God Created Woman He Was Already Tired

“When God Created Woman — He Was Already Tired”

A morning dialogue between father and son — with a pinch of wisdom, love, and… a drop of coffee
By Daniel Ryberg


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For five days straight, God worked without rest, creating the sky, the earth, the seas, light, fish, birds, and every kind of beast… He was tired.
On the sixth day, He created Man.

> “The world would have been perfectly harmonious… had the hand that wrote it all stopped on the fifth day. But there was a sixth.”
— Paulo Coelho



Mornings get more beautiful… the earlier you wake up!
(Although most people believe this was a malicious myth invented by roosters.)

One of those early mornings, the father woke up — on his own, without an alarm clock (yes, miracles happen).
He craved coffee. Stepped out onto the balcony.
The aroma of morning coffee… it's not just a smell. It's an invitation to life.
Especially when you drink it with the sky and silence as company.

A few sips later — and the first rays of sun broke through the clouds, switching something on inside him.
Something between calm, gratitude, and a gentle floating of the soul.

And then — surprise!
His son stepped onto the balcony. With his own cup of coffee.
Sat down beside him. Sip. Smile.

— “You’re up early. Couldn’t sleep? Something on your mind?” the father asked.
— “Not sure… everything seems okay,” the son shrugged.
But his eyes gave him away.
The father squinted:
— “Hmm. Doesn’t quite look like it. Look at me.”
The son glanced over, half-reluctantly. With a smile — the kind that says, “Relax, Dad, everything’s under control… just not yours.”

Some fathers — not worse than mothers — can feel their children. Especially when they’re quiet.
And strangely, this shared coffee wasn’t just a coincidence.
It was part of a fatherly plan (one he discovered only in that moment).

They sat in silence for a while.
Then the son said:

— “Dad… explain this. Things with her are fine. We don’t fight, no broken plates (which is progress!). But inside, it always feels like… a struggle. She’s a good person. Really! But why is it like this? Is it just us?”

The father nodded.
— “To understand, you have to admit a mistake. And it’s not just yours. It’s a mistake of the times. Or rather — of gadgets.”

— “Wait… you’re blaming my phone?”

— “Almost. It gives you everything — instantly. Pictures, likes, answers. But it doesn’t give you time.
Time to pause. To reflect. To grow wise — the way we used to with our grandfathers, and now… with Google.”

The son smirked:
— “So Google is the new grandpa?”

— “Not quite. Google knows a lot — but feels very little.
And feelings… they live outside of time.
That’s why we’re brought back to the old books. Like the Torah.”

— “I want to understand, Dad. Let’s talk.”

— “Alright,” the father nodded.
— “In the first chapter of the Torah, it says: God created Man.
Male and female. One body, two faces. Two ‘I’s in unity.
Complete equality. Partnership.
But the equality was… too equal.
No spark. No growth. No ‘Oops, we misunderstood each other again!’
So God separated them.
First the man.
Then — from his rib — the woman.”

— “Why the rib?” the son wondered aloud.
— “Why not the shoulder — to be by his side? Or the head — to argue as equals?”

The father chuckled:
— “There’s a Midrash about that.
God didn’t make her from the eyes — so she wouldn’t see what she shouldn’t.
Not from the tongue — so she wouldn’t talk too much.
But from the rib — because it’s protected by the arm.
Symbol of modesty.
(Parenthetical note: this is the moment men should ask themselves why they don’t come with such anatomical safety features…)”

The son listened. Attentively.

— “Dad, do you really think that’s why it’s hard for us to understand each other?”

— “Not only that.
Look: the man is the sun. The woman — the moon.
The sun shines by itself. The moon reflects.
Different cycles. Different purposes.
The man — must. The woman — allows.
She’s not obligated to bear children. But without her — we would never become fathers.”

— “That’s deep,” the son muttered. “But still confusing.
Why does it feel like she’s not… on my side?”

— “Because she’s not supposed to be on your side.
She’s supposed to be on the side of truth.
That’s why she’s called a ‘helper opposite you.’
Not behind you. Not ahead.
Opposite — so you see what you’d otherwise miss.”

— “Sounds… dangerous,” the son smirked.

— “Uncomfortable — yes. But honest.
That’s why man is ‘ish’, from the word ‘esh’ — fire.
And woman — ‘isha’ — with the same root.
We both have fire inside.
But hers knows how to be warm, gentle, homely.
Ours? Tends to burn everything down — especially during arguments.”

The son laughed:
— “So we’re two flaming creatures who aren’t allowed to extinguish each other?”

— “Exactly.
But if you understand her — not with your head, but your heart — you’ll see:
It’s not a fight.
It’s a dance.
Where neither of you wins or loses —
You’re partners.
Like the sun and the moon.
Like inhale and exhale.
Like morning coffee — and silence beside it.”

The son was quiet. Then asked softly:

— “Dad… does happiness really exist?”

The father took his last sip of coffee and smiled:

— “Freud once said: ‘Making people happy wasn’t part of God’s plan.’
So, son… happiness isn’t something you get.
It’s something you build.
From little pieces — like a puzzle.
Morning. Coffee. Silence. A word. A friend across from you.
And everything else…
Well, you can try explaining that to your wife.
If she’s in the mood.”


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