They say that on the seventh day He rested.

But somewhere along the line, He created the Garden of Eden.

Back in 1986, Irene Jacob created her Garden of Eden.

And today, more than two decades later, she's still not resting on her laurels.

She's growing them.

Irene and her husband, retired Rabbi Walter Jacob, are the botanical brains behind the Biblical Botanical Garden, a small sanctuary that grows, lavishly and lovingly, beside Rodef Shalom on Oakland's busy Fifth Avenue.

This oasis brims with plants, flowers and shrubs native to Israel or those mentioned in the Bible.

It's easy to figure out which is what -- the brown signs indicate plants with Biblical names; the white ones are those mentioned in the Bible and contain a Biblical verse.

This is not a mere site of all things green and flowering, but a setting that replicates ancient Israel with a waterfall, desert, a stream and the Jordan, meandering through the garden like Lake Kineret to the Dead Sea.

The Jacobs came up with the idea after they visited 1,400 gardens across the country and didn't find one "true" biblical garden. They planted the idea in the congregation's mind and received its blessing and financial backing.

For the past 22 years, the garden has lured visitors from near (Oakdale, Ohio, Monroeville, Canada) and far (Oklahoma, Hawaii, California, England). It is, Mrs. Jacob will tell me before leading me on a tour, the only such garden in the country, and it's open select days and hours through Sept. 15 (call 412-621-6566 for more information).

Nobody knows how many different temperate and tropical plants cover the third of an acre; even Mrs. Jacob doesn't have a number.

The main reason is because each season, plants come and go ... one or two or three will die and be replaced by another. Or maybe four. Or maybe six.

The numbers also change as the garden's theme changes; this year theme is "Land of Milk and Honey," a tribute to the 60th anniversary of Israel's independence.

There's a special portion crammed with flowers that are attractive to things bumble and busy; three wooden information boards buzz with trivia and historical facts. (Who knew that in its lifetime, a worker bee will only provide one-twelth of a teaspoon of honey?)

As Mrs. Jacob takes me along the garden path, I start counting: Wandering Jew, Joseph's Coat, Prayer Plant, Blessed Herb, Cedars of Lebanon, Castor Oil, Angel's Tears, Angel's Trumpet, Angel's Breath, Angel Wings, Papyrus, Moses in the Bulrushes ... but decide that stopping and smelling the Angel Face Roses and Egyptian Stars and bachelor buttons and snapdragons is more important.

Along the tour, we are greeted by Mama Duck and her six children in search of grub. Or perhaps grubs. They waddle off -- an illustration straight from "Make Way for Ducklings" -- when they realize Mrs. Jacob and I are empty-handed.

Mrs. Jacob is not too happy they are here; two years ago, another family of ducks made the garden their home. Hoping to scare them off, Mrs. Jacob bought a fake alligator head that still floats in the water lily pond. It worked then but not now.

"When do you think they will fly away?" she asks. "They make such a mess."

I tell her the ducks look so content they may never leave. It's only when I ask who gets to eat the fruits of her labor -- the grapes, the pomegranates, the lemons, the tomatoes, the chickpeas, the lettuce -- that I understand how she really feels about the feathery flock.

"Let [the fruit and vegetables] fall to the ground," she says as she deadheads a daylily. "Let the ducks eat."

The garden's "staff" consists of 35 volunteers and 10 docents, but no one is allowed to pinch and prune, water and weed except Mrs. Jacob and her husband, who was a rabbi at Rodef Shalom for 41 years.

They are the ones who dig out the tropical plants, such as the date palm and Jerusalem pine and lug them to the greenhouse above the temple's West View Cemetery, where the plants stay during the winter. And they are the ones who lug them back.

Mr. and Mrs. Jacob can be found early in the morning while most of us are asleep, caring for the garden the way a mother and father care for their children. "We are the only ones," Mrs. Jacob says, "who can tell the weeds from the rare plants."

I take a look at her hands and notice there is not a speck of dirt under any fingernail.

I point this out, and Mrs. Jacob smiles. I wait for an explanation, but as I again look around this land of milk and honey, I decide not to dig any further, knowing that, as they have done since the beginning of time, miracles grow.