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Rabbi Akiva Entered Heaven Alive and Came Back Whole

Four rabbis entered the Pardes, the mystical orchard of divine secrets. One died. One went mad. One became a heretic. Only Akiva came back whole.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Warning Before the Door
  2. What the Orchard Was
  3. What Akiva Had That the Others Did Not
  4. The Daily Order of Heaven

The Warning Before the Door

Before they entered, Rabbi Akiva warned the others: when you arrive at the stones of pure marble, do not say water, water. Do not mistake the appearance for the substance. Do not cry out about something that is not there, because the verse says that the one who speaks falsehood shall not stand before God's eyes.

Four entered. Ben Azzai. Ben Zoma. Elisha ben Abuya. Rabbi Akiva.

The Talmud in Chagigah 14b, compiled in Babylonia in the fifth and sixth centuries, does not describe what they saw inside. It only records what happened to each of them on the way back. Ben Azzai gazed at the divine light and died. The verse applied to him: precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His pious ones. He was not punished. The light was simply too much. Ben Zoma gazed and was stricken, lost his mind. Even wisdom, consumed beyond a soul's capacity, destroys. Elisha ben Abuya saw something that convinced him the divine power was divided - that there were two authorities rather than one. He cut himself off from the tradition and spent the rest of his life as a man with no name worth keeping, called only Aher: the Other.

Rabbi Akiva entered in peace and departed in peace.

What the Orchard Was

Shir HaShirim Rabbah, the midrashic commentary on the Song of Songs, calls the Pardes a garden that was not really a garden - a mystical space where one could contemplate the deepest secrets of God, creation, and the Divine Chariot. The Hebrew word pardes means orchard or garden, but in this context it names the realm of esoteric knowledge that the tradition kept behind restricted access. Not everyone who studied Torah was invited to go this far. Not everyone who went this far survived the going.

What each man encountered, the tradition does not say directly. But the range of outcomes tells the shape of the space. It was wide enough that Ben Azzai, one of the greatest scholars of his generation, could look at it and die from it. Wide enough that Ben Zoma, whose depth of mind was proverbial, could look at it and lose his mind. Wide enough that Elisha ben Abuya, the most learned man of his age before his rupture, could look at it and conclude something that severed him from everything he had been.

And wide enough that Rabbi Akiva could walk through it and come home.

What Akiva Had That the Others Did Not

The tradition does not give a clean answer. Talmud Bavli states the outcome without explaining the mechanism. But the body of materials around Akiva's life points toward something specific: he had trained himself, across decades of catastrophe and joy, to hold beauty and destruction simultaneously without either one canceling the other out.

The story of the foxes appears in Talmud Bavli Makkot 24b. Four rabbis - Rabban Gamliel, Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah, Rabbi Yehoshua, and Rabbi Akiva - were walking away from the ruins of Jerusalem after the Temple's destruction. They reached the Temple Mount and saw a fox trotting out of the spot where the Holy of Holies had stood. Three of them wept. Rabbi Akiva laughed.

They turned on him. Why are you laughing?

He asked them why they were weeping. They said: this is the place where the Torah promised that unauthorized entry would bring death. Now foxes walk through it freely. How can we not weep?

Rabbi Akiva said: that is exactly why I am laughing. Isaiah's prophecy through Uriah about Zion becoming a plowed field was linked to Zechariah's prophecy about old men and children playing in Jerusalem's streets. Both prophecies were conditional on each other - if the destruction happened as foretold, the rebuilding was equally guaranteed. Now that I see the destruction, I know the rebuilding is coming. Now I can laugh.

The Daily Order of Heaven

Heikhalot Rabbati, a Merkavah mysticism text composed in Babylonia in the late antique or early medieval period, records Rabbi Akiva's own account of what he saw in the celestial realms. Every day, an angel takes its place in the middle of the firmament and calls out: the Lord is King. The entire celestial court echoes back. The daily liturgy of heaven is structured and continuous, running in the background of everything that happens in the world below. Akiva had seen this. He had seen the architecture of what upholds the world, and he had seen it without breaking.

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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.

Chagigah 14bTalmud Bavli, Chagigah

This case is referring to words of Torah, while that case is referring to commerce. With regard to words of Torah, they were trustworthy; with regard to commerce, they were not. § The Gemara returns to the topic of the Design of the Divine Chariot. The Sages taught: An incident occurred involving Rabban Yoḥanan ben Zakkai, who was riding on a donkey and was traveling along the way, and his student, Rabbi Elazar ben Arakh, was riding a donkey behind him.

Rabbi Elazar said to him: My teacher, teach me one chapter in the Design of the Divine Chariot. He said to him: Have I not taught you: And one may not expound the Design of the Divine Chariot to an individual, unless he is a Sage who understands on his own accord? Rabbi Elazar said to him: My teacher, allow me to say before you one thing that you taught me. In other words, he humbly requested to recite before him his own understanding of this issue.

He said to him: Speak. Immediately, Rabban Yoḥanan ben Zakkai alighted from the donkey, and wrapped his head in his cloak in a manner of reverence, and sat on a stone under an olive tree. Rabbi Elazar said to him: My teacher, for what reason did you alight from the donkey? He said: Is it possible that while you are expounding the Design of the Divine Chariot, and the Divine Presence is with us, and the ministering angels are accompanying us, that I should ride on a donkey?

Immediately, Rabbi Elazar ben Arakh began to discuss the Design of the Divine Chariot and expounded, and fire descended from heaven and encircled all the trees in the field, and all the trees began reciting song. What song did they recite? “Praise the Lord from the earth, sea monsters and all depths…fruit trees and all cedars…praise the Lord” (Psalms 148:7–14). An angel responded from the fire, saying: This is the very Design of the Divine Chariot, just as you expounded.

Rabban Yoḥanan ben Zakkai stood and kissed Rabbi Elazar ben Arakh on his head, and said: Blessed be God, Lord of Israel, who gave our father Abraham a son like you, who knows how to understand, investigate, and expound the Design of the Divine Chariot. There are some who expound the Torah’s verses well but do not fulfill its imperatives well, and there are some who fulfill its imperatives well but do not expound its verses well, whereas you expound its verses well and fulfill its imperatives well.

Happy are you, our father Abraham, that Elazar ben Arakh came from your loins. The Gemara relates: And when these matters, this story involving his colleague Rabbi Elazar ben Arakh, were recounted before Rabbi Yehoshua, he was walking along the way with Rabbi Yosei the Priest. They said: We too shall expound the Design of the Divine Chariot. Rabbi Yehoshua began expounding.

And that was the day of the summer solstice, when there are no clouds in the sky. Yet the heavens became filled with clouds, and there was the appearance of a kind of rainbow in a cloud. And ministering angels gathered and came to listen, like people gathering and coming to see the rejoicing of a bridegroom and bride. Rabbi Yosei the Priest went and recited these matters before Rabban Yoḥanan ben Zakkai, who said to him: Happy are all of you, and happy are the mothers who gave birth to you; happy are my eyes that saw this, students such as these.

As for you and I, I saw in my dream that we were seated at Mount Sinai, and a Divine Voice came to us from heaven: Ascend here, ascend here, for large halls [teraklin] and pleasant couches are made up for you. You, your students, and the students of your students are invited to the third group, those who will merit to welcome the Divine Presence. The Gemara poses a question: Is that so? But isn’t it taught in a baraita: Rabbi Yosei, son of Rabbi Yehuda, says: There are three lectures.

In other words, there are three Sages with regard to whom it states that they delivered lectures on the mystical tradition: Rabbi Yehoshua lectured on these matters before Rabban Yoḥanan ben Zakkai; Rabbi Akiva lectured before Rabbi Yehoshua; and Ḥananya ben Ḥakhinai lectured before Rabbi Akiva. However, Rabbi Elazar ben Arakh was not included in the list, despite the testimony that he lectured before Rabban Yoḥanan.

The Gemara explains: Those who lectured and were also lectured to were included; but those who lectured and were not lectured to were not included. The Gemara asks: But wasn’t there Ḥananya ben Ḥakhinai, who was not lectured to, and yet he is included? The Gemara answers: Ḥananya ben Ḥakhinai actually lectured before one who lectured in front of his own rabbi, so he was also included in this list. § The Sages taught: Four entered the orchard [pardes], i.e., dealt with the loftiest secrets of Torah, and they are as follows: Ben Azzai; and ben Zoma; Aḥer, the other, a name for Elisha ben Avuya; and Rabbi Akiva.

Rabbi Akiva, the senior among them, said to them: When, upon your arrival in the upper worlds, you reach pure marble stones, do not say: Water, water, although they appear to be water, because it is stated: “He who speaks falsehood shall not be established before My eyes” (Psalms 101:7). The Gemara proceeds to relate what happened to each of them: Ben Azzai glimpsed at the Divine Presence and died.

And with regard to him the verse states: “Precious in the eyes of the Lord is the death of His pious ones” (Psalms 116:15). Ben Zoma glimpsed at the Divine Presence and was harmed, i.e., he lost his mind. And with regard to him the verse states: “Have you found honey? Eat as much as is sufficient for you, lest you become full from it and vomit it” (Proverbs 25:16).

Aḥer chopped down the shoots of saplings. In other words, he became a heretic. Rabbi Akiva came out safely. The Gemara recounts the greatness of ben Zoma, who was an expert interpreter of the Torah and could find obscure proofs: They asked ben Zoma: What is the halakha with regard to castrating a dog?

The prohibition against castration appears alongside the sacrificial blemishes, which may imply that it is permitted to castrate an animal that cannot be sacrificed as an offering. He said to them: The verse states “That which has its testicles bruised, or crushed, or torn, or cut, you shall not offer to God, nor shall you do so in your land” (Leviticus 22:24), from which we learn: With regard to any animal that is in your land, you shall not do such a thing.

They also asked ben Zoma: A woman considered to be a virgin who became pregnant, what is the halakha? A High Priest may marry only a virgin; is he permitted to marry her? The answer depends on the following: Are we concerned for the opinion of Shmuel? Shmuel says:

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Shir HaShirim Rabbah 4:5Shir HaShirim Rabbah

Four sages once walked into a garden that wasn't really a garden at all. No, not the fruit orchard, but the Orchard, a mystical, metaphorical space where one could contemplate the deepest secrets of God, Creation, and the very Divine Chariot itself. The Zohar, that foundational text of Jewish mysticism, is filled with references to it. But venturing into this Orchard wasn't for the faint of heart.

We find a chilling, classic story about it in Shir HaShirim Rabbah, a commentary on the Song of Songs. It tells of four towering figures of our tradition who dared to enter: Ben Azai, Ben Zoma, Elisha ben Avuya, and, of course, Rabbi Akiva. Think of it like a spiritual high-wire act.

What happened to them?

Ben Azai… he glimpsed the Divine, but it was too much. He couldn't contain it. It overwhelmed him. (Proverbs 25:16) warns, "You found honey, eat as much as is sufficient for you, lest you be sated with it and vomit it." Poor Ben Azai. He simply took in more than he could absorb.

Ben Zoma? Even more tragic. He glimpsed the Divine and… died. Gone. Poof. As (Psalm 116:15) puts it, "Weighty in the eyes of the Lord is the death of His devoted ones.” A stark reminder of the power and the potential danger of seeking ultimate truth.

Then there's Elisha ben Avuya, also known as Acher ("Other"). He took a different, perhaps darker, path. The text says he "cut the shoots." What does that mean? Well, he started treating parts of the Divine as separate entities, independent from the whole. A big no-no. Heresy, plain and simple. When he would go into synagogues and study halls, he'd find bright young students and… corrupt them. He'd say things that would silence them, leading them astray. In his regard, (Ecclesiastes 5:5) warns: "Do not allow your mouth to cause your flesh to sin." A cautionary tale of intellectual arrogance and spiritual betrayal.

Finally, we have Rabbi Akiva. He entered the Orchard in peace, and he emerged in peace. Untouched. Unscathed. You might think he was just naturally superior to the others, but he himself said, "It is not because I am greater than my colleagues." Rather, he explained, it was about preparation, about grounding oneself in the foundations of Jewish law and tradition. As the Sages taught in the Mishna (Eduyot 5:7): "Your actions will draw you near, and your actions will distance you." It's about the work you put in before you even think about climbing the mystical ladder.

And that’s why, in Shir HaShirim Rabbah, it is written about Rabbi Akiva: “The king has brought me to his chambers." He was ready.

So, what can we take away from this ancient story? Is it just a warning to stay away from mystical explorations? I don’t think so. Maybe it's about understanding that the path to profound knowledge, to understanding God, requires humility, preparation, and a deep grounding in our traditions. It's a reminder that the journey itself, the actions we take, shape our ability to withstand the awesome power of the Divine. And maybe, just maybe, it’s a reminder that some honey is best left un-tasted until we're ready to truly savor it.

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Heikhalot Rabbati 31:4Heikhalot Rabbati

Our guide for this journey is none other than Rabbi Akiva, a towering figure in Jewish tradition. He had a vision, a glimpse into the celestial realms, which is recorded in Heikhalot (the heavenly palaces) Rabbati, a text filled with mystical experiences and angelic encounters.

Rabbi Akiva tells us that every single day, an angel takes its place right in the middle of the firmament – that's the expanse of the heavens, the visible sky, but also something far grander and more profound. This angel starts things off by proclaiming, "The Lord is the King!" And the entire heavenly entourage, the whole celestial crew, they all echo back in response.

This goes on until they reach a pivotal moment: the call to "Barchu." Now, Barchu is a familiar word to anyone who's been to a synagogue service. It’s the prayer leader's invitation to the congregation to bless God. But in this cosmic drama, it’s a cue for something extraordinary.

At the sound of "Barchu," another angel steps forward. But this isn't just any angel. This is a chaya (חיה), a being of immense spiritual stature. And this particular chaya has a name: Israel. Imagine that – an angel named Israel! According to Rabbi Akiva, this angel has the words "My people is Mine" emblazoned right on its forehead. Think about the weight and significance of that!

This chaya, Israel, stands in the middle of the firmament and calls out: "Bless (Barchu) the Lord who is blessed!" And then, all the ministers on high, all those heavenly beings, they respond in unison: "Blessed is the Lord who is blessed forever and ever!"

But the spectacle doesn't end there.

Before those words even finish echoing, the ofanim (אופנים) – another class of angels, powerful and awe-inspiring – they erupt in a shout. The ofanim aren't just shouting, they're shaking, literally shaking the world with their pronouncements: "Blessed is the glory of the Lord from His place!"

And what about chaya Israel? It remains there, in the center of it all, as all the ministers and officers, all the divisions and hosts of the heavens, tremble and quake. And each one, in its own place, turns to the chaya and declares the most foundational statement of Jewish faith: "Shema Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Echad – Hear O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One" (Deuteronomy 6:4). This isn't just a recitation. This is a cosmic harmony, a daily reaffirmation of faith, echoing throughout the universe. It's a powerful reminder that even in the highest heavens, the core beliefs of Judaism resonate. The oneness of God, the connection between the divine and the people of Israel – these aren't just earthly concepts. They are woven into the very fabric of creation.

What does it mean that an angel named Israel stands at the heart of this heavenly declaration? What does it mean that "My people is Mine" is written on its forehead? These are questions that invite us to delve deeper into the mysteries of our tradition, to explore the profound connections between the earthly and the divine. It's a reminder that we are part of something much larger than ourselves, a story that stretches from the here and now to the farthest reaches of the cosmos.

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Makkot 24bTalmud Bavli, Makkot

by fire, and shall we not weep? Rabbi Akiva said to them: That is why I am laughing. If for those who violate His will, the wicked, it is so and they are rewarded for the few good deeds they performed, for those who perform His will, all the more so will they be rewarded. The Gemara relates another incident involving those Sages.

On another occasion they were ascending to Jerusalem after the destruction of the Temple. When they arrived at Mount Scopus and saw the site of the Temple, they rent their garments in mourning, in keeping with halakhic practice. When they arrived at the Temple Mount, they saw a fox that emerged from the site of the Holy of Holies. They began weeping, and Rabbi Akiva was laughing.

They said to him: For what reason are you laughing? Rabbi Akiva said to them: For what reason are you weeping? They said to him: This is the place concerning which it is written: “And the non-priest who approaches shall die” (Numbers 1:51), and now foxes walk in it; and shall we not weep? Rabbi Akiva said to them: That is why I am laughing, as it is written, when God revealed the future to the prophet Isaiah: “And I will take to Me faithful witnesses to attest: Uriah the priest, and Zechariah the son of Jeberechiah” (Isaiah 8:2).

Now what is the connection between Uriah and Zechariah? He clarifies the difficulty: Uriah prophesied during the First Temple period, and Zechariah prophesied during the Second Temple period, as he was among those who returned to Zion from Babylonia. Rather, the verse established that fulfillment of the prophecy of Zechariah is dependent on fulfillment of the prophecy of Uriah. In the prophecy of Uriah it is written: “Therefore, for your sake Zion shall be plowed as a field, and Jerusalem shall become rubble, and the Temple Mount as the high places of a forest” (Micah 3:12), where foxes are found.

There is a rabbinic tradition that this was prophesied by Uriah. In the prophecy of Zechariah it is written: “There shall yet be elderly men and elderly women sitting in the streets of Jerusalem” (Zechariah 8:4). Until the prophecy of Uriah with regard to the destruction of the city was fulfilled I was afraid that the prophecy of Zechariah would not be fulfilled, as the two prophecies are linked. Now that the prophecy of Uriah was fulfilled, it is evident that the prophecy of Zechariah remains valid.

The Gemara adds: The Sages said to him, employing this formulation: Akiva, you have comforted us; Akiva, you have comforted us.

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Da'at Tevunot 61:1Da'at Tevunot

That feeling takes over when I explore Jewish mystical thought. The source turns to our toes into some deep waters, guided by a little fragment from the text Da'at (Knowledge) Tevunot. Just a tiny sentence, but boy, does it pack a punch.

"Said the Soul - Even here there will be much to explain:"

That's it. That's the line. Simple. But what does it MEAN?

Well, first, the tradition turns to Da'at Tevunot, which translates roughly to “Knowledge of Understanding," is a Kabbalistic text. Kabbalah (קבלה) itself is Jewish mysticism. It explores the secrets of the universe, the nature of God, and the inner workings of creation. It's heady stuff, full of symbolism and hidden meanings.

So, who is this “Soul” speaking? In many Kabbalistic texts, the soul is often seen as an intermediary, a bridge between the human and the divine. It’s the part of us that yearns for connection, for understanding, for something more. It is our neshama.

And where is “here”? That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? "Here" could refer to any number of spiritual realms or states of consciousness. It could be a specific point on the Sefirot, the Kabbalistic Tree of Life, a map of divine emanations. Or perhaps it refers to a stage in the soul's journey after death, a realm of pure intellect and spiritual understanding. Wherever "here" is, the soul is telling us that even in this advanced spiritual place, there will STILL be much to explain. Even when we reach what we think is enlightenment, even when we feel like we've grasped some fundamental truth, there's always more to learn. There are always deeper layers to peel back. The universe is constantly unfolding, and so is our understanding of it.

It reminds me of a story I heard about the great sage, Rabbi Akiva. (You know, the one who started learning Torah when he was 40!) According to tradition, he and some other great rabbis ascended to the Pardes, the Orchard, a metaphor for mystical experience. Only Akiva emerged unscathed. The others, overwhelmed by the intensity of the experience, suffered greatly. Even for someone as spiritually advanced as Rabbi Akiva, there were limits to human comprehension.

This idea resonates deeply within Jewish thought. The emphasis on lifelong learning is not just about accumulating knowledge, but about cultivating a constant state of humility and openness. We are always students, always seekers. Even in the highest realms of spiritual understanding, there's still "much to explain."

The Zohar, the foundational text of Kabbalah, is filled with these kinds of mysteries. It’s not meant to be taken literally, but rather as a guide to unlocking hidden meanings. It uses allegory and symbolism to point us towards deeper truths that are beyond our rational minds.

So, what do we take away from this little sentence from Da'at Tevunot? Perhaps it's a reminder to stay humble on our spiritual journey. To embrace the unknown, to acknowledge the limits of our understanding, and to remain open to new possibilities. Even when we think we've arrived, even when we feel like we've figured it all out, there's always more to explore.

The soul is telling us: don't get complacent. Keep seeking, keep questioning, keep learning. The journey is the destination. And the universe is waiting to unfold its secrets, one layer at a time. Even here, wherever "here" may be, there will be much to explain. And isn't that exciting?

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Legends of the Jews 10:58Legends of the Jews

I'm not talking about missing a concert – I mean sleeping for decades and waking up to a world completely transformed. The Talmud (Ta'anit 69b) tells us of several people who experienced miraculous long sleeps, and in Ginzberg's Legends of the Jews, we encounter one such tale, a story of divine intervention and a reward for extraordinary piety.

We know about the sons of Moses, but there were others who escaped the clutches of Nebuchadnezzar. One of the most remarkable escapes was that of Ebed-melech, a righteous Ethiopian. His salvation came as a direct reward for his earlier act of courage: rescuing the prophet Jeremiah when his life was in danger. Think about the weight of that: a single act of kindness echoed through the years, securing his own divine protection.

The day before the destruction of the Temple, imagine the chaos, the fear, the sense of impending doom. According to the legend, just before the Babylonian army stormed Jerusalem, Jeremiah, acting on divine instruction, sent Ebed-melech on a seemingly simple errand. He was to go to a specific spot outside the city gates and offer refreshments to the poor, carrying a small basket of figs.

It But here's where the extraordinary enters the story. Ebed-melech reached the designated spot, but the heat was overwhelming. Exhausted, he fell asleep under a tree. Now, this wasn't just a little nap. He slept for a staggering sixty-six years! When he finally awoke, the figs in his basket were still fresh and juicy, but the world around him was unrecognizable. The landscape had changed, the city was altered. He was completely disoriented.

Can you imagine the confusion? He entered the city, searching for Jeremiah, but nothing was as he remembered it. He approached an old man and asked for the name of the place. When he heard the word "Jerusalem," Ebed-melech exclaimed in disbelief, "Where is Jeremiah, where is Baruch, and where are all the people?" (Jeremiah 38:7-13)

The old man, understandably, was perplexed. How could someone who knew Jeremiah and Jerusalem be unaware of the devastating events of the past six decades? He recounted the destruction of the Temple and the captivity of the Jewish people. But Ebed-melech simply couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Finally, the truth dawned on him. Ebed-melech realized that God had performed a tremendous miracle, sparing him from witnessing the horrors that had befallen Israel. He had been sheltered from the pain, the suffering, the destruction.

What does this story tell us? Perhaps it's about the power of good deeds and how they ripple through time. Maybe it highlights the idea that even in the darkest of times, divine protection and miracles are possible. Or, perhaps, it's a evidence of the idea that sometimes, the greatest blessing is to be shielded from the worst of human experience. Whatever resonates with you, the legend of Ebed-melech offers a potent reminder of faith, reward, and the enduring presence of the divine.

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