In other words, she claimed to have fallen into Satan’s trap because she could not have known that someone who looked like a friend could in fact be the enemy of mankind, bent on its corruption and eventual destruction. It wasn’t my fault, not entirely, she seems to have told her grandchildren, I couldn’t have known that certain faces wear masks . . . And indeed, how could she have guessed that Satan was Satan and not a messenger of God?

A frightening tale. How can one ever be sure of the authenticity of any prophet claiming to transmit the divine word? How can one ever be certain that the friend is not an impostor? All human dialogue is ambiguous. If Good always had the appearance of good and Evil could always be recognized, life would be simpler indeed. But it isn’t simple. Not even in paradise.

How could Adam have suspected his wife of wishing his death? He believed in her and so had no thought of resisting, of stalling. Eve handed him the fruit and he bit into it. Immediately, without a question. He probably did not realize where the fruit had come from. Unlike Eve, Adam did not have the feeling of violating the supreme commandment. In his hand, in his mouth, the fruit was like any other. Only later did he understand his error: suddenly he was aware of his body, his nakedness, his own vulnerability. He felt lost, his home was broken, life was against him. How could he ever trust anyone again? His own wife had deceived him, perhaps even doomed him. Once he had bitten into the forbidden fruit, Adam turned into a tragic figure.

And man’s history could begin—at last.

• • •

The rest we know. The Bible tells us that the couple was chased from paradise. The Midrash, with lavish use of imagery, goes on to describe the events and their consequences in great detail. At first, these were merely physical: Adam’s body grew smaller and smaller. Then they became spiritual as well: he lost his powers over the animals. He no longer radiated light. Worse, for the first time he discovered the meaning of anguish and fear. Whereas before he had stood proudly erect as he listened to God, he now tried to escape His voice. Where are you? God asked him. And the celebrated Rebbe Shneur-Zalmen of Ladi comments: What? God didn’t know where Adam was hiding? No. This is a question God asks of every man, always: Where are you? What is your place in the world? What are you doing with your life . . . ? Still, the Midrash believes that Adam, shamed by his sin, was actually trying to hide. And God had to admonish him: Tell me, man, you who are hiding—do you really believe the house can hide from its builder?

Adam was no longer the same. He saw death everywhere. Objects, images, feelings, words, impulses—everything revolved around his obsession with death. The sun went down? A sign that my end is near, I shall lose consciousness in the dark. The sun is rising? Surely it will burn me. A stranger to the world and to himself, he no longer knew where to look, what signs to watch for. Who were his enemies, where were they lying in wait for him? Everywhere and within himself. He was afraid to make a move, to utter a word. Unknown forces beset and chained him down. He was convinced that it was written all over him: the beasts and animals he once had tamed now looked at him in a different way. With hate. As soon as they saw him, they fell silent. And when he listened to his own heart, he found it empty of joy and desire. Fear, black and biting fear, was his only companion. Expelled from paradise, he entered time.