Ezer Kenegdo – A Force Against Him

Close your eyes for a moment and picture the sea. Calm waves rolling in rhythm, the soft sound of water gently breaking over the sand. Peaceful, steady, predictable. Now imagine that same sea on a stormy day — heavy waves crashing one over the other, the wind howling, maybe even rain. Can you see one wave heading not to the shore, but against the others — colliding, exploding in the air? Hold that image in your mind and open your eyes.

Let’s begin again — at Bereshit. The world is being created: light and darkness, stars, plants, animals, human beings. It is so good! But Bereshit is full of unique expressions and double stories — two accounts of creation, two creations of human beings, layers upon layers that make this text such fertile ground for study.

Among its special phrases, we find tohu va’vohu — which appears only once in the entire Torah, just before creation. JPS translates it as “unformed and void,” but others render it as “desolate”, “chaotic”, “deep darkness”. Ibn Ezra suggests it’s a repetition for emphasis — meaning whatever it was, it was intense, like the sea in a storm. So creation itself is the organisation of that chaos: sky and earth, water and dry land, each plant and creature in its place. And finally, the cherry on God’s cake — human beings.

But human beings are created twice. In Bereshit Aleph (Genesis 1), we read: “And God created humankind in the divine image… male and female God created them.” This is a progressive, egalitarian creation — all humans equal, all in the image of God, male and female alike. Then comes the second version, in Bereshit Bet (Genesis 2): “The Eternal God formed a human from the soil’s humus, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life.” God then decides: “It is not good for the human to be alone; I will make ezer kenegdo for him.”

God creates the animals, Adam names them, but none are ezer kenegdo. So God causes Adam to sleep, takes from his side, and fashions a woman. Adam exclaims: “This one, at last, is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh! She shall be called woman (isha), for from man (ish) she was taken.” This verse has often been misused — a field trip for misogynists, perhaps. “See? Woman comes from man, therefore she belongs to him!” As a woman, I have always struggled with this second creation.

And yet, this very verse also inspired the romantic ideal of the “perfect match” — two halves of one soul, fitting together like bone and flesh. The calm, organised sea: the couple who eat alike, dress alike, read the same books, listen to the same music. The rom-com couple. The Torah even continues: “Hence a man leaves his father and mother and clings to his wife, so that they become one flesh.” Happily ever after, right?

Well, not quite. Because what God actually wanted to create was ezer kenegdo. Another unique phrase. Ezer means “help” or “sustainer,” and kenegdo means “against him.” A help against him. This isn’t the calm sea. This is that one wave that runs against the others, creating a magnificent splash.

And that — says Torah — is what we should look for in a life partner: ezer kenegdo. As Rabbi Hajioff teaches: “Just as building muscle comes only through lifting resistance, so too your character can only be improved through emotional opposition — against your natural psychological, emotional, and even spiritual state.”

Marriage, in this sense, is the move from me to us — from what’s good for me, to what’s good for both. That only happens when we challenge each other, helping one another become our best selves. I remember when I first learned that ezer kenegdo means not someone who agrees with you or mirrors you, but someone who challenges you — who pushes you into difficult, transformative situations. Someone who helps you grow.

As rabbis, we hear so many love stories — and in the long, enduring ones, the secret is often not harmony, but ezer kenegdo: two forces that challenge, refine, and strengthen each other. Ramban, Moses ben Nachman, the great medieval commentator, wrote that at first God created one being with two sides — man and woman — and then separated them so that they could face one another, choose to join or separate. That, he says, is the meaning of “a helper opposite him” - ezer kenegdo. 

Or as Professor Gary Rendsburg teaches: “The role of the woman was not to serve the man, but to be his equal partner — his ‘opposite’ on the stage of human life.”

As much as we crave calm seas, real growth only happens when we face the waves — when we learn to sail in both calm and storm. Because when the storm comes, we must be at our strongest to make it safely to shore.

May we all find — and be — ezer kenegdo: a contrary force that helps one another grow in partnership, friendship, and respect. And may we sail together, through any sea, in peace.

Shabbat shalom