Yidoni - Addendum I: Liminality

Introduction: Torah Prohibitions and the Severity of Ov and Yidoni

The Torah prohibits a range of occult practices: divination , soothsaying (מְעוֹנֵן), enchanting (מְנַחֵשׁ), consulting with spirits (שֹׁאֵל אוֹב), and inquiring of the dead (דֹּרֵשׁ אֶל־הַמֵּתִים), among others. These acts, often grouped together in texts like Leviticus 19:31 and Deuteronomy 18:10-11, reflect a broad rejection of attempts to access hidden knowledge or influence outcomes through supernatural means. Alongside these, the Torah addresses witchcraft (מְכַשֵּׁף), prescribing death for its practitioners (Exodus 22:17). Yet, within this framework, two practices stand apart, singled out for a harsher penalty—death by stoning: Ov (אֹב) and Yidoni (יִדְּעֹנִי).

Ov involves conjuring spirits, typically understood as communication with the dead, often through a medium. Yidoni entails seeking hidden knowledge, linked in tradition to the use of a bone from a creature called a Yadua. These descriptions emerge from sources like the Talmud (Sanhedrin 65b) and connect to the broader category of forbidden acts. But their punishment—stoning, as mandated in Leviticus 20:27—sets them apart from other practices, even those punishable by death. This distinction raises a question: Why are Ov and Yidoni deemed so severe? A further question follows: What relationship, if any, do these two practices share that might explain their unique status?

This addendum seeks to address these questions, grounding the inquiry in textual evidence and exploring parallels in ancient practices. It builds on the Yidoni thesis from the main article, examining what these prohibitions reveal about the Torah’s stance on the occult and its boundaries.

The Torah’s Emphasis on Separation and Certainty

The Torah presents a framework rooted in clear distinctions. It separates the holy from the profane, as seen in the laws of purity (Leviticus 11-15), and divides life from death, evident in its stringent rules on corpse impurity (Numbers 19:11-22). This principle extends to daily life—milk and meat do not mix (Exodus 23:19), nor do wool and linen (Deuteronomy 22:11). Male and female roles remain distinct (Deuteronomy 22:5), and the sacred time of Shabbat stands apart from the mundane week (Exodus 20:8-11). At its core, this system prioritizes certainty and order over ambiguity and flux.

This focus shapes the Torah’s response to questions of existence and authority. Disputes require resolution—through courts, priests, or divine command—leaving little room for unresolved gray areas (Deuteronomy 17:8-11). Submission to a singular, unmediated divine will defines its ethos, as exemplified in the direct revelation at Sinai (Exodus 19-20). Order prevails, not only in ritual but in the moral and cosmic structure it upholds. How, then, does this framework intersect with the prohibitions on Ov and Yidoni, singled out for stoning in Leviticus 20:27? This section introduces that tension, setting the stage to explore how these practices may challenge the Torah’s boundaries of certainty and separation.

Maimonides on Idolatry and the Desire to Control Fate

Maimonides (Rambam) in his Mishneh Torah (Hilchot Avodah Zarah 1:1-2) explains that idolatry began not as outright denial of God, but as an attempt to influence divine forces through intermediaries. Early idolaters believed that celestial bodies or spiritual entities had sway over the world, and by offering reverence to these intermediates, they could manipulate fate to their advantage. Over time, this practice devolved into full-fledged worship of the intermediaries themselves.

At its core, idolatry reflects a desire to exert control over the uncertainties of life. By engaging with forces perceived as liminal—neither entirely divine nor entirely mundane—idolaters sought to access hidden knowledge, secure blessings, or avert misfortune. This mindset stands in direct opposition to the Torah’s emphasis on submission to a singular, unknowable divine will. Instead of embracing the limitations of human understanding, idolatry seeks to exploit the gray spaces between known and unknown, attempting to force the hand of fate.

This framework of idolatry as an attempt to navigate and control the uncertain leads naturally into the discussion of liminality and the ways in which ancient cultures sought to harness it.

Merkulis and the Liminality of Chance

The Talmud (Sanhedrin 60b) describes a pagan practice tied to Merkulis: worshippers arrange three stones—two at the base, one atop them, resembling a rudimentary arch—and throw stones toward this structure. At first glance, this act appears peculiar, a ritual of scorn rather than devotion. Yet, its association with Mercury, the Roman god of journeys and luck, highlights a connection to liminality, a state of transition and uncertainty that ancient practices sought to navigate and control. This practice, often performed at crossroads, harnesses the interplay of ambiguous spaces, random outcomes, and the seams of the unknown.

Statue of Hermes
Originally there were Cairns, piles of stones

A crossroads marks a liminal space, a point where paths diverge and direction remains unchosen. Ancients associate Mercury—known as Hermes in Greek tradition—with such junctures, erecting statues or, in simpler form, these three-stone shrines to invoke his guidance. The act of throwing a stone introduces chance: it may fall to the right, or to the left. In statistical probabilities it's an even bet. This randomness serves a purpose. Practitioners interpret the stone’s landing as a sign—an answer from the liminal zone where certainty dissolves. If it falls right, one path beckons; if left, another. Here, a liminal space (the crossroads) aligns with a liminal act (the unpredictable toss), yielding influence over an unactualized state: the journey ahead.

This ritual exemplifies the ancient belief that liminality begets liminality. The ambiguous setting of the crossroads attracts Mercury’s favor, a deity of transitions himself, while the stone’s uncertain fall mirrors fate’s fluidity. Through this “calculus of chance,” worshippers seek to sculpt the unknown, turning a seam in reality into a tool for decision. The Torah, however, forbids such practices (Deuteronomy 18:10-11), grouping them among acts that defy its ordered boundaries—a contrast this addendum continues to explore.

Liminality in Jewish Texts: Demons, Doorways, and Beyond

Liminality generates liminality—a principle where one in-between state enables another, creating a network of influence in ancient thought. Demons exemplify this as liminal beings, neither fully physical nor entirely spiritual. The Mishnah (Pirkei Avot 5:6) situates their creation at twilight on the sixth day of Creation, a period suspended between day and Shabbat’s onset. This liminal moment of their origin corresponds to their ambiguous nature, allowing them to inhabit and act within other transitional or uncertain spaces.

Liminal doorway

The Talmud (Sotah 48a) reflects this dynamic, citing Job 18:9: “And disaster is prepared at his gate” (וּשְׁאִיָּ֖ה יֻכַּת־שָֽׁעַר). It interprets “disaster” as a demon haunting ruins and abandoned homes, striking first at the door. A doorway—neither inside nor outside—is inherently liminal, and its transitional quality attracts demons, whose in-between existence aligns with such spaces. This convergence, where liminal beings and liminal thresholds intersect, demonstrates how one form of ambiguity amplifies another, heightening the influence of liminal forces at the gate.

Sanhedrin 101a explores a similar pattern. It describes summoning demons to locate lost objects, linking their liminal nature to the unknown. A lost item resides in a “seam”—hidden yet not entirely gone—and demons, as in-between entities, bridge this gap. Here, liminal beings (demons) interact with liminal knowledge (the lost), reinforcing each other’s reach. Together, they echo practices like Merkulis, where liminal spaces (crossroads) and acts (stone-throwing) intertwined; with demons, liminal time, beings, and knowledge form a similar synergy.

This interplay extends to mental and sexual realms. Intoxication, for example, creates a liminal mental state between clarity and chaos, opening pathways to ambiguity in ritual contexts. Similarly, sex, as a union of male and female, represents a liminal act intensified in certain boundaries-breaking scenarios—such as human-animal unions or ritualistic excess. The male sexual organ underscores this liminality in three ways: it connects to the abstract realm of thought, shifting with intention; it bridges male and female in union; and it produces semen, the seed of life existing at the threshold of actualization.

The Talmud (Sanhedrin 105a) ties these characteristics to Bilaam, whose spellcasting exploits these liminal qualities with audacious transgression. One interpretation holds that Bilaam casts spells “with his penis” (be’emato), utilizing its ambiguous role in thought, union, and procreation as a tool to pierce the seams of reality. Another view asserts that he engaged in relations with his donkey (ba al atono), merging human and beast in a liminal act of boundary-breaking. Both methods capitalize on the penis’s multifaceted ambiguity: in one case, channeling intent and potential through its connection to thought and semen; in the other, merging with a liminal creature to amplify this transgressive force.

Bilaam’s practices transcend mere technique; his sorcery defies natural and moral order, thriving in the spaces outside sanctioned boundaries. Acts like coupling with a donkey, forbidden in Leviticus 18:23, or employing his organ in unsanctioned rites, embody this defiance. Through such transgressions, he magnifies his reach into the unknown, his power fueled by layers of liminality.

Passover: Apparent Liminality, Divine Order

The Passover narrative in Exodus 12 carries elements that, at first glance, resemble the liminal exploits of ancient practices. Midnight, the hour of the tenth plague (Exodus 12:29), hovers between days—a liminal time akin to twilight, suggesting a seam in existence. Doorposts, marked with blood (Exodus 12:22), stand as thresholds, neither fully inside nor out, echoing the gates and crossroads of pagan rites. The firstborn, targeted by the destroyer (Exodus 12:23), link generations—beings in a liminal state, neither past nor future alone. The splitting of the sea (Exodus 14:21) appears as a rift in matter, a tear in reality’s fabric hinting at manipulation of the unknown. These features seem to align with ancient efforts to harness liminal zones, as seen in Merkulis’ stone-throwing or Bilaam’s boundary-breaking sorcery.

A seam in reality?

Yet, this resemblance is superficial. While ancient practices sought to exploit liminal spaces for control, the Torah redefines these moments as expressions of divine will, emphasizing submission over manipulation. The Sages teach that God Himself passes through Egypt (Mechilta d’Rabbi Ishmael, Bo 12), acting directly without intermediaries—unlike idolatry’s reliance on lesser forms (Maimonides, Section 3). Midnight blazes like midday (Mechilta), its ambiguity dissolved by divine clarity. The blood on the doorposts demands submission to God’s command (Exodus 12:13), not control over fate. The sea parts by God’s will, not human craft, affirming certainty over chaos. Here, liminality exists, but it serves sovereignty, not manipulation.

Rabbi Chaim Vital, in Etz HaChaim (Chapter 42), presents Keter as an overlapping link between the infinite Ein Sof and the Sefirot, where Malchut above and Chochmah below converge with no gaps. This seamless unity, fully perfused with divine energy, contains all elements in harmony before their separation into Chesed and Gevurah. Prayer, repentance, and mitzvot elevate one to this state, where recognition of God’s oneness brings shefa—divine flow—not through exploiting seams, but through submission to His will. This reflects the Jewish understanding of liminality: not a crack to manipulate, but a moment of alignment with divine unity.

Ancient practices, from Merkulis’ calculus of chance to Bilaam’s transgressive spells, exploit liminality to control chaos. Passover’s apparent liminality—time, space, beings, matter—aligns instead with divine unity and certainty. True change stems from obedience, not from mastering the unknown through forms or intermediaries, a principle that contrasts sharply with the prohibitions ahead.

Ov and Yidoni: Liminality in Forbidden Forms

The Torah’s prohibitions on Ov (אֹב) and Yidoni (יִדְּעֹנִי) in Leviticus 20:27—punishable by stoning—center on their use of liminal states to manipulate fate, echoing pagan practices. Ov involves necromancy, conjuring spirits of the dead. The Talmud (Sanhedrin 65b) and Rashi describe it as a medium using a bone of the deceased—sometimes applied to the medium’s own sexual organ—as a representative form to access the liminal spirit realm. This realm, between life and death, mirrors the seams ancients sought to exploit, as with Merkulis’ stones or demons at thresholds (Sections 4-5). The bone, a physical link to the departed, becomes a device to pierce this gateway, granting knowledge or influence over the living world—a direct affront to the Torah’s separation of life and death (Numbers 19:11-22).

Yidoni, too, hinges on liminality, seeking hidden knowledge through a bone of a Yadua—a creature of ambiguous nature. Interpretations vary: some view it as a primate, human-like yet animal; others, the tethered Adnei Sadeh, blending animal and plant; or, per the main article’s thesis, the mandrake, human-to-plant—each a liminal hybrid. Like Ov’s necromancy, Yidoni employs a physical form—a relic of this blurred being—to control outcomes, aligning with idolatry’s impulse to bend fate through intermediaries (Maimonides, Section 3).

Both practices share a common thread: they use tangible intermediaries—bones of the dead, bones of the liminal—to manipulate the universe’s seams. Ov echoes pagan necromancy, accessing the spirit realm with a bone and sexual organ to master chaos; Yidoni mirrors rites leveraging ambiguous creatures to unveil secrets. This reliance on forms and devices to influence the uncertain explains their severity, setting them apart from other forbidden acts like witchcraft (Exodus 22:17). In contrast to Passover’s divine order, Ov and Yidoni embody the ancient drive to control, not submit—a violation of the Torah’s seamless unity.

Conclusion: Liminality and the Torah’s Vision of Unity

The concept of liminality, as explored through Ov, Yidoni, demons, and ancient practices, reveals a profound tension between the exploitation of uncertainty and the Torah’s vision of divine unity. Where pagan practices sought to manipulate liminal states—exploiting cracks in reality to gain control—the Torah frames such acts as violations of its ordered boundaries. Instead of encouraging the subversion of divine will, Jewish thought elevates submission and alignment with God’s sovereignty as the means to transformation and salvation.

From Passover’s redefinition of liminal elements as moments of divine revelation to the Lurianic understanding of prayer and mitzvot as tools to elevate existence to a state of pre-differentiation, the Torah’s approach transforms ambiguity into an opportunity for connection with the divine. By rejecting the use of intermediaries, devices, or rituals to exploit liminal spaces, the Torah emphasizes a seamless unity that governs all aspects of life and existence.

Ultimately, the prohibitions on Ov and Yidoni, with their severe punishments, underscore the Torah’s rejection of the human impulse to control fate through forbidden means. Instead, it points toward a higher path: submission to God’s will, recognition of His power over all, and the elevation of humanity within the framework of divine order. This perspective shifts the focus from the manipulation of liminality to its sanctification, reaffirming the Torah’s commitment to certainty, unity, and moral integrity.