3 Enoch Reader

What we see here is just a reflection of something far grander: the rainbow of the Shekhinah (the Divine Presence).

The Shekhinah, often translated as "Divine Presence," is the aspect of God that dwells among us, that's closest to creation. And the rainbow? (Genesis 9:13) tells us, "I have set My bow in the clouds." It's God's promise, a reminder of the covenant never to destroy the world by flood again.

The mystics take it even further. This earthly rainbow, they say, has a heavenly counterpart. A rainbow of the Shekhinah that arches above Aravot, the highest heaven. Can you picture it?

It doesn't stop there. Think about Ezekiel's famous vision (Ezekiel 1:28): "Like the appearance of the bow which shines in the clouds on a day of rain, such was the appearance of the surrounding radiance." That radiance, that celestial light, is intimately tied to the Merkavah, the Divine Chariot. We find that the clouds of the rainbow surround the very Throne of Glory itself! Above the arches of the rainbow, are the wheels of the Merkavah, known as the wheels of the Ophanim.

Now, here's where it gets really interesting. The rainbow itself, this incredible arc of divine light, rests upon the shoulders of an angel: Kerubiel, the Prince of the Cherubim.

Imagine this being. As we learn, for instance, in 3 Enoch, he's described in almost the same fiery terms as Metatron, another powerful angel. Kerubiel’s mouth is like a lamp of fire, his tongue a consuming fire, eyebrows like lightning, and eyes like sparks of brilliance. On his head sits a crown of holiness, engraved with God's Name. And between his shoulders? The rainbow of the Shekhinah. And the splendor of the Shekhinah shines on his face.

It's a powerful image, isn't it? This gigantic angel, holding the rainbow. The Zohar, that foundational text of Kabbalah, doesn't shy away from these kinds of vivid descriptions.

Why an angel holding the rainbow? Some say Kerubiel represents the sun. : rainbows often appear after the rain, when the sun breaks through the clouds. The rainbow resting on the angel's shoulders becomes a potent symbol of renewal and hope.

As Ginzberg retells it in Legends of the Jews and as we find in Midrash Rabbah, these images aren't just pretty stories. They’re attempts to grasp the ungraspable, to understand the Divine in ways that resonate with our human experience. They link the earthly and the heavenly, reminding us that even in the darkest of times, the light of the Shekhinah, the promise of the rainbow, is always there.

So, next time you see a rainbow, remember Kerubiel, the Prince of the Cherubim, and the rainbow of the Shekhinah. Remember the promise, the connection, and the ever-present Divine light shining through. What does the rainbow symbolize for you?

Four sages entered Paradise, and only Rabbi Akiva came out whole.

One of the most famous of these accounts involves four prominent sages who, according to the Talmud (Hagigah 14b), "entered Paradise" – a term that has come to mean engaging in mystical ascent. Of these four, only one, Rabbi Akiva, entered and left in peace. Others were scarred by the experience.

One of those others was Elisha ben Abuyah.

Elisha was no ordinary man. He was a renowned scholar, a brilliant mind. But his journey took a dark turn. The Talmud hints at his eventual heresy, calling him "Aher" – "the Other One." What went wrong?

Well, the story goes that Elisha ascended on high, seeking to gaze upon the Merkavah – the Divine Chariot, the very throne-chariot of God described in the Book of Ezekiel. Imagine the audacity, the sheer spiritual hunger it must have taken to attempt such a feat!

He made it far, too. According to the account in Tree of Souls (Howard Schwartz), he reached the door of the seventh palace – the highest level of Heaven. And there, he saw something that shattered his faith.

He came into the presence of the angel Metatron.

Now, Metatron is a fascinating figure in Jewish mysticism. Often described as the "lesser YHWH," he is one of the highest-ranking angels, the celestial scribe, the very voice of God. He's a powerful, awe-inspiring being.

But here's the thing: Elisha saw Metatron seated upon a high and lofty throne, wearing a crown. All the princes of the kingdom – the other angels – stood beside him, to his right and to his left. And from his throne, Metatron ruled over all the other heavenly beings.

This is where it all fell apart for Elisha. Why? Because in his eyes, this looked like two powers in Heaven! It smacked of duality, of a second divine being alongside God. This was a complete violation of the core Jewish principle of monotheism – the absolute oneness and uniqueness of God.

As we find in Legends of the Jews (Ginzberg), this vision led Elisha to declare, "There are two powers in Heaven!" This blasphemous thought, born of his mystical experience, led to his downfall, his becoming Aher, the heretic. He could not reconcile what he saw with his understanding of God.

Think about the weight of that moment. Imagine the internal struggle, the cognitive dissonance tearing him apart. He sought to understand the Divine, and the vision he received instead destroyed his belief.

It's a cautionary tale, isn't it? A reminder that even the most learned and devout can be led astray by their own interpretations, by their inability to reconcile the mysteries of the universe with the foundations of their faith. The journey to understand God is fraught with peril, and perhaps, some questions are best left unasked.

Anafiel isn't exactly a household name, even in circles that discuss angels. But, according to some ancient texts, this angel is a big deal. Tree of Souls tells us that Anafiel rules over all the other angels and stands guard at the entrances to the highest heaven, Aravot. Imagine the sheer presence this angel must have, because, as 3 Enoch 6:1 describes, when other angels behold him, they remove their crowns of glory and fall on their faces.

The Zohar 1:108b hints at Anafiel's immense glory, stating that his radiance covers the chambers of the upper heaven. It’s like the verse from (Habakkuk 3:3) made manifest: "His majesty covers the skies, His splendor fills the earth." Is Anafiel just a powerful figure, or something more?

Some traditions even claim that Anafiel is the "creator of the beginning" or even the "creator of the world." What does that even mean?: before time, before space, before… well, everything. Was Anafiel there, somehow instrumental in bringing it all into being? It’s mind-boggling! He also possesses the secrets of heaven, adding to his mystique and power.

Remember Enoch, the human who was taken up to heaven and transformed into the angel Metatron? According to Hekhalot (the heavenly palaces) Rabbati, it was Anafiel who was sent to bring Enoch into heaven for this incredible transformation. So, Anafiel is not only powerful but also plays a crucial role in elevating others.

But here's a twist, a bit of celestial drama. There's a story that when Elisha ben Abuyah, a controversial figure, ascended to heaven, Metatron didn’t rise from his throne. And who do you think was sent to deliver the punishment? Anafiel, who struck Metatron with sixty fiery lashes! (That's in 3 Enoch 18:19). Now, some might find this story problematic, but what it underscores is Anafiel's authority. To be able to discipline Metatron suggests a position of considerable power and seniority.

His official name is even more telling: Anafiel YHVH. As Tree of Souls points out, the high archangels often carry YHVH, the Tetragrammaton – the sacred four-letter name of God – as part of their names. This highlights their direct connection to the Divine.

So, why haven’t we heard more about Anafiel? Well, as the role of Metatron grew in importance within Jewish mystical traditions, Anafiel's faded somewhat. Today, the evidence for Anafiel's supreme role is mostly found in fragments of the Hekhalot and Merkavah (the Divine Chariot) literature – the ancient texts describing mystical ascents to heaven. It's like finding pieces of a forgotten mosaic, hinting at a grander picture.

It makes you wonder, doesn't it? How many other figures, stories, and perspectives have been lost or overshadowed throughout history? The story of Anafiel reminds us to keep digging, to keep asking questions, and to remember that even the most established narratives might have hidden depths and forgotten origins.

3 Enoch turns to The Keeper Of The Book Of Records.

So, what exactly does the Keeper of the Book of Records do? He’s the one who fetches the case, the container holding the Book of Records itself, and presents it before God. He breaks the seal, opens the case, takes out the book, and hands it over. A cosmic librarian of sorts, but with infinitely higher stakes.

Then, God gives the book to the heavenly scribes to read in the Great Court of Justice, located in the highest heaven, before the entire heavenly household. It's quite the production. You might be asking yourself, if Metatron is known as the heavenly scribe, then why does Radweriel hold this title? Well, it's important to remember that there are many ministering angels, each with their own specific role to play. And while Metatron might be the scribe, Radweriel is the keeper. The guardian. The one entrusted with the all-important task of safeguarding these records.

What are these records, you ask? Everything. Every deed, every word, every intention. Everything a person does is meticulously recorded in this book. And why? Because on Rosh ha-Shanah, the Jewish New Year, God reviews this record, weighing our good deeds against our bad. It's a time of intense introspection, a time to consider the past year and resolve to do better in the coming one. God uses this cosmic accounting to decide whether our lives should be renewed for another year. A decision that’s then sealed ten days later on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. The weight of our actions, meticulously recorded, influencing the divine decision about our fate. It’s a powerful image, isn’t it? It’s a reminder that even when we think no one is watching, our actions have consequences, both here on Earth and, perhaps, in realms beyond our understanding.

As we find in Midrash Rabbah, these ancient stories aren't just quaint tales. They’re profound reminders of our responsibility to live ethically, morally, and with intention. So, the next time you’re faced with a choice, remember Radweriel, the Keeper of the Book of Records. Remember that your actions are being recorded, not necessarily for judgment, but as a evidence of the life you're choosing to live. What story will your actions tell?

This one’s half fire, half ice. Quite the contrast. According to 3 Enoch 32:1, when God opens this extraordinary book, something incredible happens. Avenging angels are unleashed.

These aren't your fluffy, cherubic angels. These are serious messengers of divine judgment, and they go forth with God's own sword. A sword wielded by angels, commissioned by the Almighty. What does that look like?

The tradition tells us that the sword isn't just some ordinary weapon. Its splendor shines like lightning, piercing the entire world. Sparks and flashes fly from it, each one the size of stars! It’s an awe-inspiring, terrifying image. It echoes the words of (Deuteronomy 32:41): "When I whet My flashing blade."

What does it all mean?

The book of fire and ice is reminiscent of the Sefer Chayim and Sefer ha-Metim – the Books of Life and Death – that God opens on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. It’s all connected. The sword, in this context, becomes a powerful metaphor for the execution of God's judgments. It’s not just about punishment; it’s about the swift and absolute carrying out of divine will.

This imagery presents a stark portrayal of God. It's a view of a God who doesn't just decree judgment, but ensures that those judgments are acted upon immediately. It challenges our perceptions. We often confront the idea of divine justice, wondering why some things seem to go unpunished. This tradition reminds us that, in the grand cosmic scheme, justice – however fiery or icy – will be served.

It leaves you pondering, doesn't it? What kind of God do you envision? A God of mercy? A God of strict justice? Or perhaps, a God who embodies both, like the book of fire and ice, forever balancing these opposing forces.

Some of these images paint a picture of them continuing to fight for us, even from the next world.

One such story tells of the souls of the patriarchs – Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob – being raised from their graves and ascending into Paradise. Imagine the scene: these foundational figures, the very avot, fathers, of our people, standing before God Himself. It's a moment filled with both awe and, surprisingly, a fierce kind of advocacy.

What do they do when they get there? They pray. But not just any prayer. According to this tradition, they challenge God, almost pleading with Him. "Master of the Universe," they cry, "how long will You sit upon Your throne like a mourner, with Your right hand behind You, and not redeem Your sons and daughters and reveal Your kingdom in the world? How long will You have no pity upon Your children, who are made slaves among the nations of the world? Have You no pity?"

Can you feel the weight of their words? The raw emotion? They’re not just praying for abstract justice, but for their descendants, for us, suffering in exile. Pirkei de-Rabbi Eliezer, chapter 44, is one source for this incredible scene.

God's response, however, is…sobering. He essentially says, "Since these wicked ones have sinned and transgressed, how can I deliver them from among the nations of the world and reveal My kingdom?" Ouch.

The weight of that answer crushes the patriarchs. They begin to weep. Picture Abraham, the compassionate one; Isaac, the one who knew sacrifice; and Jacob, the striver, all weeping together. The image is devastating. Then God asks them, "Abraham, My beloved, Isaac My elect, Jacob, My firstborn, how can I save them at this time?" This comes from 3 Enoch, chapter 44, by the way.

At this point, Michael, the Prince of Israel, the angelic protector of our people, steps forward. And he doesn't mince words. With a loud, tormented voice, he cries out, "Why do You stand far off, O Lord?" This piercing question, a direct quote from (Psalm 10:1), cuts through the heavenly court.

What does it all mean? This myth, as Lawrence Kushner and Nehemia Polen would likely argue, isn’t just a story. It's a window into the ongoing dialogue between God and His people, a dialogue that continues even after death. The Zohar tells us that the souls of the righteous never truly leave us; they continue to advocate on our behalf.

This story, like others such as "The Pleading of the Fathers" (found elsewhere in Jewish lore) and "The Patriarchs Weep over the Destruction of the Temple," found in Midrash Rabbah, reveals a complex and sometimes challenging relationship. God loves us, but also holds us accountable. The patriarchs love us and plead for mercy. And the angels, like Michael, stand ready to defend us. It's a powerful reminder that we are not alone in our struggles. We are part of a chain, a legacy, that stretches back to the very beginnings of our people, and extends even into the heavenly realms.

So, the next time you feel lost or overwhelmed, remember the souls of the patriarchs. Remember their tears, their prayers, and their unwavering commitment to the Jewish people. And remember that even in the face of divine judgment, there are voices in heaven crying out for our redemption.

There is a place called the Place of the Stars, far more wondrous than any observatory.

A realm where the stars aren't just distant objects, but beings of fiery light, akin to angels. The Tree of Souls tells us they are gathered in this very special Place of the Stars, almost as if drawn to a powerful source.

The mystical text 3 Enoch, overflowing with descriptions of heavenly realms, offers us a peek. It recounts the story of Metatron, the Prince of the Presence – a powerful angelic figure – taking Rabbi Ishmael on a tour of heaven.

As they journeyed, Metatron showed Rabbi Ishmael the stars, glowing like fiery sparks clustered around the Merkavah (the Divine Chariot). The Merkavah (מֶרְכָּבָה) – the very Throne and Chariot of God Almighty. Can you picture it? The stars, drawn to the divine presence, circling the Throne.

Then, in a moment that’s both powerful and strangely tender, Metatron clapped his hands. According to 3 Enoch 46, the stars scattered, flying off with flaming wings from the four sides of God's Throne. And as they flew, Metatron, in his infinite wisdom, told Rabbi Ishmael the name of every single one. It echoes the verse from (Psalms 147:4): "He reckons the number of the stars; to each He gave its name." God, in His infinite knowing, had named them all.

Midrash Rabbah and Akedat Yitzhak 4 elaborate, telling us that all the stars in the firmament are counted by the angel Rahatiel. They are, after all, the handiwork of God. They come forth to be counted, to praise God with songs and hymns, fulfilling the verse from (Psalms 19:1): "The heavens declare the glory of God." The stars, these ancient lights, not just passively existing, but actively praising.

And the story doesn’t end there. There's a promise, a hope for the future. The tradition holds that in the time to come, God will create the stars anew. They will open their mouths and utter a song to the Lord. A new symphony of praise, filling the cosmos.

In this celestial myth, the stars are very much alive, animate beings. They are drawn to surround God's Throne, the Merkavah, and like the angels, their primary purpose is to praise God. This vision emphasizes that everything is ultimately under the control of heaven, a point underscored by Metatron's easy command over the stars.

Later Jewish thinkers, like Maimonides, would move away from this mythic view toward a more astrological understanding. But there's a certain magic in this earlier vision, isn't there?

So, the next time you gaze at the stars, remember the Place of the Stars. Remember the fiery beings, the angels of light, singing their ancient song. And perhaps, just perhaps, you'll hear a faint echo of their praise.