7 min read

Angels Set the First Temple on Fire Before Babylon Arrived

A spirit lifted Baruch over the wall of Jerusalem. Four angels stood at the corners of the city holding torches, waiting for permission to light them.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Baruch Went Out to the Oak
  2. Earth, Earth, Earth
  3. So the Enemy Could Not Boast
  4. The Keys Went Up
  5. Zechariah's Blood Would Not Settle
  6. Son of Amram, Arise
Angels Set the First Temple on Fire Before Babylon Arrived Click for full size

Baruch Went Out to the Oak

Years before, Baruch son of Neriah had read Jeremiah's scroll aloud in the Temple court on a fast day. The king's officers took the book off him, carried it upstairs, and watched the king cut it apart and feed it to the brazier a column at a time. Then the order went out to find the prophet and the scribe.

Everything in that scroll had now arrived. Zedekiah held his oath to Babylon for eight years, broke it, and went to Egypt for help, and Nebuchadnezzar came up and took the fortified towns one after another and put his army around Jerusalem. The Egyptians never came. The city ate through what it had.

On the evening before the wall gave way, Baruch went out from the people and stood by the oak, grieving over Zion, mourning a captivity that had not happened yet.

Something took hold of him. A strong spirit picked him up off the ground and carried him over the wall of Jerusalem and held him there in the air above his own city, and what he saw from that height was not an army.

It was four angels standing at the four corners of the city, and every one of them had a torch of fire in his hands.

Earth, Earth, Earth

A fifth was coming down out of heaven, and it spoke before it touched anything. "Hold your lamps. Do not light them until I tell you. I am sent first to speak a word to the earth, and to put into it what the Most High has commanded me."

Then it went down into the Holy of Holies, and Baruch watched it strip the room. The veil. The holy ark. The mercy seat. The two tablets. The garments of the priests, the altar of incense, the forty-eight precious stones the priest wore on his body, and after those every last vessel of the tabernacle, carried out in the arms of an angel while the men who guarded that room were somewhere else.

It stood on the ground with all of it and shouted at the dirt.

"Earth, earth, earth, hear the word of the mighty God. Receive what I commit to you, and guard them until the last times, so that when you are ordered you may restore them, and strangers may never get possession of them."

The ground opened its mouth and swallowed them.

So the Enemy Could Not Boast

The angel turned to the four holding the lamps. "Destroy, then, and overthrow its wall to its foundations. Or the enemy will boast and say: we have overthrown the wall of Zion, we have burnt the place of the mighty God."

They did it with their hands. They broke the corners of the walls of Jerusalem apart the way men pull down a sheep pen, and when the masonry came down a voice came out of the inside of the Temple where no living man was standing.

"Enter, you enemies. Come, you adversaries. He who kept this house has forsaken it."

Baruch went back down and left.

The Keys Went Up

Only then did the army of the Chaldeans come in, and they came in believing they had done this. They took the house and everything around it, killed some of the people, led the rest away, and put Zedekiah in irons and sent him north to the king of Babylon.

On the Temple Mount they found the spot where Solomon used to sit to take counsel from the elders, and they sat down there to work out how to burn the building. While they were talking it caught at all four corners at once.

The high priest watched the flames go up and understood what had been decided about him. He climbed with the keys of the house in his fist and threw them into the sky. "Here are the keys of Your house. It seems I was an untrustworthy custodian."

A hand came out of the smoke and took them.

He turned around and the soldiers had him, and they killed him on the exact stone where he had been standing every morning of his life to offer the daily sacrifice. His daughter died with him and their blood ran together on the stone. The priests and the Levites went into the fire holding their harps and their trumpets rather than be taken out of it, and the young women who wove the curtains for the sanctuary followed them in.

Zechariah's Blood Would Not Settle

Nebuzaradan found blood on the Temple floor that was still moving.

It seethed and steamed and would not soak in. He asked whose it was. At first nobody would tell him. In the end they admitted it belonged to a prophet named Zechariah, who had told them the house would be destroyed, and whom they had killed for saying so.

He decided to give the prophet what he wanted. He brought the scholars of the kingdom to that spot and cut their throats on it, and the blood kept seething. He brought the schoolchildren. He brought the young priests. More than a million, and the floor was still boiling.

"Zechariah, Zechariah," he shouted at it, "the good in Israel I have slaughtered. Do you want the whole people destroyed?"

The blood stopped.

Son of Amram, Arise

When there was nothing left to burn, God came to the ruins with the angels around Him and stood in His own house.

"Woe is Me for My house. Where are My children, where are My priests, where are My beloved? What could I have done for you? Did I not warn you, and you would not mend your ways."

He turned to Jeremiah. "Today I am like a man who has one son. He builds the marriage canopy for him, and the boy dies underneath it." Then, looking at the prophet standing there dry-eyed with his own prophecy come true all around him: "You seem to feel very little for Me and for My children. Go and call Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and Moses out of their graves. They know how to mourn."

"Lord of the world," Jeremiah said, "I do not know where Moses is buried."

"Stand on the bank of the Jordan and call out to him. Son of Amram, son of Amram, get up and see how the wolves have eaten your sheep."

TempleMidrashAngelsProphecy
← All myths

From the tradition

Sources

5 sources

The texts behind this telling. Some cards carry a translation of the source; others are our own retelling of it, and each card says which. Every card links out to the original.

2 Baruch 6-82 Baruch

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.R. H. Charles public-domain English translation (1913) · Public Domain

The Chaldean army surrounded Jerusalem. But the real destruction, the kind that shatters heaven, had already begun inside the walls.

On the evening before the siege tightened, Baruch slipped away from the people and stood alone beside an oak tree, grieving over Zion, mourning the captivity he knew was coming. Then something seized him. A powerful spirit lifted him bodily into the air, carrying him up and over the wall of the city. And what he saw on the other side changed everything he understood about the fall of Jerusalem.

Four angels stood at the four corners of the city. Each one held a torch of fire in his hands. They were waiting.

Then a fifth angel descended from heaven, not to save the city, but to save something far more precious. He commanded the four: "Hold your lamps. Do not light them until I tell you. I am first sent to speak a word to the earth."

This angel entered the Holy of Holies. One by one, he gathered the sacred objects, the veil, the holy ark, the mercy seat, the two tablets of the covenant, the holy garments of the priests, the altar of incense, and the forty-eight precious stones of the priestly breastplate. Every vessel of the tabernacle. Everything that made the Temple the dwelling place of God on earth.

Then the angel spoke to the earth itself, and his voice shook the ground:

"Earth, earth, earth, hear the word of the mighty God! Receive what I commit to you, and guard them until the last times. When you are commanded, restore them. So that strangers may never possess them. For the time comes when Jerusalem will be delivered for a time, until it is said that it is restored forever."

And the earth opened its mouth and swallowed them all.

The holy vessels vanished into the ground. Hidden. Preserved. Waiting for a day that has not yet come.

Now the commanding angel turned to the four who held the torches. "Destroy the walls," he ordered. "Overthrow them to their foundations, lest the enemy boast and say, 'We have overthrown the wall of Zion. We have burned the place of the mighty God.'" The destruction would not be a Babylonian triumph. It would be an act of heaven. The angels tore the corners of the walls apart with their own hands.

And as the walls crumbled, a voice rose from the interior of the shattered Temple, a voice that belonged to no angel and no man:

"Enter, you enemies. Come, you adversaries. For He who kept this house has forsaken it."

God had left the building.

Only then did the army of the Chaldeans pour in. They seized the Temple and everything around it. They led the people away captive. They slew some and bound King Zedekiah in chains, sending him to the king of Babylon (2 Kings 25:7). The invaders believed they had conquered Jerusalem by force. They never knew that angels had beaten them to it. And that the only things worth taking were already buried beneath their feet.

Full source
Antiquities X.5-7Antiquities of the Jews (Josephus)

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.Antiquities of the Jews, trans. William Whiston · Public Domain

The kingdom that Josiah rebuilt fell apart the moment he died. Josephus records that when Pharaoh Neco marched through Judah on his way to fight the Babylonians at the Euphrates, Josiah refused to let him pass. Neco sent messengers pleading with him, this was not his war. Josiah ignored the warning. In the battle, an Egyptian arrow struck him down. He died at age thirty-nine, and the prophet Jeremiah composed an elegy for him.

What followed was a cascade of puppet kings and catastrophe. Josiah's son Jehoahaz reigned only three months before Neco hauled him to Egypt in chains and installed his brother Jehoiakim on the throne instead. Jehoiakim was, in Josephus's words, "of a wicked disposition, and ready to do mischief." He paid tribute to Babylon for three years, then foolishly rebelled.

Nebuchadnezzar came personally. He killed Jehoiakim and threw his body outside the city walls unburied, exactly as Jeremiah had prophesied (Jeremiah 22:19). Nebuchadnezzar installed young Jehoiachin, who lasted just three months before the Babylonian king changed his mind, dragged him to Babylon along with ten thousand captives, and placed Zedekiah on the throne instead.

Zedekiah was warned repeatedly. Jeremiah told him directly: surrender to Babylon and the city survives; resist and everything burns. Zedekiah secretly believed the prophet but feared his own officials who had defected to Babylon. He chose pride over survival. After an eighteen-month siege, the Babylonians breached Jerusalem on the ninth day of the fourth month. Zedekiah fled by night through the desert. They caught him near Jericho. Nebuchadnezzar forced him to watch his sons executed, then put out his eyes, fulfilling both Jeremiah's prophecy that he would see the king face to face, and Ezekiel's that he would be brought to Babylon but never see it. The Temple of Solomon was burned to the ground.

Full source
Legends of the Jews 10:29Legends of the Jews

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Legends of the Jews by Louis Ginzberg (1909) · Public Domain

The Jewish mystical tradition doesn't shy away from portraying God as deeply affected by the events of human history, especially the tragedies. And perhaps nowhere is this more poignant than in the legends surrounding the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem.

In Ginzberg's retelling in, Legends of the Jews, God Himself was profoundly moved by the Temple's destruction. Imagine, if you will, God abandoning His own house, His Beit Hamikdash (the Holy Temple in Jerusalem), so that the enemy could enter and destroy it. After the devastation, accompanied by His angels, God visits the ruins, and gives vent to His sorrow.

"Woe is Me on account of My house," He cries. "Where are My children, where My priests, where My beloved? But what could I do for you? Did I not warn you? But you would not mend your ways."

There’s a deep sense of anguish and almost paternal disappointment in those words. God, in this moment, is not a distant, unfeeling deity, but a parent grieving for lost children.

And the grief doesn't end there. God then turns to the prophet Jeremiah. "To-day," God says, "I am like a man who has an only son. He prepares the marriage canopy for him, and his only beloved dies under it." The imagery is devastating. A chuppah, a symbol of hope and new beginnings, transformed into a site of unimaginable loss.

God continues, feeling Jeremiah's grief is not enough. "Thou doest seem to feel but little sympathy with Me and with My children. Go, summon Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Moses from their graves. They know how to mourn."

Jeremiah, understandably, is hesitant. "Lord of the world," he replies, "I know not where Moses is buried."

God then instructs him: "Stand on the banks of the Jordan, and cry: 'Thou son of Amram, son of Amram, arise, see how wolves have devoured thy sheep.'"

That image – the wolves devouring the sheep – is a stark and brutal depiction of the destruction and scattering of the Jewish people. And the call to Moses, specifically by his lineage, "son of Amram," emphasizes his role as the leader and protector of the people. It’s a call to witness the consequences of their actions, a call to mourn.

What does it mean that the tradition portrays God as capable of such deep sorrow? Perhaps it's a way of understanding the magnitude of the loss, the profound impact of the Temple's destruction on both the divine and the human. And perhaps, most importantly, it assures us that even in our darkest moments, we are not alone in our grief. God weeps with us.

Full source
Legends of the Jews 10:25Legends of the Jews

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Legends of the Jews by Louis Ginzberg (1909) · Public Domain

The Talmud, specifically Tractate Gittin 56b, recounts the horrific events surrounding the destruction of the First Temple in Jerusalem. It wasn't just a military defeat; it was a spiritual catastrophe, a moment of profound loss etched into the collective memory of the Jewish people.

The scene: the enemy, the Chaldeans (Babylonians), storming the Temple Mount. They reach the very spot where King Solomon himself, wisest of men, once sat in counsel with the elders. And there, instead of wisdom and justice, they plot the Temple's destruction. A symbol of everything sacred replaced by the machinations of war.

Then, a truly chilling image. The story tells us that four angels, each wielding a flaming torch, descended from the heavens and ignited the four corners of the Temple. – heavenly beings, agents of divine will, participating in this act of destruction. What does that say about the moment?

The Kohen Gadol, the High Priest, witnessing the inferno, makes a heartbreaking gesture. He casts the keys of the Temple heavenward, essentially surrendering them to God. "Here are the keys of Thy house," he cries, "it seems I am an untrustworthy custodian." (Gittin 56b) It's a moment of utter despair, a recognition of his own powerlessness in the face of divine judgment. And tragically, he's immediately seized and slaughtered, his blood mingling with that of his daughter on the very altar where he offered daily sacrifices. The horror unfolds relentlessly.

The priests and the Levites, the musicians of the Temple, throw themselves into the flames, clutching their harps and trumpets. And the young women who wove the sacred curtains, fearing the brutality of the invaders, follow their example. It's a mass act of sacrifice, a refusal to let the enemy desecrate their bodies and souls.

But the carnage doesn't end there. Nebuzaradan, the Babylonian general, is driven to a frenzy by a horrifying sight: the blood of the prophet Zechariah, murdered long ago for his prophecies of doom, still seething on the Temple floor. The blood wouldn't stop bubbling, wouldn't be quiet.

The Talmud (Gittin 57b) elaborates: at first, the Jews tried to hide the truth about the blood, but eventually, they confessed that it was the blood of a prophet who had warned of the Temple's destruction and was killed for his honesty.

Nebuzaradan, in a twisted attempt to appease the murdered prophet, orders the execution of the kingdom's scholars, then the schoolchildren, and finally the young priests – over a million souls, according to the account. Yet, even after all this bloodshed, Zechariah's blood continues to seethe and reek.

Finally, Nebuzaradan cries out in desperation, "Zechariah, Zechariah, the good in Israel I have slaughtered. Dost thou desire the destruction of the whole people?" And at that moment, the blood ceases to seethe.

What are we to make of such a gruesome tale? Is it a literal account, or a symbolic representation of the immense suffering endured during the Temple's destruction? Perhaps it's both. It's a reminder of the fragility of even the most sacred institutions, and the devastating consequences of internal strife and external aggression. It's also evidence of the enduring spirit of the Jewish people, who, even in the face of unimaginable loss, found the strength to rebuild and continue their covenant with God. The destruction of the Temple wasn't the end of the story, but a painful chapter in an ongoing narrative.

Full source
Pesikta Rabbati 26:6Pesikta Rabbati

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.OYW · CC-BY

The Temple, the very center of Jewish life, engulfed in flames. What happens when the unthinkable becomes reality?

The Talmud (B. Ta'anit 29a) recounts a powerful image: the High Priest, standing on the roof of the burning Temple, the keys to the sanctuary clutched in his hand. This wasn't just any building; it was the house of God, the place where heaven and earth met. Now, it was being reduced to ashes.

In a moment of profound despair, the High Priest cries out, "Master of the Universe! The time has come to return these keys to You." And with that, he throws the keys into the air.

What happens next is extraordinary. According to Pesikta Rabbati 26:6 and Y. Shekalim 50a, a hand reaches down from heaven – a literal, giant hand – and catches the keys, taking them back into the celestial realm. image for a moment. A hand. The Hand of God. Reaching down.

It's a powerful, almost shocking, act of anthropomorphism – attributing human characteristics to the divine. But what does it mean?

The legend, as recorded in B. Ta'anit 29a, carries immense theological weight. It suggests that heaven wasn't just a passive observer in the Temple's destruction. It implies that this devastating event was, in some way, part of God's plan. A tragic plan, to be sure, but a plan nonetheless.

The High Priest's act of returning the keys is one of utter desolation. With the Temple gone, the rituals, the sacrifices, the very essence of Temple-based worship could no longer be performed. It was the end of an era.

Yet, even in this moment of ultimate loss, the story offers a glimmer of hope. The link between God and Israel remains. By accepting the keys, God acknowledges the bond, even in the face of destruction.

This motif of returning a precious object to heaven appears elsewhere in Jewish tradition. There's the tale of Rabbi Haninah ben Dosa, who, according to B. Tan. 24b-25a, returns the leg of a golden table to heaven. And in "The Soul of the Ari" found in Gabriels Palace, pp. 258-259, we find similar themes of celestial exchanges. We even see a parallel in 2 Baruch 6:8-9, where the High Priest casts the Temple vessels into the earth, which opens up and swallows them.

These stories all speak to the idea of sacred objects, meant for divine service, ultimately returning to their source.

So, what are we left with? A burning Temple, a heartbroken High Priest, and a divine hand reaching down from the heavens. It's a story of loss, of despair, but also of enduring connection. And perhaps, that even in destruction, there is a strange kind of acceptance, a handing back of something precious, knowing that it ultimately belongs to something greater than ourselves.

Full source