After the Fall
In Adam’s fall, we sinned all.
In the new Adam’s rise, we shall all reach the skies.
— Henry David Thoreau
The First Fall
Perhaps no story in the Bible is more familiar—or more haunting—than the tale of Adam and Eve.
For many Christian thinkers, the “Fall of Man” marks an indelible stain on human nature, a wound that can only be healed through divine grace.
Judaism, by contrast, sees humanity not as broken, but as free — a creature pulled between good and evil, capable of choosing either.
“The Lord God formed the man from the dust of the earth” (Genesis 2:7). The Hebrew word for “formed,” vayyitzer, appears with two yods instead of one. The rabbis immediately noticed:
Rav Naḥman bar Rav Ḥisda explained: What is the meaning of the verse, ‘Then the Lord God formed [vayyitzer] man,’ where vayyitzer is written with a double yod? The double letter teaches that God created within a person two inclinations—one good and one evil.” (BT Berachot 61a)
Human beings, the Torah insists, are designed for struggle. We are made of both light and shadow, given the freedom to choose our path.
The Freedom to Choose
As Maimonides writes:
Free will belongs to every person. Anyone who wishes to follow the path of goodness and become righteous can do so; and anyone who chooses the path of evil can also do so. This is the meaning of the Torah’s statement (Genesis 3:22): ‘Behold, man has become like one of Us, knowing good and evil.’ Humanity alone has the power, through its own understanding and will, to discern good and evil and to act as it chooses. No one can stop a person from doing either good or bad.” (Laws of Repentance 5:1)
And yet, we know how complicated that freedom is.
After weeks of self-examination and prayer through Elul and Tishrei, we emerge from Yom Kippur and Sukkot filled with resolve — and yet aware of how fragile that resolve can be.
This year, our Simchat Torah celebrations were marked by both joy and heartbreak: the release of the last living hostages and the waiting for the bodies of the murdered to return home. And then, with all that emotional weight, we opened the Torah again — only to read of Adam and Eve’s failure.
After all that striving for repentance, we begin again with a fall.
“I Ate, and I Will Eat Again”
When God confronts Adam about eating from the Tree, Adam’s answer sounds almost defiant:
“The woman You put here with me gave me fruit from the tree, and I ate.” (Genesis 3:12)
But the Hebrew uses a surprising form of the verb: not ve’akhalti (“I ate”), but va’ochel — literally, “I eat,” or “I will eat.”
The Midrash seizes on this nuance:
“Rabbi Abba bar Kahana explained: The verse does not use ve’akhalti (‘I ate’) but va’ochel — implying, ‘I ate, and I would do it again.’” (Genesis Rabbah 19:12)
Was Adam truly brazen — declaring to God that he would sin again?
Or did the rabbis see something deeper?
The Kotzker’s Truth
Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, in his moving study of the Kotzker Rebbe, offers a more human reading.
The Kotzker, Rebbe Menachem Mendel of Kotzk (1787–1859), believed that truth is the highest religious value — and that one of life’s greatest dangers is lying to oneself.
My teacher, Rabbi David Ebner zt”l, used to put it more simply:
You’re not fooling anyone. You’re only fooling yourself.
According to Heschel, the Kotzker’s teacher, Rebbe Simcha Bunim of Peshischa, used to say he preferred “a sinner who knows he’s a sinner to a righteous man who believes he’s righteous.”
The honest sinner can grow; the self-satisfied tzaddik cannot.
As Kohelet teaches:
There is no righteous person on earth who does only good and never sins.” (Ecclesiastes 7:20)
To be human is to fail — and to know it.
Falling Honestly
So perhaps Adam’s words, “I ate, and I will eat again,” were not an act of defiance but of honesty. Confronted by God, Adam admits: I am weak. I will stumble again.
In the Kotzker’s reading, Adam is not rejecting repentance; he is confessing his humanity.
Maybe that’s exactly why the Torah begins anew with failure.
After the shofar blasts and white garments of Yom Kippur, after the joy of Sukkot and the dancing of Simchat Torah, we return to ordinary life — the emails, the errands, the disappointments.
We find ourselves again in the garden, again facing the fruit.
We fall, we rise, we fall again. As the proverb states, “for a righteous person falls seven times, and rises up again;” (Proverbs 24:16)
And God is still there — asking not for perfection, but for truth.
Beginning Again
Maybe the real message of the Garden is that every new beginning includes a fall. That the first step toward holiness is honesty.
That repentance isn’t about erasing failure but about recognizing it, naming it, and starting again.
May this year bring peace, healing, and the courage to begin again — honestly, and together.
Shana Tova.
