4 min read

Adam Built the First Altar and Abraham Found It Still Standing

The stones at Mount Moriah were already arranged when Abraham arrived. Adam had built the altar first. Noah had rebuilt it. Then Abraham found it waiting.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Stones Already There
  2. What Adam Built When He Left the Garden
  3. Noah at the Same Stones
  4. Abraham and the Third Use

Stones Already There

When Abraham reached the place God had told him to go, he did not build an altar from scratch. The stones were already arranged. He found them, recognized what they were, and understood what was being asked of him in light of everything that had happened at that spot before.

This is what the Targum Pseudo-Jonathan insists on: the altar at Mount Moriah was not a new construction. It was the oldest altar in the world, built by the first human being, rebuilt by the survivor of the flood, and standing ready for the father of the Jewish people when God told him to come and offer his son.

What Adam Built When He Left the Garden

Adam was expelled from the Garden of Eden in the morning hours, the tradition says, and his first act on the outside was to offer a sacrifice. Not from grief and not from petition. From acknowledgment: he had been given life and a world, and the right response to that gift, even after losing direct access to its source, was to say so.

Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer, the eighth-century Palestinian midrash attributed to Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus, records that Adam built his altar at the same spot that would later become the Temple Mount. He offered an ox, the Midrash specifies, an animal whose horns were greater than its hooves, which was itself a symbol: greatness bowing downward into service. The sacrifice rose as a pleasing odor. The altar remained.

Noah at the Same Stones

The flood came and went. The world was washed clean. When Noah's ark rested on dry ground and Noah stepped out onto the earth that had survived, he too offered a sacrifice. The account in Genesis says simply that he built an altar and offered burnt offerings. The Targum says he found the same altar Adam had built and repaired it. The stones had survived the flood, carried forward through the deluge like the ark itself, pieces of the pre-flood world waiting to be used again.

Noah's offering at Adam's altar established a continuity that the flood had not broken. The same place, the same dedication, the same upward gesture of a human being to the divine. The covenant after the flood was new, the rainbow was new, but the altar was old.

Abraham and the Third Use

By the time Abraham arrived at Mount Moriah with his son Isaac and the wood and the fire and the knife, the altar had already held two covenants. He arranged the wood, bound Isaac, and raised the knife. The intervention came at the last moment: a voice, a ram caught in the thicket, Isaac unbound and breathing.

The Midrash Aggadah observes that Abraham built no new altar on that day. He used what was already there. The three great acts of covenant between God and humanity in the early biblical narrative, the offering after expulsion, the offering after the flood, and the binding that established the lineage of the Jewish people, all happened at the same address.

The Temple that Solomon eventually built on that spot was not the beginning of the site's sacred history. It was the fourth use of a location that had been holding the weight of covenant since the first morning outside the Garden.


← All myths

From the tradition

Sources

8 sources

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

Targum Jonathan on Genesis 8:20, 22:9Targum Jonathan

One such place, according to our stories, revolves around an altar.. a very special altar.

The Torah tells us that Abraham arrived at the place God had shown him and built an altar there, preparing to offer his son Isaac as a sacrifice (Genesis 22:9). But the story doesn't stop there. According to some, this wasn't just any altar. Oh no. This was the altar.

You see, some say it was the very same altar on Mount Moriah where Adam himself made offerings, back when the gate to the Garden of Eden was close by. The very first human, offering sacrifices on the very same spot. According to Pirkei de Rabbi Eliezer 31, Adam erected an altar to the Lord there, and on it he sacrificed an ox – a truly remarkable creature – with only one horn on its forehead.

It doesn't end with Adam. Genesis Rabbah 34:9 tells us that Cain and Abel, the first brothers, also made their offerings on this very altar. The same altar where humanity first sought to connect with the Divine.

But, as history often does, things got complicated. Some traditions, found in sources like Genesis Rabbah 34:20, suggest the altar Adam built was destroyed by the raging waters of the Flood. Don't worry, the story continues! After the flood subsided, Noah, in an act of gratitude and renewal, rebuilt it (as mentioned in Targum Pseudo-Yonathan on (Genesis 8:2)0). But alas, even Noah's altar wasn't destined to last forever. It was, according to some accounts, demolished during the generation of the Tower of Babel. So many attempts to reach the heavens, both literally and figuratively!

And that brings us back to Abraham. He rebuilt the altar, laid out the wood, bound Isaac, and placed him on top (Genesis 22:9, again). As Targum Pseudo-Yonathan points out regarding this verse, this was no ordinary act; this was a pivotal moment in history, echoing with the sacrifices of the past.

But there's an even deeper layer to this story. This very spot, Midrash Tehillim 92:6 tells us, would one day become the site of the Temple in Jerusalem. The altar where Abraham nearly sacrificed Isaac? It was the same place where the altar of the Temple would stand, where the High Priests would offer their sacrifices. The Zohar 1:70a speaks of this connection, binding together these moments in time.

Now, let's be real. We're not talking about a literal, physical altar that has somehow survived millennia of floods, wars, and human history. This is mythic geography at its finest, as Schwartz points out in Tree of Souls. The point isn't whether the altar actually existed in the same spot, untouched by time. The point is to connect these pivotal moments in our history, to create a sense of continuity and shared purpose. To suggest that the yearning for connection with the Divine is a constant, woven through the fabric of human experience.

So, what does this all mean for us? Maybe it's a reminder that the places we deem sacred are often layered with the stories of those who came before us. That our acts of devotion, no matter how small, are part of a larger narrative, echoing through time. And maybe, just maybe, that the altar of our own hearts can be a place where we, too, can connect with something greater than ourselves.

Full source
Legends of the Jews 5:258Legends of the Jews

It's a city that resonates through millennia, a place where, according to legend, the very ground remembers the most important moments in our shared past.

Think about Abraham, ready to offer his son Isaac as a sacrifice. A heartbreaking, pivotal moment. The story goes that the altar he built for that test wasn't just any spot. Oh no. The Legends of the Jews, as retold by Ginzberg, paints a much grander picture. It says that very same spot had already been used for sacrifices by Adam himself – the first human offering his gratitude! Then came Cain and Abel, brothers with offerings both accepted and tragically rejected. And then, after the flood, Noah, stepping off the ark and building an altar to thank God for deliverance.

Can you imagine the weight of that history pressing down on Abraham as he raised his knife?

Abraham, knowing this was the destined site for the Temple, called it Yireh. This Hebrew word signifies a place of reverence, a place dedicated to the fear and service of God. But here's where it gets even more interesting. Shem, son of Noah, had already named this holy place Shalem, meaning "Place of Peace." Think of shalom, the Hebrew word for peace – it shares the same root.

So, what's a divine being to do when faced with two equally valid and meaningful names? According to the legends, God, not wanting to offend either Abraham or Shem, combined the two. And thus, Jerusalem was born.

Jerusalem: a melding of reverence and peace. A city whose name itself is a evidence of its long and complex history. As we find in Midrash Rabbah, this unification of names reflects a deeper truth: that true worship and devotion are intertwined with peace. That the pursuit of the divine is, at its heart, a pursuit of wholeness and harmony.

It makes you wonder, doesn't it? What other hidden stories lie beneath the surface of the places we consider sacred? What other echoes of the past are waiting to be heard?

Full source
Bereshit Rabbah 39:16Bereshit Rabbah

Bereshit Rabbah turns to The Three Altars Abraham Built in the Promised Land.

Why three? Well, each altar served a specific purpose, a distinct expression of gratitude and foresight. The first, Rabbi Elazar explains, was for the good tidings – the promise of the Land of Israel itself. (Genesis 12:7). Imagine the weight of that promise! An entire land, destined for his descendants. Wouldn't you build an altar to mark such a momentous occasion?

The second altar, according to Rabbi Elazar, was built to celebrate the acquisition of that land, a tangible step towards fulfilling God’s promise. (Genesis 13:18). It's one thing to be promised something; it's another to actually hold a piece of it in your hands. This altar was a celebration of that burgeoning reality.

The third altar. this is where it gets really interesting. Rabbi Elazar suggests it was built so that Abraham’s descendants would not fall in battle (Genesis 12:8). A preemptive strike, in a way, against future suffering. the Rabbis believed that Abraham, in his righteousness, could influence the destiny of his offspring.

This idea is further explored with the story of the battle of Ai. Remember when Joshua and the elders of Israel, devastated by defeat, "rent their garments, fell on their face to the ground before the Ark of the Lord until the evening, he and the elders of Israel, and they put dust on their heads" (Joshua 7:6)? Rabbi Elazar ben Shamua suggests that they were actually evoking the merit of Abraham, crying out "We are but dust and ashes!" (Genesis 18:27). The implication? Abraham had built an altar in Ai specifically to protect his descendants from falling there! The Rabbis are suggesting that Abraham's actions had long-lasting consequences, influencing events centuries later.

The verse continues, "And proclaimed [vayikra] the name of the Lord." Vayikra, literally, "he called." But what did he call? Here, the Rabbis see Abraham as a missionary, actively converting people and bringing them "under the wings of the Divine Presence." He wasn't just building altars; he was building a community, a following, a future.

And finally, "Abram journeyed, steadily journeying to the Negev" (Genesis 12:9). The text repeats: "Abram journeyed, steadily journeying to the Negev." Why the repetition? Bereshit Rabbah interprets this as Abraham deliberately setting his sights and charting his course towards the site of the future Temple in Jerusalem. Even in his travels, Abraham was laying the groundwork for the holiest site in Judaism.

So, what does all this tell us? It reveals a Abraham who wasn't just a passive recipient of divine promises, but an active participant in shaping the destiny of his people. He was a builder – of altars, of communities, and of a legacy that continues to resonate with us today. His actions, as interpreted by the Rabbis, were deliberate, far-sighted, and deeply rooted in a desire to connect with God and protect his descendants. It makes you wonder, doesn't it, what kind of legacy we're building with our own actions, big and small?

Full source
Yalkut Shimoni on Torah 101:3Yalkut Shimoni on Torah

"And Abraham built there the altar" (Genesis 22:9) is not written here, but "the altar": the altar on which Cain and Abel offered, the altar on which Noah and his sons offered. Isaac said to his father: Father, bind my two hands and my two feet so that I do not kick you and end up profaning the commandment, "Honor" (Exodus 20:12). He did so. Like a High Priest, he brought near his meal offering and his libation. The Holy One, blessed be He, saw the father binding with a whole heart and the son being bound with a whole heart, while the ministering angels cried out and wept, as it is said, "Behold, their mighty ones," and so on (Isaiah 33:7). They said before the Holy One, blessed be He: Master of the universe, You are called "merciful and gracious" (Exodus 34:6). You whose mercy is upon all Your works, have mercy on Isaac, who is a human being, son of a human being, bound before You like an animal: "man and beast You save, LORD" (Psalms 36:7). Rabbi Yehudah says: when the sword reached the neck, Isaac's soul flew out and departed. When He made His voice heard from between the two cherubim, "Do not stretch out your hand against the lad," his soul returned to his body. Abraham untied him, Isaac stood, and Isaac knew that this is how the dead are destined to live again. He opened and said: Blessed are You, LORD, who revives the dead.

Rav was sitting behind Rabbi Chiyya before Rabbi, and Rabbi was sitting and saying: From where do we know that slaughter must be with something detached? As it is said, "Abraham stretched out his hand and took the knife to slaughter his son." Rav said to Rabbi Chiyya: what is he saying? Rabbi Chiyya said to him: Is he speaking about a detached block? The verse itself says it. Rather, the verse teaches Abraham's zeal. At the hour when Abraham our father stretched out his hand to take the knife to slaughter his son, the ministering angels wept, as it is said, "Behold, their mighty ones cried outside" (Isaiah 33:7). It is written as though "outside" were "a knife": a knife is in his hand to slaughter his son. What were they saying? "The highways are desolate," because Abraham will no longer receive passersby and wayfarers. "The wayfaring man has ceased." "He has broken the covenant," though Scripture said, "My covenant I will establish with Isaac" (Genesis 17:21). "He has despised cities," as it says, "Abraham journeyed from there toward the land of the Negev" (Genesis 20:1). "He regarded no man," meaning he did not take Abraham's merit into account.

"And he took the knife": Rav asked before Rabbi Chiyya the Great: From where do we know that slaughter is with an object that can be moved? From here: "Abraham stretched out his hand and took," which implies that it was detached. He said to him: if Rabbi told you this as aggadah, then even with an attached object it would be permitted, because he retracted. If he told it to you as legal teaching, he did not retract, for Levi taught: if they were fixed in the ground from the beginning, they are invalid; if they were detached and then fixed, they are valid. As we learned: one who slaughters with a hand sickle, with flint, or with a reed, his slaughter is valid. "The angel of the LORD called to him from heaven and said, Abraham, Abraham": this is language of affection, language of urging. Rabbi Eliezer ben Yaakov says: to him and to the generations. There is no generation without one like Abraham, no generation without one like Jacob, and no generation without one like Moses and Samuel.

"Do not stretch out your hand against the lad." Where was the knife? Three tears fell from the ministering angels upon it, and the knife was ruined. Abraham said to him: what shall I do to him? Shall I strangle him? He said: "Do not stretch out your hand against the lad." Abraham said: shall I draw a drop of blood from him? He said: "Do not do anything to him," not even a blemish. "For now I know that you fear God": I have made known to all that you are My beloved, and you did not withhold your son, your only one, from Me. You should not say that illnesses outside the body are not illnesses; rather, I count it for you as though I had told you to offer yourself and you did not hold back. Abraham said to Him: as it were, are there before You human conversations, people who change their speech? Yesterday You said to me, "for through Isaac your seed shall be called" (Genesis 21:12), then You said, "take now your son," and now You say, "do not stretch out your hand." The Holy One, blessed be He, said to him: I will not profane My covenant, for I said, "My covenant I will establish with Isaac" (Genesis 17:21). When I said to you, "take now your son," I did not change what went out from My lips. Did I say to you, slaughter him? I said to you, "bring him up." You brought him up; now bring him down.

Full source
Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Genesis 8:20Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Genesis

This is one of those verses where Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on (Genesis 8:20) opens a hidden corridor through the whole Torah. The Hebrew simply says Noah built an altar. The Aramaic says more. It says he built that altar which Adam had builded in the time when he was cast forth from the garden of Eden, and had offered an oblation upon it; and upon it had Kain and Habel offered their oblations. The Flood destroyed it. Noah rebuilt it on the same spot.

Pause. According to this Targum, there is one altar. Adam raised it when he was banished from Gan Eden. Cain and Abel brought their offerings to it. And we know how that ended. The altar stood through the whole generation of the Flood, silent, unused, until the waters swept it away. And now Noah finds the place, clears the mud, and rebuilds.

Jewish tradition will eventually identify that spot with Mount Moriah, the same stone where Abraham will one day bind Isaac and where the Temple will one day stand. Every altar in Jewish history is, in the Targum's imagination, the same altar.

Noah takes of every clean animal and every clean bird and offers four sacrifices. The Lord accepted his oblation with favour. The takeaway: places of true worship do not disappear. They wait. And when a righteous person returns, the stones are still there.

Full source
Legends of the Jews 5:267Legends of the Jews

The stories we tell about the resting places of the righteous are so much more than just historical markers. They're portals into understanding our values, our fears, and our deepest hopes. And few stories are as rich and layered as the tale of the Cave of Machpelah.

Abraham wasn’t just looking for any old plot of land when his beloved Sarah passed away. He had his sights set on something very specific: the Cave of Machpelah in Hebron. But why this cave? What made it so special?

Well, the story goes that Abraham already knew about the cave’s extraordinary significance. It wasn’t just a piece of real estate; it was a place steeped in history, a place chosen by Adam himself as his final resting place. Ginzberg, in his Legends of the Jews, paints a vivid picture. Adam, fearing that his body might be desecrated or used for idolatrous purposes after his death, designated the Cave of Machpelah as the ultimate secure location. He was laid to rest deep within, hidden from the world.

That: the first man, choosing his own secret burial chamber. Why? Because he feared desecration. It tells you something profound, doesn’t it? About the vulnerability of the body, even in death.

And the story doesn't stop there. When Adam buried Eve beside him, he tried to dig even deeper, drawn by an irresistible fragrance – the sweet scent of Paradise itself, lingering just beyond the cave’s entrance. But a heavenly voice stopped him, declaring, "Enough!"

According to tradition, Seth, Adam’s son, completed the burial. And from that moment until Abraham’s time, the cave was guarded by angels, a perpetual fire burning near its entrance, preventing anyone from approaching and burying their own dead there. Talk about a divine security system!

So how did Abraham, a mere mortal, manage to find it?

As the tale is told, one day, when Abraham was hosting the angels – remember that story? – he wanted to prepare a lavish feast for them. He went to slaughter an ox, but the ox, in a moment of bovine rebellion, ran away! In his pursuit, Abraham stumbled upon the Cave of Machpelah. for a second. A runaway ox leads to the discovery of the most sacred burial site. Sometimes the most profound discoveries come from the most unexpected detours.

Inside the cave, Abraham found Adam and Eve laid out on couches, candles burning at their heads, and a sweet, heavenly scent permeating the air. It was a scene of serene and eternal rest. Can you imagine the awe, the wonder he must have felt?

The Zohar, that foundational text of Jewish mysticism, hints at the profound spiritual power concentrated in that place. It wasn’t just a burial ground; it was a connection to something deeper, something primordial.

This encounter solidified Abraham’s desire to acquire the Cave of Machpelah as a burial place for his family, a place where he, Sarah, and their descendants could rest alongside the first couple, close to the Garden of Eden itself. He understood that by burying his family there, he was connecting them to the very source of creation, to the eternal promise of life beyond death.

So, the next time you hear the story of Abraham purchasing the Cave of Machpelah, remember it's not just a real estate transaction. It’s a story about origins, about reverence, about the enduring power of a sacred space. It's a reminder that even in death, we seek connection – to our ancestors, to the divine, and to the promise of something beyond.

Full source
Targum Jonathan on Genesis 23Targum Jonathan

Sarah died at one hundred and twenty-seven years old. The Torah records the number. The Targum records the aftermath: Abraham came from "the mountain of worship". Mount Moriah, where he had just bound his son. And found her already dead. He had left for the most harrowing test of his life and returned to discover it had killed his wife.

Abraham needed a burial place. He approached the Hittites of Hebron not as a landowner but as a sojourner, a resident alien, requesting the right to purchase a grave. The Hittites responded with honor, calling him "great before the Lord," and offered any tomb he wished. Abraham had a specific site in mind: the "double cave" of Ephron son of Zohar.

The Targum calls it the "cave of Kapheilta", the doubled cave, a name that late antique tradition connected to the pairs buried there: Adam and Eve, Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebecca, Jacob and Leah. Abraham insisted on paying full price despite Ephron's offer of a gift. The purchase price was four hundred silver sileen. And the Targum specifies this was silver "good, passing at every table, and receivable in all transactions." This was no casual exchange. Abraham demanded currency that would hold up in any court, making the transaction legally airtight.

This matters because it is one of only three land purchases recorded in the Torah, and the Targum treats every detail of the negotiation with the precision of a legal document. The field, the cave, every tree within its boundaries, all confirmed before witnesses at the city gate. Abraham buried Sarah in the cave at Machpelah, securing the first Jewish-owned plot of land in Canaan through an irreversible, public, fully documented sale. No one could later claim the patriarchs had no stake in the land.

Full source
Vayikra Rabbah 2:10Vayikra Rabbah

The Vayikra Rabbah, a Midrashic (rabbinic interpretive commentary) text focusing on the Book of Leviticus, tackles this very question. It begins with a seemingly simple verse: “From the herd or from the flock” (Leviticus 1:2). But what does it really mean?

The Midrash sees in these words a profound connection to the righteous figures of the past. It suggests that God, in His infinite wisdom, aligned Himself with the first righteous individuals, even before the formal giving of the Torah. The text goes on to give examples. Adam, the first human, offered a bull as a sacrifice. The Midrash connects this to the verse in Psalms (69:32): "It will please the Lord more than a bull." This isn't just a random act; it's seen as Adam instinctively understanding what would be pleasing to God. This understanding of the Psalm in connection to Adam's sacrifice is expounded on in a previous section, Vayikra Rabbah 2:7.

Then there's Noah. "Noah built an altar to the Lord" (Genesis 8:20). The Midrash highlights this as Noah fulfilling what would later be written in the Torah, a foreshadowing of the sacrificial laws.

What about Abraham? Ah, Abraham. The Midrash states that he fulfilled the entire Torah! As (Genesis 26:5) tells us, "Because Abraham heeded My voice and observed…My Torah." He even prepared an offering, sacrificing a ram. It’s as if the essence of the Torah was already imprinted on his soul.

Isaac, in a heart-wrenching scene, is presented as willingly offering himself as a sacrifice, like a lamb to the slaughter. He fulfills what is written in the Torah through his willingness to follow God's command.

Even Jacob, with his complicated story, is included. Remember when Jacob buried the foreign gods that his household possessed? "They gave to Jacob all the foreign gods [that were in their possession…and Jacob buried them]" (Genesis 35:4). The Midrash sees this as Jacob fulfilling the Torah's prohibition against idolatry before it was explicitly given.

Then there's Judah, known for his role in the story of Tamar. The Midrash points to his willingness to perform yibum – levirate marriage, marrying his deceased brother's widow. "Consort with your brother's wife, [and consummate levirate marriage with her]" (Genesis 38:8). He is fulfilling the Torah’s command, even without knowing it formally.

And Joseph? The Midrash attributes to him the fulfillment of numerous commandments: honoring his father, not murdering, not committing adultery, not stealing, not bearing false witness, and not coveting (Exodus 20:12–13). He embodies the ethical core of the Torah.

What’s the point of all these examples? The Vayikra Rabbah is telling us that these individuals acted righteously before the Torah was given. They performed these acts "at their own initiative." Because of this, "the Holy One blessed be He loved them with an absolute love and paralleled their name to His great name."

And that’s where we find the real message. Because they lived according to God's will, even without a formal law, God loved them deeply. The Midrash concludes by quoting (Psalms 119:1): "Happy are those whose path is flawless, [who follow the Torah of the Lord]." It then connects this to God Himself: "The Rock, His actions are flawless" (Deuteronomy 32:4), and "God’s way is flawless" (Psalms 18:31).

The Vayikra Rabbah invites us to consider: Is the Torah simply a set of rules, or is it a reflection of a deeper, inherent truth that resides within us all? Perhaps the actions of these early figures suggest that righteousness isn't just about following commands, but about aligning ourselves with a divine essence that has always existed. Maybe, just maybe, we all have the potential to live a life that is pleasing to God, even before we know the rules.

Full source