At this point in the story, once Eve is created, she has the same powerful abilities as Lilith to create life; however, unlike Lilith, she has yet to discover this power. This is when they’re running around the Garden oblivious to their nakedness. And probably, God, with infinite wisdom, could foresee the perils of humanity, could speculate the tragedies and misfortune that would befall humans and that’s why he warned the couple to not eat from the Tree of Knowledge. But as we all know, Eve did and that apple revealed to her her gift, that woman is like God. She tells Adam to eat from the apple too. Perhaps she wanted to share the truth of their equal ability to create new life together. Perhaps she wanted to share how their act of creation was an act of collaboration. The fruit of knowledge, of truth, revealed to them both a power that held the possibilities for creating good and evil, like God.
But, here’s a part of this narrative that I believe is often overlooked. When
confronted by God of their transgression in eating the apple, Adam didn’t take
responsibility for his actions; he blamed Eve, saying she’d “seduced him.” This implies man’s free will is bound to woman, not the other way around. Could it be that in understanding the truth, in knowing that his role in creation was as a component, and not a source, his first reaction was to place blame on the female? Could it be that, since Adam could not directly confront God with his disappointment in the creation process he chose to punish the next best thing, woman?
So, when I’d said before that I’d had brief encounters with religion, it wasn’t
meant to imply that I’d not had spiritual experiences. Of those I’ve had plenty.
One such experience occurred soon after my mother-in-law, one of my closest friends, died of cancer in 2000. My husband and I had carried some of her ashes home to Portugal—to Praia de Arrifana—her favorite beach in the southwest with cliffs overlooking the Atlantic Ocean and near the picturesque village of Alejezur. During our stay in the capital city of Lisbon, before our journey to the southwest, I happened to find myself in a baker’s shop on a random sun-streaked cobblestone street. I stood hypnotized while a stout, olive-skinned woman with thick forearms anchored behind a counter of white marble made little marzipan apples. She formed these apples between her
fingertips, with each one no larger than an acorn.