Testament of Abraham Reader

When the time came for Abraham to leave this world, God didn't send just any messenger. He summoned the Angel of Death himself. But God, in His infinite compassion, knew that Abraham, a man of unwavering faith and kindness, deserved a peaceful transition. So, God instructed the Angel of Death to "hide your ferocity, cover your decay, and put on your youthful beauty… take him with soft speech." (Tree of Souls, Schwartz, Myths of Isaac 345).

The scene: Abraham is sitting at the entrance to his tent in Mamre, when a sweet odor wafts towards him. He looks up and sees the Angel of Death approaching, not as a terrifying specter, but in "great glory," radiant and beautiful.

The Angel of Death kneels before Abraham, saying, "Most righteous Abraham, I am the bitter cup of death." Abraham, however, is taken aback. "No," he replies, "you have the glory and beauty of an angel." The Angel insists, "I am telling you the truth. I have come for your holy soul."

Abraham, as you might expect, wasn't quite ready to go. He refuses, going into his house, with the Angel of Death following close behind. The Angel declares, "I will not depart until I take your spirit."

Now, Abraham, ever the negotiator, makes a request: "I beg you, heed me and show me your ferocity." The Angel of Death hesitates. "You could not bear to behold it, righteous Abraham." But Abraham, confident in his connection to the Divine, insists, "Yes, I can, because the power of God is with me."

And so, the Angel of Death transforms. He sheds his youthful beauty and dons his "robe of tyranny," becoming gloomy and ferocious. He reveals to Abraham "seven fiery heads of dragons and other faces, most horrible, each one fiercer than the other, including the face of a lion, the face of a homed serpent, and that of a cobra." (Tree of Souls, Schwartz, Myths of Isaac 345). Can you picture the sheer terror of such a sight?

Overwhelmed, Abraham pleads, "I beg you, Death, hide your ferocity and put on the form of youthful beauty that you had before." The Angel of Death complies, and Abraham retreats to his room, lying down to rest.

The Angel of Death then approaches him with a final, deceptive gesture: "Come, kiss my right hand, and may life and strength come to you." But this was a ruse. When Abraham kissed the Angel's hand, his soul cleaved to it, drawn from his body.

But even in this moment of transition, there's a sense of grace. The angel Michael, accompanied by a multitude of angels, appears. They gently carry Abraham's precious soul away, cradled in "divinely woven linen." (Tree of Souls, Schwartz, Myths of Isaac 345).

What does this story tell us? Perhaps it's about the inevitability of death, even for the most righteous among us. Or maybe it's about the importance of facing our mortality with courage, knowing that even in death, there can be beauty and peace. It certainly highlights Abraham's unique relationship with God, allowing him to even briefly glimpse the true face of death itself. And ultimately, it reminds us that even in the face of loss, there is always the promise of divine comfort and eternal life.

One particularly striking tale, found in Tree of Souls by Howard Schwartz, tells of a dream that Isaac, son of Abraham, experienced. This wasn't just any dream; it was a celestial vision, a premonition of loss, and a glimpse into the very nature of life and death.

It's the third hour of the night, deep in slumber. Suddenly, Isaac awakens, jolted from his sleep. He leaps from his bed and races to his parents' room. He cries out, "Father, open the door so that I may come in!" Abraham, roused by the commotion, opens the door, and Isaac rushes in, embracing his father, weeping loudly.

"Come here, son," Abraham says, his voice filled with concern. "Tell me the truth. What did you see that caused you to run to us in this way?"

Then Isaac recounts his dream. He saw the sun and moon above his head, radiating light and warmth, surrounding him with their rays. But then, the heavens opened, and a luminous figure descended – a "Light-Man," shining brighter than seven suns. This Light-Man took the sun from above Isaac's head and ascended back into the heavens.

Can you feel the weight of that image? The sun, a symbol of life and vitality, snatched away. But the dream continues. The Light-Man returns and takes the moon as well, leaving Isaac in profound sorrow. He pleads with the figure: "Have mercy on me. Take not my glory from me. If you take the sun from me, at least leave me the moon."

But the Light-Man responds, "The King on high has sent me to bring them there." And with that, the moon is gone, though the dream notes that the rays of light that shone upon Isaac remained.

Abraham, hearing this, immediately understands. "The Lord has sent an angel of God to take my soul," he declares.

What are we to make of this dream? In the commentary, it’s noted that God sends Isaac this dream as a warning of Abraham's impending death. The sun and moon are identified as Abraham and Sarah, Isaac's parents. This symbolism echoes Joseph's dream in (Genesis 37:9-10), where the sun, moon, and stars represent his father, mother, and brothers, respectively. Note how Jacob immediately understood the symbolism.

But there's more to it than just symbolism. The figure of the Light-Man is fascinating. As the commentary points out, this figure appears in ancient mystical texts. He's also closely linked to the angelic figure known as Light-Adam.

The story also connects to a broader theme in Jewish tradition: the resistance to death. The commentary mentions The Testament of Abraham, a text that recounts Abraham's struggle to accept his own mortality when the Angel of Death comes for him. We see similar resistance in midrashic (rabbinic interpretive commentary) legends about Moses. These patriarchs, these foundational figures, are not passive in the face of death. They fight, they plead, they cling to life.

And what about those remaining rays of light in Isaac's dream? The commentary suggests they represent the glory left behind – Abraham's covenant with God. Even in death, Abraham's legacy, his connection to the divine, continues to shine.

This dream of Isaac is more than just a story about death; it's a story about legacy, about the enduring power of connection, and about the profound mystery of the divine. It's a reminder that even in the face of loss, something remains. The light, however diminished, still shines on.

The figure of the Light-Man also brings up another point: how Jewish tradition incorporates and transforms ancient concepts. The presence of similar luminous figures across Jewish mystical literature suggests a rich tradition of angelic and divine imagery that enriches the tradition of Jewish thought.

So, the next time you have a vivid dream, consider its deeper meaning. Could it be a message from beyond? A glimpse into the unseen world? As this story of Isaac reminds us, dreams can be powerful messengers, revealing truths about ourselves, our relationships, and the nature of existence itself.

Testament of Abraham turns to The Enthronement Of Adam.

One such idea, found in The Testament of Abraham (chapters 10-11), paints a breathtaking picture. The archangel Michael, no less, whisks Abraham away on a celestial chariot – a chariot pulled by cherubim, soaring above the earth. Abraham sees the whole world spread out below him, witnessing the cycle of life: births, weddings, even funerals.

Then, the chariot reaches the gates of heaven. And Abraham sees two paths: one wide, one narrow. Many souls are herded through the wide gate by angels, while only a few are led through the narrow one. Outside these gates sits a figure on a golden throne, radiating glory.

Who is this majestic being? Abraham, understandably, is curious. He asks Michael, who reveals that it is none other than Adam, the first human. Adam, enthroned in heaven!

But why? What's he doing there? According to this tradition, Adam observes the fate of all who live on Earth, because, after all, they are all his descendants. When he sees souls entering the gate of the righteous – the gate that leads to eternal life – he rejoices. But when he sees souls being driven through the gate of sinners, the gate of destruction, he is overcome with grief. He throws himself down and weeps.

Think about the weight of that image. Adam, the father of humanity, eternally connected to the destinies of his children. The Testament of Abraham presents him not just as the first man, but as a figure of immense responsibility, deeply invested in the fate of every single soul.

This isn't the only tradition that elevates Adam to a divine-like status. Some myths, like those discussed in Tree of Souls by Howard Schwartz, portray him as a giant, reaching from earth to heaven, or as an enormous golem – an animated being – asleep in paradise. These stories point to an ancient impulse to see Adam not just as human, but as something more, something closer to the divine.

Why this elevation of Adam? Some scholars see this as evidence of early Jewish mystical speculation, which often appears in texts like the Pseudepigrapha. The idea is that Adam, as the first human, shares in God's rule and concern for the world. He’s not just a passive figure in the story of creation, but an active participant in the ongoing drama of human existence. He is a judge, a mourner, and a celebrant, all at once.

So, the next time you think of Adam, remember this image: Adam, seated on his golden throne, watching over us all, feeling our joys and sorrows as if they were his own. It’s a powerful reminder of our shared humanity, and the enduring legacy of the first human.