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Babel Was Built With Bricks That Cost More Than People

A man fell from the tower and the work did not stop. A brick fell and they sat down and wept. Replacing it would take a year.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. They Fired Clay Into Brick
  2. Mastema Asked to Keep His Spirits
  3. The Climb Took a Year
  4. A Brick Mattered More Than a Man
  5. Nimrod Raised the Tower Anyway
Babel Was Built With Bricks That Cost More Than People Click for full size

They Fired Clay Into Brick

In the land of Shinar there was no quarry. The sons of Noah had clay, and they had fire, and they had the black tar that came up from the sea and from the fountains in the ground.

In the fourth week of a jubilee they shaped the clay, shoved it into flame, and pulled it out hard as stone. The bricks served them for rock. The asphalt served them for mortar. They had made a building stone out of dirt.

They began to stack. The city rose. The tower rose with it. They called the work Babel, and they meant to put the top of it in the heavens.

Mastema Asked to Keep His Spirits

Before the first course of bricks was laid, another work was already running. In the third week of that same jubilee, unclean demons began to lead the children of Noah's sons astray.

Mastema, chief of the spirits, had stood before God and asked to keep a workforce. "Let some of them remain before me," he said. "If none are left to me, I cannot execute my will on the sons of men. They are for corruption and leading astray. Great is the wickedness of the sons of men."

God did not give him all of them. Nine parts went down to the place of condemnation. A tenth stayed. A tenth was enough. The thought of the tower was already in the builders' mouths before the clay had cooled.

The Climb Took a Year

The tower went up for years. Then for more years. It reached a height that took a full year to climb. A man who started at the base in one season arrived at the top in the next. A brick dropped from the summit took a full year to hit the ground.

Six hundred thousand worked in Shinar under Nimrod. His counselors had put the plan in his ear. He had agreed. The hunter who had gathered power after the flood now gathered a mob and pointed it at the sky.

They argued, up there, about what the height was for. One party said, let us go up and wage war with Him. One party said, let us go up, set our idols there, and worship them. One party said, let us go up and ruin the heavens with bows and spears. Nimrod let all three keep working. The bricks did not care which speech they served.

A Brick Mattered More Than a Man

A man fell. He had been carrying. His foot missed. He went off the wall and the year-long drop took him. Nobody stopped. Nobody named him. The line closed and the next brick went into the gap.

A brick fell. The same drop. The same year. When it smashed, the builders sat down and wept. Replacing it would take another year of fire and tar and climbing. They counted that year as a wound.

They would not let a woman leave the brickyard when her labor started. She molded clay while the child came. She tied the newborn to her body with a sheet and put her hands back in the mud. The tower wanted brick. It did not want a pause.

Nimrod Raised the Tower Anyway

Nimrod stood on the plain and kept the work moving. He had been the first to make other men afraid after the flood. The people had one language. They had one plan.

God looked at the one people and the one work and the tenth of the spirits still walking in their thoughts. "Behold, they are one people, and this they begin to do, and now nothing will be withheld from them." He came down. He mixed their speech. The man who asked for a brick got a stare. The man who asked for tar got a laugh in a mouth that no longer matched his.

They left off building the city. The tower stood unfinished, a year high, with the places on it where men had fallen and not been missed. In the brickyards the sheets still held the shape of infants who had been tied on so the clay would not stop moving.

The bricks they had wept for stayed in the wall. The people they had not wept for did not.

BabelTowerNimrodJubileesDemonsBrickShinarMastema
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From the tradition

Sources

4 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.

Book of Jubilees 10:31Book of Jubilees

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.Sefaria Community Translation · CC-BY

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. 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?

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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Book of Jubilees 10:14Book of Jubilees

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.Sefaria Community Translation · CC-BY

Here, we get a glimpse into a celestial negotiation, a cosmic bargain struck about the fate of humanity. It's a negotiation that hinges on a character you might not know so well: Mastêmâ.

Who is Mastêmâ? He's described as the "chief of the spirits," and in this passage from Jubilees 10, he approaches the Creator with a request. It’s not exactly a humble request, either. He essentially asks for a workforce, a retinue of spirits to carry out his will.

Why?

The Mastêmâ says these spirits are essential. He argues that without them, he won't be able to "execute the power of my will on the sons of men." In other words, he needs these spirits to tempt, to corrupt, and to lead humanity astray. He claims "these are for corruption and leading astray before my judgment, for great is the wickedness of the sons of men. The text implies a cosmic system where temptation, the yetzer hara (the "evil inclination"), is not just a random occurrence but an active force, managed and deployed. What are we to make of it?

So, what's the divine response? Does God grant Mastêmâ’s wish completely?

No. There's a compromise. God decrees that only a tenth of the spirits will remain with Mastêmâ, while the other nine-tenths are cast down "into the place of condemnation. A celestial bureaucracy, haggling over percentages of demonic influence.

But even with only a tenth, Mastêmâ still has power. He still has the ability to influence humanity. It raises some serious questions. Does this absolve us of responsibility for our actions? Are we merely puppets dancing to the tune of demonic influence? Jewish tradition generally argues against that. We are endowed with free will, the ability to choose good over evil, even when the whispers of temptation are loud.

Perhaps the story of Mastêmâ and the spirits is not meant to be taken literally. Perhaps it's a metaphor for the internal struggles we all face, the constant battle between our higher and lower selves. Maybe the "spirits" are simply the negative thoughts and impulses that we must learn to control.

Whatever the interpretation, this passage from the Book of Jubilees offers a powerful glimpse into the complex and often unsettling world of Jewish angelology and demonology. And it's a battle that, ultimately, we have the power to win.

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Legends of the Jews 4:100Legends 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

Years blurring into decades, every thought, every action geared toward one monumental goal. That’s the story of the Tower of Babel, but not just the part The familiar version gives us about God scattering the people. This is about the human cost, the sheer, unwavering, almost terrifying devotion of its builders.

The tower, according to the legends, took many, many years to construct. It grew so tall, so impossibly high, that it took a full year just to climb to the top. A year-long ascent!

The Zohar, that foundational text of Jewish mysticism, and Ginzberg, in his masterful retelling in Legends of the Jews, paints a grim picture of the builders’ priorities. A single brick, baked in the sun and destined for the tower, became more valuable than a human life. If a worker fell from the dizzying heights, plunging to their death, no one cared. No one mourned. But if a brick fell? Oh, that was a tragedy. Tears would flow, because replacing that single brick would take another year.

The ambition to reach the heavens had completely warped their sense of humanity.

And it gets worse.

According to the Midrash Rabbah, their obsession was so complete that even the miracle of childbirth was secondary to the task at hand. When a woman in the brickyards went into labor, she wasn't allowed to stop working. She would mold bricks as she gave birth, then tie the newborn child to her body with a sheet, and just keep on molding. Unbelievable. This wasn't just about building a tower. It was about a collective madness, a single-minded pursuit that sacrificed everything – even the most basic human decencies – at the altar of ambition.

What does this story tell us about ourselves? About our own ambitions? About the things we value, and the price we're willing to pay to achieve them? Are we so focused on our goals that we lose sight of the human element, the very thing that makes life worth living?

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Legends of the Jews 4:99Legends 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

Forget the pyramids;

It all goes back to Nimrod. Remember him? The mighty hunter, the king who, according to tradition, was the first to really consolidate power after the Flood? Well, his ambition wasn't exactly… modest. The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), specifically Midrash Rabbah, paints a picture of a ruler whose arrogance knew no bounds.

That arrogance, that hubris, found its ultimate expression in one colossal, heaven-scraping project: the Tower of Babel.

It wasn't just Nimrod's idea,. He had counselors, advisors whispering in his ear, planting the seed of this audacious undertaking. And, as Ginzberg retells it in Legends of the Jews, the execution was… well, let’s just say it was a massive undertaking, involving a workforce of six hundred thousand people in the land of Shinar. Think of the logistics! The organization! The sheer will to build something so… provocative.

But what was the point? What drove this enormous effort? Was it just about reaching for the sky?

According to the texts, it was much darker than that. It was, at its core, an act of rebellion against God. Ginzberg explains that there weren't just builders; there were rebels, and they were divided into factions, each with their own wicked agenda.

The Zohar tells us of three distinct groups, each motivated by their own brand of defiance. One group, brazen and defiant, wanted to "ascend into the heavens and wage warfare with Him." They literally wanted to take on God in battle! The sheer audacity of that statement is breathtaking.

Then there was a second party. Their goal wasn't outright war, but something perhaps even more insidious. They wanted to "ascend into the heavens, set up our idols, and pay worship unto them there." They aimed to replace the Divine with their own creations, to usurp God's place in the cosmos.

And finally, the third group, perhaps the most chilling of all. They wanted to "ascend into the heavens, and ruin them with our bows and spears." A calculated destruction, a desire to dismantle the very fabric of the heavens.

So, the Tower of Babel wasn't just a building project. It was a statement. A rebellion. A many-sided assault on the very idea of God. What drives humanity to such heights of ambition, and to such depths of rebellion? And what happens when we try to reach too far?

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