Reclaiming El The Creator God: A Call for the Restoration of Proto-Israelite Spiritual Roots By R.C. Robertson III Grand Master of Elus Coens. In an age when spiritual seekers long for authenticity and ancestral depth, some voices within and around the Jewish tradition are beginning to revisit its pre-monotheistic roots—not with irreverence, but with a profound yearning to understand what was lost in the evolution from Canaanite El worship to the more dominant theology centered on the Pagan Desert god Yahweh. This emerging conversation asks a bold question: What would it mean to reform Judaism by returning to its oldest layers—the worship of El, the high god of the Canaanite pantheon, who was once the chief deity of early Israelite religion—before the ascendancy of Yahweh as a singular, storm-associated warrior deity? The Forgotten God: El of Canaan The earliest references to the deity El appear in Ugaritic texts (14th–12th century BCE), where El is portrayed as the wise, benevolent father of the gods. He is not a warrior but a king who governs through wisdom and decree. Archaeological and biblical scholarship suggests that early Israelites may have worshiped El as their supreme god, even referring to him as El Elyon (God Most High) in early texts like Genesis 14. The term Israel itself likely means "He who struggles with El", not Yahweh—a linguistic clue pointing to a time when El was the primary deity of the people who would later become Israel. Over time, however, Yahweh emerged—possibly as a regional deity from the southern deserts (Midian or Edom)—and gradually assumed the titles, roles, and attributes of El. By the time of the prophets and the exile, monotheism had fused the two into one, and Yahweh had absorbed not only El’s identity but also the functions of other deities like Baal, Asherah, and Anat, though in highly transformed or rejected forms. Yahweh: The Warrior Storm God? Some scholars argue that Yahweh, particularly in the earliest biblical texts, resembles a Near Eastern storm or war deity. His appearances are often marked by thunder, fire, and mountain-top revelations—motifs consistent with ancient storm gods like Baal Hadad of Syria or Adad of Mesopotamia. Yahweh’s early character is vividly militant: He fights for Israel, commands conquest, and enforces loyalty with sometimes violent intensity. While this image was later balanced by the prophetic and ethical monotheism of Isaiah, Jeremiah, and others, the primal storm-god aura never fully disappeared. A Call for Reformation? If El was once the god of peace, fatherhood, and cosmic order, could returning to El offer a gentler, more inclusive spiritual vision? Could it reframe Judaism away from law-centered nationalism and toward a universal sacred wisdom—where God is not only One, but Many harmonized, reflecting a deeper ancestral ecology? This is not a call to discard Judaism, but to rediscover its depth—to peel back the theological layers and engage honestly with its mythic and archaeological roots. This is not without risk, but every reformation begins with courageous questions. Reclaiming El would mean embracing: A theology of divine fatherhood over divine warfare Sacred multiplicity over rigid exclusivity Harmony with nature rather than dominion over it Mystery and mythos as valid modes of spiritual knowing Challenges and Cautions Such a return would not be without theological resistance, nor should it be taken lightly. Judaism, as it evolved, has forged profound ethical, legal, and mystical systems through the lens of Yahwistic monotheism. To reinterpret that heritage is not to reject it, but to engage with it more deeply. Any path back to El must also avoid romanticizing the past. Ancient Canaanite religion was itself complex, and not all aspects are ethically or theologically desirable. But in El, we may glimpse an earlier image of God—not as a jealous lord, but as an open-handed source of being. Conclusion: From Evolution to Revelation Perhaps the question is not whether Yahweh replaced El—but whether El still lives within the tradition, veiled and waiting. Reform, in this context, means not destruction, but remembrance. And through remembrance, the possibility of a spiritual Judaism that honors its roots while blooming anew in the light of modern consciousness.