Genesis 1, 2 Ruaḥ – The Spirit of God is feminine
Of course, God is beyond our gender distinctions. However, the multiplicity of our words and realities is perhaps there to bring us a little closer to him. So, if we consider God to be Father, it’s because we want to affirm that he had the initiative in the creative act; but if we speak of his spirit, of the way he loves us, we are obliged to take the image of maternal love, a love that cannot separate itself from the fruit of its womb. It is an attachment and a deep communion between the mother and the child she carries. In this way, God is inseparably linked to humanity, nourishing it with his life and preparing it for a new birth. We can also think, imagine, that the whole universe rests in the arms of God, who gives it life, who cherishes it. “Beloved, even now we are children of God, but what we will be has not yet been manifested. We know that when it is manifested, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is.” (1 John 3, 2)
Let’s see how the Bible’s prophetic words are expressed in the second verse of Genesis:
:וְהָאָרֶץ, הָיְתָה תֹהוּ וָבֹהוּ, וְחֹשֶׁךְ, עַל-פְּנֵי תְהוֹם; וְרוּחַ אֱלֹהִים, מְרַחֶפֶת עַל-פְּנֵי הַמָּיִם
The earth was tohu va vohu, darkness was over the deep and the Spirit (רוּחַ ruaḥ) of God hovering (מְרַחֶפֶת meraḥefet) over the waters.
The Hebrew word ruaḥ, which can be translated as Spirit, breath, wind, is in Hebrew of the feminine gender. And we see right away that the participle “hovering”, presents in Hebrew the feminine form מְרַחֶפֶת (meraḥefet). This verbal root, רחף (raḥaf), is almost an onomatopoeia in which we hear the rustle of wings or the breath of wind. It evokes the quivering of an eagle’s wings as it hovers over its brood, as says Deuteronomy 32:11 using the same verb to describe a light, delicate movement:
ּּכְּנֶ֨שֶׁר֙ יָעִ֣יר קִנֹּ֔ו עַל-גֹּוזָלָ֖יו יְרַחֵ֑ף יִפְרֹ֤שׂ כְּנָפָיו֙ יִקָּחֵ֔הו יִשָּׂאֵ֖הו עַל-אֶבְרָתֹֽו׃
Like an eagle awakening its nest and hovering above its brood, it spreads its wings, it picks it up, it carries it on its sturdy wings.
Here’s how the eagle’s tenderness towards its brood is described: the bird gently awakens its brood, hovering above the nest, with the quivering of its wings. Let’s take a look at the explanations of Rabbi Rashi (Rabbi Chlomo ben Itzhak HaTzarfati 1040-1105), whose commentaries often accompany Hebrew Bibles:
כנשר יעיר קנו. נִהֲגָם בְּרַחֲמִים וּבְחֶמְלָה, כַּנֶּשֶׁר הַזֶּה רַחֲמָנִי עַל בָּנָיו, וְאֵינוֹ נִכְנָס לְקִנּוֹ פִּתְאוֹם עַד שֶׁהוּא מְקַשְׁקֵשׁ וּמְטָרֵף עַל בָּנָיו בִּכְנָפָיו בֵּין אִילָןלְאִילָן, ַבֵּין שׁוֹכָה לַחֲבֶרְתָּהּ, כְּדֵי בָּנָיו וִיהֵא בָהֶם כֹּח לְקַבְּלוֹ
Like an eagle awakens its nest: He led them with mercy (רַחֲמִים raḥmim) and compassion (חֶמְלָה ḥemlah), like an eagle that is full of mercy for its children (רַחֲמָנִי עַל בָּנָיו raḥmany al banayw). He doesn’t return to his nest all of a sudden, so that his children wake up and have the strength to welcome him, he flaps and waves his wings from tree to tree and from branch to branch.
על גוזליו ירחף. אֵינוֹ מַכְבִּיד עַצְמוֹ עֲלֵיהֶם אֶלָּא מְחוֹפֵף – נוֹגֵעַ וְאֵינוֹ נוֹגֵעַ – תלמוד ירושלמי חגיגה ב׳
He hovers above his brood: he does not oppress them with his weight, but keeps lightly above them – he touches them and does not touch them (Talmud Ierushalmi, tractate Haguigah 2,1) …
In Exodus 19:4, too, God compares himself to an eagle that carries its young on its wings and rescues them from the pursuing army:
֙אַתֶּ֣ם רְאִיתֶ֔ם אֲשֶׁ֥ר עָשִׂ֖יתִי לְמִצְרָ֑יִם וָאֶשָּׂ֤א אֶתְכֶם עַל-כַּנְפֵ֣י נְשָׁרִ֔ים וָאָבִ֥א אֶתְכֶ֖ם אֵלָֽי׃
You have seen what I did to Egypt, how I carried you on eagles’ wings and led you to me
Even in our language, when we say that someone shelters us or takes us under their wing, we visualize a tender, affectionate gesture. We should also mention the related Aramaic root רפף (rafaf), whose intensive form (pilpel) is רִפְרֵף (rifref), which also evokes the rustling of spread wings. Indeed, it is the participle (םְרַפְרֵף merafref) of this root that is used to translate this verse in the exegetical commentary on Genesis called Midrash Rabba.
וְרוּחַ אֱלֹהִים מְנַשֶּׁבֶת אֵין כְּתִיב כָּאן אֶלָּא מְרַחֶפֶת, כָּעוֹף הַזֶּה שֶׁהוּא מְרַפְרֵף בִּכְנָפָיו וּכְנָפָיו נוֹגְעוֹת וְאֵינָן נוֹגְעוֹת
And the Spirit of God “breathed” (מְנַשֶּׁבֶת menashevet), this is not what is written here, but “hovered” (מְרַחֶפֶת meraḥefet) like a bird that moves its wings (מְרַפְרֵף merafref) and its wings touch and do not touch.
The word מְרַפְרֵף merafref sounds like an onomatopoeia and the rustle of wings in the air.
Let’s remember that the Gospel offers us the image of the dove to represent the Holy Spirit: “The Holy Spirit, in bodily form, like a dove, descended on Jesus, and there was a voice from heaven: ‘You are my beloved Son; in you I am well pleased'”. (Luke 3:22). Everything is expressed in this Gospel verse, the Father’s benevolence, his Spirit hovering, spreading its wings over Jesus, and his words telling us that he is the beloved, in him is all the Father’s joy. And Jesus, evoking the Father’s attitude towards his people, would even dare to say, addressing Jerusalem: “How often have I wanted to gather your children together as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings” (Luke 13:34). This genuine affection – which sees only the beauty of its little ones – is very feminine, like that of the mother who will never part with her own child, even if in the eyes of society he is a criminal. For her, even as an adult and guilty, he remains the fruit of her womb, the beloved child.
Above we have Rashi’s commentary on the attitude of the eagle approaching the nest: he led them with mercy (רַחֲמִים raḫmim) and compassion (חֶמְלָה ḥemlah), like an eagle that is full of mercy for its children (רַחֲמָנִי עַל בָּנָיו raḥmany al banayw). He also uses the biblical words (רַחֲמִים raḥmim) and compassion (חֶמְלָה ḥemlah), which tell us of the attachment of a mother who carries her children. The word raḥmim comes from reḥem, the maternal womb, the uterus, and the word ḥemlah from the root ḥamal to carry, which, in Arabic, is also used to mean the pregnant woman, who carries the baby, and is found in the Bible to mean compassion.
So we shouldn’t be surprised if, alongside paternal authority, the Bible immediately introduces God’s maternal affection. And we’ll find many other biblical passages, like the one in the book of Isaiah ch.49, verse 15: “Can a woman forget her infant, no longer have tenderness (מֵרַחֵם meraḥem) for the son of her womb? Though she forgets him, I will not forget you” or Psalm 27, verse 9: “My father and my mother forsake me; the Lord receives me.”
It’s true, this text also shows the fragility of the human analogy to which God submits. He speaks to us from our reality, our experience, which is also the place where our frailties are lived out; consequently, the example of a tyrannical father or a mother who abandons her child also risks compromising the image we have of God. However, God’s extreme trust in mankind makes him willing to take all risks. The freedom he leaves us to love or not to love could lead us to be a counter-example. But God’s view of his children is one that sees the beauty in them and knows the spirit that dwells in them, making them in his image and likeness. So, in the biblical expression, he will go even further, to the point of favoring, to define himself, this word (reḥem) that carries all humanity within it: that of the womb, the uterus, the maternal womb, the entrails, the place where the mystery that links the human being to life and to the mystery of his origin is lived out. Indeed, we find throughout the Bible the words רחם (reḥem uterus) and רחמים (raḥmym), as well as numerous derivatives (such as meraḥem, raḥum) of the root “raḥam“, which is omnipresent and tells us of God’s love for us, His attachment, His mercy. This word is also common in other Semitic languages and in particular in the Arabic of the Qur’an: “raḥmān” or also “raḥīm” . If we look at what this word means in these Semitic languages, we find an unambiguous meaning that designates the place where the child is carried, begotten, the womb, the maternal womb. So both the Bible and the Qur’an tell us of God’s love for us, His mercy, using the same word that evokes the mother who carries her child inside her, in her womb. Latin translates this root as “mercy” (misericordia) and “merciful” (misericors), which evoke the word heart (cor, cordis), but in Semitic languages the idea of attachment and compassion is linked to the word reḥem, womb, uterus. It’s this love that God has for us, he can’t separate himself from us, he’s the one who gives us life, we’re in him, there’s an umbilical cord between us and God, we’re linked. “Everything is from him, and through him, and for him” says Romans 11:36, and the liturgy never ceases to remind us of this. There is nothing outside God, nothing that does not subsist in him and through him, as the image of the Spirit hovering over all future creation shows us. The Spirit who gives life to all, embraces all, covers all with his wings.
The Jewish scholar André Chouraqui has suggested that we translate the omnipresent “God, the merciful” as “God, the matrix” (i.e., the womb, the uterus, from which creation receives life). By choosing precisely this unequivocal word to tell us about Him, we emphasize God’s attachment to His creatures. God cannot separate himself from us, no matter what we do, for it is he who keeps us alive at every moment, who draws us close to him with all his heart, who carries us in his bosom; we are in him.
The words, symbols and realities of the entire universe, with all its languages, are not enough to exhaust the mystery of God. The Bible makes ample use of them, but how many other traditions and languages are still trying to find their way to Him? Everyone seeks Him as a child seeks its mother. So how can we fail to marvel at the multiplicity of languages and images used by every creature to speak to us of Him, to speak to us of the mystery that infuses us with life and love, just as a mother fills her little one with love by holding him in her arms.
Here are the comments of Basil of Caesarea (Caesarea of Cappadocia, present-day Kayseri, 329 – 379) and Augustine (Thagaste, present-day Souk Ahras in Algeria, 354 – 430 in Hippo, present-day Annaba in Algeria) on the second verse of Genesis. They are also attentive to the translation of the word מְרַחֶפֶת meraḥefet, which refers to the Spirit of God (רוּחַ ruaḥ breath, spirit of feminine gender in Hebrew) and recall the Syriac tradition, a language close to Hebrew, which translates this word as “to warm”, “to incubate”, evoking the gesture of the bird standing over its brood, infusing the eggs with its warmth and vital energy.