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Abraham Walked Past the Tower of Babel and Cursed It

Abraham was there. He walked past the Babel construction site, watched the bricks go up, and cursed the project in God's name.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Construction Site Abraham Passed
  2. What the Tower Was Actually Built For
  3. The Last Act of Unified Humanity
  4. Abraham's Curse and the Stone That Bounced

The Construction Site Abraham Passed

The bricks were fired, not dried in the sun. That detail, preserved in the Book of Jubilees, made the tower project different from ordinary construction: the builders had developed the technology of the kiln, using asphalt from the sea as mortar, producing a material harder and more durable than anything that had come before. They were not building for their generation. They were building for permanence.

Abraham, son of Terah, was walking by. He saw the city and the tower going up together. He saw what was being made and why, because the plain text of Genesis explains the builders' intention: let us make a name for ourselves, lest we be scattered. Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer, the early medieval narrative midrash from Palestine, reads this intention as something more specific than civic pride. The tower was a theological project. The builders were making a statement about the adequacy of human power to secure human existence without reference to any power above them.

Abraham recognized this. He was a man who had, by that point, already rejected the theology of self-sufficiency that Nimrod embodied, who had already been thrown into the furnace for refusing to bow, who already understood that the builders were wrong about what would hold them together and wrong about what would prevent their scattering. He quoted, against the project, words that would later appear in a psalm: swallow up their speech, O Lord, divide their language.

They threw his words back at him like a stone against the ground. The construction continued.

What the Tower Was Actually Built For

The traditions around Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer read the tower project as a military and cosmological statement. One third of the builders, according to the midrash, wanted to ascend to heaven and wage war with God. Another third wanted to set up their idols there. Another third wanted to use the height to shoot arrows at heaven. The three factions were unified by the same logic: that human power, concentrated and organized and built up high enough, could meet the divine on its own terms.

The Last Act of Unified Humanity

The Book of Jubilees describes the brick-firing and mortar work as a kind of early industrialism, a collective ambition driving coordinated labor at a scale the world had not yet seen. The same language is applied in the Book of Jasher to the generations of Noah's sons spreading across the earth and dividing it into territories. The tower was the last act of unified humanity before that division became permanent, and it was also the act that made the division necessary.

Abraham's Curse and the Stone That Bounced

That Abraham's curse was ignored is part of the story's point. The words he spoke were true. They were even, in the verse he quoted, prophetic: the psalm would later be written by a man who had not yet been born. But the builders rejected him. The stone of his warning hit the ground and broke and scattered, which is exactly what the builders themselves would do when the confusion came.

There is a symmetry in this that the midrashic tradition finds meaningful. Abraham cursed the builders with division. The builders were divided. Abraham later prayed over Sodom with urgent compassion, trying to find ten righteous people to save the city. The city was destroyed. In both cases, Abraham engaged with the world's wickedness not through indifference but through direct address, and in both cases the outcome was already determined by something other than his words. His words were not useless. They were the record that someone had spoken truly before the end came.

AbrahamBabelTowerNimrodIdolatryMidrash AggadahPatriarchs
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From the tradition

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The texts this telling draws on, in full. Open a card to read inline, or expand it for a wider, quieter read.

Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer 24:8Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer

Abraham knew that feeling.

It's a story about communication, about hubris, and about the power of… well, of divine intervention, to put it mildly.

Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer, a fascinating early medieval Midrash (a collection of stories and interpretations of the Bible), gives us a vivid snapshot of Abraham's role in all of this. It says that Abraham, son of Terah, was walking by and saw everyone busy building the city and the tower. What did he do? He cursed them. In the name of his God. He wasn't happy about this project, not one bit. He even quoted what would later become (Psalm 55:10), asking God to "Swallow up, O Lord, divide their language."

Did they listen? Nope. Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer tells us they rejected his words "like a stone cast upon the ground." Ouch. It just goes to show you, sometimes even a prophet can have a hard time getting through.

But there's a twist. The text then poses a rhetorical question: "Is it not a fact that every choice and good stone is only put at the corner of a building?" It's a beautiful analogy. The builders rejected Abraham's words, but those words, that rejection, actually made him stronger, more important. As the text goes on to quote, "The stone which the builders rejected is become the head of the corner" (Ps. 118:22). This verse speaks to the idea that what is discarded or underestimated can become the most essential element. In this case, Abraham's rejected message laid the foundation for his later importance. How often do we dismiss ideas, people, or warnings, only to realize later that they were crucial?

The narrative then shifts to the divine response. Rabbi Simeon says that God, blessed be He, called to the seventy angels who surround the throne of His glory. He said to them, "Come, let us descend and let us confuse the seventy nations and the seventy languages."

Now, why seventy? That number pops up a lot in Jewish tradition. It often represents the totality of nations, a complete set. So, God isn’t just messing with one language; He's creating a whole spectrum of them.

This moment is a powerful reminder of divine authority and intervention. It also sets the stage for a world of diversity, where communication becomes both a bridge and a barrier. The unity of purpose that fueled the Tower of Babel project is shattered, replaced by a cacophony of voices.

What are we to make of this? Perhaps it's a reminder that unchecked ambition, a refusal to listen to dissenting voices, can lead to fragmentation. And maybe, just maybe, the stones we reject might hold the key to building something truly meaningful. It's a story that resonates even today, in a world still confronting the challenges of communication and understanding.

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Jasher 9Book of Jasher

It offers us a glimpse into Abraham's early life and the world around him. Remember, the Book of Jasher isn't considered sacred scripture in mainstream Judaism, but it's a rich source of legend and lore, offering a unique perspective.

So, what was going on? According to Jasher, Haran, Abraham's older brother, was starting a family. Haran was 39 when he married, and his wife bore him Lot, and daughters Milca and Sarai (who, of course, would later become Sarah). Jasher tells us Sarai was born when Haran was 42, which was the tenth year of Abraham’s life.

Where was our young Abraham during all this? Well, after his little run-in with King Nimrod (as we read in the previous chapter), Abraham and his mother and nurse emerged from their cave hiding place. The king and his court, it seems, had forgotten all about him.

The Book of Jasher then tells us that Abraham went to live with Noah and his son Shem. Yes, that Noah! He remained there for 39 years, learning about God and His ways. Imagine being mentored by Noah himself! No one knew where Abraham was, says the text, and he served Noah and Shem faithfully. This period was crucial, shaping his understanding of the divine.

But the world outside was in a spiritual freefall. Jasher paints a picture of widespread idolatry. People had forgotten the Lord and were worshipping gods of wood and stone – gods that couldn't speak, hear, or deliver. Even Terah, Abraham's own father, was a major idol merchant, having twelve large idols representing the twelve months of the year, to which he'd bring offerings monthly. As we find in Jasher, "Terah with all his household were then the first of those that served gods of wood and stone."

In a world steeped in idol worship, Abraham stood apart. The text emphasizes that almost no one knew the Lord, except for Noah, his family, and those under his counsel. And young Abraham, growing in wisdom and understanding, realized the futility of idol worship. The Book of Jasher says, "The Lord gave Abram an understanding heart, and he knew all the works of that generation were vain, and that all their gods were vain and were of no avail."

There's a beautiful passage describing Abraham's initial, almost scientific, search for God. He observes the sun, thinking it might be God, but then realizes it sets. He then looks to the moon and stars, wondering if they hold the answer. He understands that these celestial bodies are servants of a greater power. This resonates with similar stories found in the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), highlighting Abraham's intellectual and spiritual journey toward monotheism.

But the narrative doesn't end with Abraham’s spiritual awakening. The Book of Jasher then shifts to another well-known story: the Tower of Babel. King Nimrod, secure in his reign, united the people, who were all of one language and purpose.

Nimrod's princes and great men, including Phut, Mitzraim, Cush, and Canaan, conspired to build a city and a tower that would reach heaven. Their motivations were threefold, according to Jasher: some wanted to wage war against God, others wanted to place their own gods in heaven, and still others wanted to attack God with bows and spears! Bold, arrogant, and ultimately, doomed.

They gathered a massive workforce, about six hundred thousand men, and found a suitable valley in the land of Shinar. The construction was a major undertaking. The text emphasizes the sheer scale of the project, noting that it took a full year for materials to reach the builders at the top!

But their hubris angered God. The Book of Jasher vividly describes how God confused their languages. Imagine the chaos! One minute you're asking for mortar, the next you're being pelted with bricks because no one understands you. "And from that day following, they forgot each man his neighbor's tongue…and when the builder took from the hands of his neighbor lime or stone which he did not order, the builder would cast it away and throw it upon his neighbor, that he would die."

God then punished the builders according to their intentions. Those who wanted to serve other gods were transformed into apes and elephants (a rather… creative punishment!). Those who wanted to attack heaven were killed by their neighbors. And those who wanted to fight God were scattered across the earth.

The city was named Babel, meaning "confusion," because there God confounded the language of the whole earth. And the tower? A third was swallowed by the earth, a third was consumed by fire, and the remaining third stood as a evidence of their folly.

So, what does this all mean? Chapter 9 of the Book of Jasher gives us a richer, more detailed backdrop to the familiar stories of Abraham and the Tower of Babel. It highlights Abraham’s unique spiritual journey in a world consumed by idolatry and sets the stage for his pivotal role in the unfolding narrative of the Hebrew Bible. It also serves as a cautionary tale about the dangers of human arrogance and the futility of trying to challenge the divine. It’s a reminder that true understanding comes not from building towers to the heavens, but from seeking the one God with an open heart.

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Book of Jubilees 10:31Book of Jubilees

They're not messing around. The verse reads, "they began to build, and in the fourth week they made brick with fire, and the bricks served them for stone, and the clay with which they cemented them together was asphalt which cometh out of the sea, and out of the fountains of water in the land of Shinar." Shinar, of course, is the biblical name for the region of Mesopotamia, what readers often think of as the cradle of civilization.

What's so striking here is the ingenuity, the resourcefulness. They're not just slapping mud together; they're crafting bricks with fire, using asphalt as mortar – practically inventing concrete! It speaks to a kind of collective ambition, a unified purpose driving them forward. There’s a real sense of technological advancement, a kind of ancient industrial revolution underway.

Progress, it seems, has a shadow.

"And in the third week of this jubilee," the text continues, "the unclean demons began to lead astray the children of the sons of Noah; and to make to err and destroy them."

Unclean demons, you say? What are they doing in the narrative? Well, When humanity is unified, when they're reaching for the sky, what could be more disruptive than sowing seeds of discord? The Book of Jubilees suggests that these "unclean demons" are actively working to undermine humanity's potential, to lead them astray. It's a classic theme, isn't it? The idea that with great power comes great temptation, that ambition can be corrupted.

And then comes a pivotal moment, a divine observation: "And the Lord our God said unto us: 'Behold, they are one people, and (this) they begin to do, and now nothing will be withholden from them.'" "Nothing will be withholden from them." It’s a powerful statement, laden with both promise and a sense of foreboding. It acknowledges the incredible potential of a united humanity, but it also hints at the dangers that lie ahead. It's as if the divine is recognizing the awesome power humanity possesses when they work together.

But is that power inherently good? Or is it a double-edged sword?

The passage leaves us hanging, doesn't it? It raises questions about the nature of progress, the role of temptation, and the ultimate destiny of humankind. It's a reminder that even in our most ambitious endeavors, we must be mindful of the forces that seek to divide and corrupt us. And maybe, just maybe, it's a call to consider what we are building, and what kind of world we are creating, brick by fiery brick.

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