3). From this linguistic parallel, commentators deduce spatial identity: both trees occupy the exact center.

Yet Eve's testimony proves unreliable. God commanded Adam: "From the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil you shall not eat, for on the day you eat from it you shall surely die" (Bereishit 2:17). Eve, however, reports: "From the fruit of the tree which is בְּתוֹךְ הַגָּן, Elokim said, 'You shall not eat from it nor touch it, lest you die'" (Bereishit 3:3). Three discrepancies emerge: she specifies fruit rather than tree; she adds a prohibition against touching absent from the original command; she employs פֶּן־תְּמֻתוּן (pen temutun), "lest you die," replacing God's emphatic מוֹת תָּמוּת (mot tamut), "you shall surely die".

Moreover, Eve never names the tree. Throughout the dialogue with the serpent, neither participant mentions עֵץ הַדַּעַת טוֹב וָרָע (Etz HaDaat Tov VaRa). Eve identifies the prohibited tree solely by location—אֲשֶׁר בְּתוֹךְ הַגָּן (asher betokh hagan), "which is in the midst of the garden"—creating the very ambiguity that enables the serpent's deception and generates commentators' confusion (Bereishit 3:3).

The imprecision of Eve's מְסוֹרָה (mesorah, tradition) undermines confidence in her locational description. If she misreported the prohibition's content (adding וְלֹא תִגְּעוּ בּוֹ, "nor touch it") and altered its severity (from certain death to possible death), why assume precision in her geographical designation? The equation בְּתוֹךְ הַגָּן (Eve) = בְּתוֹךְ הַגָּן(God) = identical location may reflect Eve's confusion rather than botanical reality.

Every interpretive convolution traces to Targum Onkelos's translation of בְּתוֹךְ as בִּמְצִיעוּת (bimitziut), "in the exact center." This rendering transforms a general term (בְּתוֹךְ = "within" or "in the midst of") into a mathematical specification. Once both trees are identified as occupying בִּמְצִיעוּת גִּנְּתָא (bimitziut ginta), the precise center, commentators face an impossible geometry: two entities, one point (Targum Onkelos on Bereishit 2:9, 3:3).

Yet Onkelos himself demonstrates inconsistency. In Bereishit 1:6, the firmament בְּתוֹךְ הַמָּיִם (betokh hamayim) becomes בִּמְצִיעוּת מַיָּא (bimitziut maya), "in the exact center of the waters"—a sensible rendering given the firmament's function dividing upper from lower waters (Targum Onkelos, Bereishit 1:6). But when Noah lies drunk בְּתוֹךְ אָהֳלֹה(betokh oholo), Onkelos renders בְּגוֹ מַשְׁכְּנֵיהּ (bego mashkenei), "inside his tent"—not "in the precise center of his tent" (Targum Onkelos, Bereishit 9:21). Similarly, fifty righteous בְּתוֹךְ הָעִיר (betokh ha'ir) become בְּגוֹ קַרְתָּא (bego karta), "inside the city"—they need not cluster at Sodom's geometric midpoint (Targum Onkelos, Bereishit 18:24). ​

Rabbi Chaim Paltiel noticed this pattern, observing: "If you ask, why is the Targum's translation of בְּתוֹךְ different here from every other בְּתוֹךְ written in the Torah?" (Rabbi Chaim Paltiel on Bereishit 2:9). His question presumes Onkelos generally avoids בִּמְצִיעוּת; investigation reveals this presumption only partially correct. Most בְּתוֹךְ instances receive בְּגוֹ; Eden's trees constitute the exception demanding explanation.

Rashi, following Onkelos, defines בְּתוֹךְ as בָּאֶמְצַע (ba'emtza), "in the center" (Rashi on Bereishit 2:9). Yet the text itself never demands such precision. When describing the Tree of Life—"And the Tree of Life בְּתוֹךְ הַגָּן, in the midst of the garden, and the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil" (Bereishit 2:9)—בְּתוֹךְ could simply indicate location within the garden's boundaries. The subsequent phrase, וְעֵץ הַדַּעַת טוֹב וָרָע (ve'etz hadaat tov vara), "and the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil," appended without locational specification, may simply continue the description of trees within (בְּתוֹךְ) the garden rather than identifying a second tree occupying the identical central point.

The geometric problem admits no solution unless we abandon either the premise (that בְּתוֹךְ denotes precise center) or the conclusion (that two distinct entities exist). Commentators chose to abandon neither, generating instead ingenious but ultimately strained resolutions:

Ramban's Expanded Center: The center constitutes a zone, not a point. "A garden bed was fashioned in the garden's midst" (שֶׁעָשָׂה כְּמוֹ עֲרוּגָה בְּאֶמְצַע הַגָּן, Ramban on Bereishit 2:9)—both trees occupy this central region.prsht-brshyt-htshp-d.docx​

Rabbi Chaim Paltiel's Concentric Circles: The Tree of Knowledge encircles the Tree of Life, both occupying "center" in different senses—one at the geometric point, the other forming the central zone (Rabbi Chaim Paltiel on Bereishit 2:9).​

Rabbeinu Bachya's Shared Root: One organism, two branches—botanically unified, functionally distinct (Rabbeinu Bachya on Bereishit 2:9).

Rabbi Yosef Kimchi's Single Tree: One entity, two names—theologically elegant, textually impossible (Rabbi Yosef Kimchi in HaTur HaAroch on Bereishit 2:9).

Each solution preserves Onkelos's בִּמְצִיעוּת while accommodating two trees. Yet the Occam's razor solution remains unvoiced: perhaps בְּתוֹךְ simply means "within," and the trees occupy different locations inside the garden. Eve's imprecise transmission, not botanical reality, generated the confusion.

The Language of Desire: תַּאֲוָה and נֶחְמָד

When Eve perceives the tree, her vision employs distinctive terminology: "And the woman saw that the tree was good (טוֹב, tov) for food, and that it was a desire (תַּאֲוָה, ta'ava) to the eyes, and the tree was desirable (נֶחְמָד, nechmad) to make wise" (Bereishit 3:6). Two words—תַּאֲוָה and נֶחְמָד—rarely appear in the Chumash, and when they do, they consistently denote prohibited desire.

The root נחמד appears in the Tenth Commandment: "You shall not covet (לֹא תַחְמֹד, lo tachmod) your neighbor's house" (Shemot 20:14). It describes the golden calf: "They exchanged their glory for the image of an ox eating grass" (Tehillim 106:20), where the verb חָמַד denotes illicit desire (Devarim 7:25: לֹא־תַחְמֹד כֶּסֶף וְזָהָב עֲלֵיהֶם, "Do not covet the silver and gold upon them"). Similarly, תַּאֲוָה consistently indicates inappropriate longing: "And the mixed multitude that was among them had a craving (הִתְאַוּוּ תַאֲוָה, hit'avu ta'ava)" (Bamidbar 11:4); "You shall not eat it, so that it may be well with you" (Devarim 12:20, concerning תַּאֲוַת נַפְשְׁךָ, "the desire of your soul"). ​

Eve's description thus employs the Torah's vocabulary of prohibition. Her added warning—וְלֹא תִגְּעוּ בּוֹ (velo tig'u bo), "nor touch it"—reflects this semantic field: the tree is contraband, untouchable, forbidden (Bereishit 3:3). Ironically, her perception of the tree as תַּאֲוָה (ta'ava), "desire," generates the very desire that overrides her knowledge of prohibition. The תַּאֲוָה proves stronger than the מִצְוָה (mitzvah). ​

Yet she perceives only טוֹב (tov, good), never רָע (ra, evil). The tree bears the name עֵץ הַדַּעַת טוֹב וָרָע (Etz HaDaat Tov VaRa), Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, yet her vision registers exclusively its beneficial qualities—palatability, beauty, wisdom (Bereishit 3:6). This selective perception itself constitutes a form of knowledge impairment: she cannot perceive רָע until she acquires דַּעַת טוֹב וָרָע by consuming the tree. The paradox is complete: to know that the tree is evil, she must eat from it; but to eat from it, she must not know it is evil

The interpretive confusion surrounding these two trees may not constitute exegetical failure but rather theological insight. The commentators' inability to definitively locate, distinguish, or even count the trees mirrors Eve's confusion, which mirrors the fundamental ambiguity introduced by דַּעַת טוֹב וָרָע itself. Before eating, Adam and Eve lacked moral knowledge—they could not distinguish good from evil, appropriate from inappropriate, permitted from forbidden. After eating, they possessed such knowledge but lost innocence, gaining the capacity for sin along with awareness of it.

The textual ambiguity reflects existential ambiguity. We read the narrative post-Eden, post-sin, possessing דַּעַת טוֹב וָרָעyet unable to clearly map Eden's geography or definitively identify which tree stood where. The confusion persists because we, like Eve, operate with incomplete information, transmitted imperfectly, subject to desire's distortion. Perhaps the Torah deliberately preserves this ambiguity, refusing to clarify what cannot be clarified: the boundary between innocence and knowledge, between nature and choice, between the Tree of Life we forfeited and the Tree of Knowledge we gained.

HaEmek Davar (Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin, the Netziv) emphasizes the natural quality of human mortality: "Man comes from the earth and returns to the earth" (HaEmek Davar on Bereishit 2:9). The Tree of Life, in his reading, functions almost supernaturally—not by altering human nature but by overriding it. "Even one who is unworthy—if he eats from the Tree of Life, behold he lives forever" (אֲפִילוּ אֵינוֹ רָאוּי לְכָךְ הֲרֵי הוּא חַי לְעוֹלָם, HaEmek Davar on Bereishit 2:9). This formulation suggests a tension: how can a tree grant immortality "against the will of God," as it were? The Divine decree states unequivocally, "You shall surely die" (מוֹת תָּמוּת, mot tamut), yet God Himself expresses concern: "Now, lest he stretch forth his hand and take also from the Tree of Life, and eat and live forever" (Bereishit 3:22). The apparent paradox demands resolution.

Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch offers a profound reinterpretation of death's decree. "The explanation seems to be: you will become liable for death; for in truth, they did not die on that day, but were sentenced to death as punishment for the transgression" (Rabbi S.R. Hirsch on Bereishit 2:17: פֵּרוּשׁוֹ כַּנִּרְאֶה תִּתְחַיֵּב בְּנַפְשְׁךָ שֶׁהֲרֵי לַאֲמִתּוֹ שֶׁל דָּבָר לֹא מֵתוּ בּוֹ בַיּוֹם אֶלָּא נִגְזַר עֲלֵיהֶם דִּין מָוֶת כְּעֹנֶשׁ עַל הָעֲבֵרָה). The decree בְּיוֹם אֲכָלְךָ מִמֶּנּוּ מוֹת תָּמוּת (beyom achalcha mimenu mot tamut), "on the day you eat from it you shall surely die," establishes juridical liability rather than immediate execution. Death entered as potential, not as instantaneous actuality. ​

Moreover, death remains a physiological enigma: "Death is a physiological riddle that has not been solved to this day" (Rabbi S.R. Hirsch on Bereishit 2:17). Hirsch suggests that full human repentance could abolish death entirely: "When humanity returns in complete repentance to Hashem, death too will be swallowed up from the earth (Yeshayahu 25:8). According to the sages, Israel was worthy of this already at the giving of the Torah—had they kept the Torah with all their heart" (citing Avodah Zarah 5a).

Yet Hirsch proposes an additional resolution: exile itself constitutes death in diminished form. "Exile is death in miniature(מָוֶת בְּזֵעִיר אַנְפִּין, mavet beze'ir anpin); for death itself is not annihilation but rather transition from this world. Thus, Adam's expulsion from Gan Eden is death in miniature, tempering the decree of death" (Rabbi S.R. Hirsch on Bereishit 2:17). Banishment from Eden—separation from the Divine Presence, loss of primal intimacy with God, exile into a realm where "by the sweat of your brow you shall eat bread" (Bereishit 3:19)—represents partial death, preliminary mortality. The decree was fulfilled immediately through expulsion; physical death would follow centuries later.

Rabbi David Zvi Hoffmann (Rav Hoffmann), addressing modernity's questions, rejects magical interpretations entirely. "Most contemporary commentators suggest that it was not from the nature of the tree—that the fruit of this tree brought about knowledge—but rather man's rebellion against what God commanded that brings about the knowledge of good and evil" (Rabbi David Zvi Hoffmann on Bereishit 2:17). The transformation occurred not through botanical chemistry but through moral choice.

Hoffmann's analysis proves critical: God commanded regarding a specific tree not because that tree possessed intrinsic properties distinguishing it from all others, but precisely to test obedience uncontaminated by natural consequences. "In the fact that Hashem placed upon man a command-warning immediately at the beginning of his activity, we recognize that man's primary purpose is to do the will of his Creator. Presumably, later God would have added additional commandments and obligations to man, but the intent was to educate man to his purpose first, and in the single commandment given to him he had to prove his level of obedience to Hashem. But why did Hashem forbid eating from this tree specifically? And what was the nature of this tree?" (Rabbi David Zvi Hoffmann on Bereishit 2:17).

Hoffmann's answer: "The tree became the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil only because of Hashem's warning and the transgression against this warning by man" (Rabbi David Zvi Hoffmann on Bereishit 2:17). The designation עֵץ הַדַּעַת טוֹב וָרָע (Etz HaDaat Tov VaRa) reflects prophetic naming—the tree is called by its ultimate function, not its inherent nature. Before the prohibition, it stood as ordinary as any other tree in Eden; the Divine decree transformed it into a locus of moral knowledge.​

The rebellion against God—not the fruit's consumption—generated דַּעַת טוֹב וָרָע (daat tov vara). By choosing to disobey, Adam and Eve entered a world where disobedience exists as possibility, where divine authority can be questioned, where human will asserts itself against divine will. This knowledge could not be acquired through any botanical means; it emerged solely through the act of transgression itself.

A parallel debate pervades halakhic literature concerning טִמְטוּם הַלֵּב (timtum halev), the "dulling of the heart" attributed to consuming non-kosher food. The Shulchan Aruch rules: "The milk of a non-Jewish woman is like the milk of a Jewish woman; nonetheless, an infant should not nurse from a non-Jewish woman if a Jewish woman is available, for the milk of a non-Jewish woman dulls the heart (חָלָב כּוּתִית מְטַמְטֵם הַלֵּב, chalav kutit metamtem halev)" (Shulchan Aruch, Yoreh De'ah 81:7, citing Rashba). The Gra (Vilna Gaon) comments: "Concerning this, Acher (Elisha ben Avuya) went astray" (Bi'ur HaGra, Yoreh De'ah 81:33, citing Yerushalmi Chagigah 2:1 and Tosafot Chagigah 15a).

The debate: does non-kosher food dull the soul intrinsically—through some inherent property of forbidden substances—or consequentially, as collateral damage resulting from sin? The Rashba appears to favor the intrinsic reading: the milk itself contains properties that spiritually harm. Others argue that טִמְטוּם הַלֵּב results from the act of transgression, not the substance consumed.

This debate directly parallels our question regarding the Tree of Knowledge. Did the fruit contain magical properties that imparted moral knowledge? Or did the knowledge emerge solely from the act of rebellion? The Chatam Sofer addressed this in a responsum concerning a Jewish child requiring treatment at a non-Jewish hospital where only non-kosher food would be available. After extensive analysis concluding that intellectual development constitutes פִּקּוּחַ נֶפֶשׁ (pikuach nefesh, saving life), the Chatam Sofer nonetheless advises against the treatment: "What value is there in restoring intellect if one destroys the soul simultaneously?" (Chatam Sofer, cited regarding טִמְטוּם הַלֵּב).

Yet for an infant incapable of sin, or for one eating non-kosher food under duress or medical necessity, the intrinsic theory proves problematic. If טִמְטוּם הַלֵּב derives from the substance itself, then even permissible consumption (for medical reasons) would spiritually harm. If it derives from transgression, then permissible consumption causes no harm.

Rabbi Hoffmann aligns with the consequential position: the tree's designation as עֵץ הַדַּעַת טוֹב וָרָע derived not from inherent properties but from divine prohibition. Once God declared, "You shall not eat from it," the tree became the nexus where humanity could choose obedience or rebellion. The choice itself—not botanical chemistry—generated knowledge.

This interpretive framework illuminates Rav Saadia Gaon's critical insight preserved by Rabbi Chaim Paltiel: the Tree of Life functioned exclusively as antidote, effective only after transgression (Rabbi Chaim Paltiel on Bereishit 2:9, citing Rav Saadia Gaon). Had the tree possessed intrinsic magical properties conferring immortality irrespective of moral state, Adam logically should have consumed from it first, immunizing himself against the Tree of Knowledge's deadly decree. The strategic sequence—eat from the Tree of Life, gain immortality, then eat from the Tree of Knowledge without fatal consequences—presents itself as obvious.​

Yet God expressed no concern about this possibility until after the sin: וְעַתָּה פֶּן־יִשְׁלַח יָדוֹ וְלָקַח גַּם מֵעֵץ הַחַיִּים (ve'atah pen yishlach yado velakach gam mei'etz hachayim), "And now, lest he stretch forth his hand and take also from the Tree of Life" (Bereishit 3:22). The temporal marker וְעַתָּה (ve'atah, "and now") indicates a new possibility arising post-sin. Before transgression, the Tree of Life offered nothing; after transgression, it threatened to undo divine justice.

Rav Saadia's resolution: the Tree of Life constituted God's prepared remedy for sin, created before the sin occurred—"the antidote preceded the affliction" (תְּרוּפָה קָדְמָה לַמַּכָּה, teru'ah kadmah lamakah)—awaiting only Adam's repentance. Had Adam, confronted by God, acknowledged his transgression with genuine contrition, God presumably would have offered fruit from the Tree of Life, restoring immortality through the Divine gift of forgiveness. The tree's efficacy depended not on chemistry but on context: specifically, the context of תְּשׁוּבָה (teshuvah, repentance).

Like a physician's remedy that benefits the ill but offers nothing to the healthy, the Tree of Life remained inert for one dwelling in innocence (Rabbi Chaim Paltiel on Bereishit 2:9). Only sin activated its restorative potential. Only repentance unlocked its healing power. ​

The tragedy of Eden lies not in the sin itself but in the failure to repent. When God confronted Adam—"Have you eaten from the tree from which I commanded you not to eat?" (Bereishit 3:11)—Adam deflected: "The woman whom You gave to be with me, she gave me from the tree and I ate" (Bereishit 3:12). When God confronted Eve—"What is this you have done?" (Bereishit 3:13)—Eve deflected: "The serpent deceived me and I ate" (Bereishit 3:13). Neither accepted responsibility. Neither demonstrated חֲרָטָה (charatah, remorse) or sought כַּפָּרָה (kaparah, atonement).

Had Adam said, "I have sinned; I am profoundly sorry; I erred grievously"—had Eve said, "We have done wrong; we seek Your forgiveness"—the Tree of Life stood ready. God created humanity with the capacity to sin and simultaneously provided the means of repair, immediate and accessible. The Tree of Life embodied God's preparedness to forgive, His readiness to restore, His desire that humanity choose repentance over exile.

But without repentance, the Tree of Life becomes inaccessible—not because it possesses magical properties God cannot control, but because it functions within a covenantal framework requiring human response. God will not force forgiveness upon the unrepentant. He will not restore immortality to those who refuse to acknowledge their need for restoration. The Tree of Life works only in דֶּרֶךְ תְּשׁוּבָה (derech teshuvah), the path of repentance, not in דֶּרֶךְ מֶרִי (derech meri), the path of rebellion.

Rabbi Hirsch's formulation—that exile constitutes death in diminished form—resonates profoundly. When God expels Adam and Eve from Eden, He stations cherubim with a flaming sword to guard דֶּרֶךְ עֵץ הַחַיִּים (derech etz hachayim), "the way to the Tree of Life" (Bereishit 3:24). The tree itself remains; access alone is barred. The path to the Tree of Life—the path of repentance, the way back to intimacy with God—stands blocked until humanity collectively merits return.

Yet Jewish tradition identifies another Tree of Life: עֵץ חַיִּים הִיא לַמַּחֲזִיקִים בָּהּ (etz chayim hi lamachazikim bah), "It is a Tree of Life for those who grasp it" (Mishlei 3:18)—referring to Torah. The Torah becomes the accessible Tree of Life in exile, granting spiritual immortality while physical immortality remains deferred until the ultimate redemption. Through Torah study and observance, humanity regains partial access to what was lost in Eden, cultivating eternal life through intellectual and spiritual perfection even while dwelling in the realm of mortality. ​

The command לְעָבְדָהּ וּלְשָׁמְרָהּ (la'ovdah uleshomrah), "to work it and to guard it" (Bereishit 2:15), given initially regarding Gan Eden, applies now to Torah: עֲבוֹדָה (avodah, service) through mitzvot, שְׁמִירָה (shemirah, guarding) through careful observance. We remain, in this sense, servants of Eden in exile, preparing for return through faithfulness to the covenant.

Contemporary events grant profound clarity. The distinction between righteousness and evil, between those who sanctify life and those who profane it, between divine purpose and demonic impulse, manifests with unmistakable lucidity. Survivors throughout Jewish history—following pogroms, massacres, exiles, and destructions—made the conscious decision to continue, to rebuild, to transmit Torah to the next generation. We are descendants of survivors, inheritors of their courage, custodians of their commitment.

The confusion surrounding the two trees in Eden—their location, their properties, their relationship—mirrors the existential confusion humanity has endured since gaining דַּעַת טוֹב וָרָע (daat tov vara), knowledge of good and evil. We live between past and future, between memory and hope, between exile and redemption. The Tree of Knowledge brought confusion, mortality, exile; the Tree of Life promises clarity, immortality, return.

Torah study itself—engagement with עֵץ חַיִּים (etz chayim) in our age—provides respite from turmoil, offering hours of calm amidst chaos, anchoring us in eternal truth while temporal crises swirl. The commandment לְעָבְדָהּ וּלְשָׁמְרָהּ(la'ovdah uleshomrah) remains our mandate: to serve God's purpose through Torah observance, to guard the covenant through faithful transmission, to work toward the day when access to the original Tree of Life will be restored and death will be swallowed up forever.

May we merit to fulfill לְעָבְדָהּ וּלְשָׁמְרָהּ, to work it and guard it, until עֵץ חַיִּים הִיא לַמַּחֲזִיקִים בָּהּ (etz chayim hi lamachazikim bah)—the Tree of Life accessible to all who grasp it—is fully realized in the world to come.