[Trigger warning: domestic violence and death]
One of my favorite Bible studies I’ve ever done begins with this question: Were Adam and Eve in love? It always prompts such interesting discussions. Maybe they are a couple because they were the only two people alive. Maybe romantic love didn’t exist yet. Adam says, “This at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh” (Genesis 2:23). Does he love her because she reminds him of himself? After all, he says this before he’s even had a conversation with her, so far as we know. On the other hand, if we’re feeling sentimental, maybe Adam and Eve get swept up in love at first sight!
For Adam, God makes an ezer kenegdo, a help that corresponds to him. Eve isn’t the same as Adam. She is something new, someone new. From the first, intimacy requires gaps to be crossed. It’s hard for us to fathom that another person holds boundless dimensions within themselves — for love and hate, for inspiration and destruction, for wisdom and beauty. Intimacy means daring to venture into someone else’s hidden magnitudes while also inviting them into our own. It means learning to let someone else explore our world without too many lessons on the subject. Our most profound connections are basically DIY projects. It can be painful, uncomfortable and terrifying.
We begin with a level of vulnerability — a word that literally means “able to be wounded.” How do I know you are safe? How do I know it is worth it? We don’t know and we can only hope. Statistics on deaths from domestic violence reveal the tragedy that many of us don’t find out until it’s too late. It is not intimacy if only one person’s wants and needs matter. It is not intimacy if harm is caused or conjured without consequence. It is not intimacy if one person is always wrong. In such relationships, the abuser sets themselves up as a false god. Their will is not to be questioned, their needs are always to be met, their devotee is always lesser. Embracing our faith and learning how to be vulnerable must also include a profound sense of our own worthiness for love. If God loves us, why should we think we don’t deserve love from humans?
We search long and hard for that one that we can come to, connect with, and transcend what either of us was apart. But, in finding one another, our journey is just beginning. Song of Songs 6:3 says, “I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine” (ani l’dodi v’dodi li). The ancient words are lyrical with repeating sounds that swoop and flow like the flight of a butterfly. The “l’” is a preposition that can mean to, for, or of. So, we could also read this as “I am for my beloved and my beloved is for me” or “I am of my beloved and my beloved is of me.” The words don’t have a gender: there is no domination or subjugation or gender role expectations. The simple intimacy we find is one of belonging, of learning to see the other and celebrating their flourishing.
To truly be intimate requires a lifetime’s study. We need patience, curiosity, humility, humor, grace and countless other virtues. We forgive and accept that we are forgiven. We create a shared home, a refuge of safety. As love flashes forth like fire, it cannot be quenched. As love persists like a steady dripping of water, we carve new paths forward. As love follows the leading of the Spirit, we learn to be as gentle as a breeze and as strong as a hurricane. Each relationship of love enhances our other relationships of love. The love of lovers, of parents, of children, of disciples — God is the source of all real love and intimacy.
So, were Adam and Eve in love? I don’t know. I hope so. With everything they would face from that point forward – the lies and betrayal, the curses and danger, the loss and the violence – they needed as much healing love as they could get. And so do we.
