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Baruch Hurled the Temple Keys Back to Heaven

Alone in Zion's ash, Baruch ordered the priests to fling the sanctuary keys upward and told heaven to guard its own house, for the stewards had failed.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Two Men in the Ashes
  2. The Lament That Stopped the World
  3. Keys Thrown Upward
  4. Three Hows Over One Woman
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Two Men in the Ashes

Two men stood in the ashes of the world. Baruch and Jeremiah, the scribe and the prophet, whose hearts had been found pure from sin, who had not been captured when the city fell. They tore their garments. They wept. They mourned. They fasted for seven days until the hunger itself felt like a kind of prayer.

On the seventh day, the word of God came to Baruch with a command that split the two men apart forever. "Tell Jeremiah to go with the captives to Babylon. But you, remain here amid the desolation of Zion. I will show you what will befall at the end of days."

Jeremiah departed with the people. Baruch returned alone to the gates of the ruined Temple and sat down in the wreckage. The partnership of pure hearts ends in different assignments: one walks with the living captives toward the river, one keeps company with stones that still smell of fire.

The Lament That Stopped the World

From the depths of his grief he composed a devastating lament. "Blessed is he who was not born. Or he who, having been born, has died. But as for us who live, woe unto us, because we see the afflictions of Zion." The living envy the unborn. That is how far the ash has climbed.

He called every dark creature to join his mourning. Sirens from the sea. Lilin, the night demons, from the desert. Shedim and dragons from the forests. "Awake and gird yourselves for mourning! Take up the dirges with me!" If the holy city cannot keep its songs, the wild ones will be drafted into the dirge.

Then he turned his grief outward and commanded the natural world to stop. Farmers, sow no more. Earth, keep your harvest within you. Vine, why give wine when no offering will ever again be made in Zion? Heavens, withhold your dew. Sun, withhold your light. Moon, extinguish yourself, for why should light rise again where the light of Zion is darkened?

He forbade joy itself. Bridegrooms, do not enter. Brides, do not adorn yourselves. Women, do not pray for children, for the barren shall rejoice above all others, and those who have sons shall have only anguish. Why bear children in pain only to bury them in grief? The city of prayer becomes a ban on every ordinary future, and the ban is spoken by a man still sitting in the gate.

Keys Thrown Upward

Baruch turned to the priests: "Take the keys of the sanctuary and cast them into the height of heaven. Give them to God and say: 'Guard Your house Yourself, for we are found to be false stewards.'"

To the virgins who wove the Temple's fine linen and silk with gold of Ophir: "Take everything and cast it into the fire. Let the flames carry it back to the One who made it, lest the enemy get possession of it." Better smoke returning to the Maker than cloth in a conqueror's tent.

Finally he turned his fury on Babylon. If she had prospered while Zion still stood, the grief would have been great enough. But now the grief had a second edge. The city of destruction thrived while the city of prayer lay open to the sky, and Baruch would not call that balance fair.

The keys left human hands. Stewardship ended in an upward throw. Heaven was asked to lock what earth could no longer keep. The gold of Ophir returned as smoke rather than plunder. That is the last free act the ruined house can still perform, and Baruch makes the priests perform it while the ash is still warm.

Three Hows Over One Woman

A single Hebrew word, Eikhah, runs through Israel's story. Picture a noblewoman attended by three groomsmen, each of whom saw her in a different season. Moses saw Israel in flourishing and cried, "How can I bear you alone?" (Deuteronomy 1:12). His "how" was almost a complaint of abundance. Isaiah found the same city grown reckless: "How has she become a harlot" (Isaiah 1:21). Jeremiah arrived last, when the ruin was complete: "How does she sit alone" (Lamentations 1:1).

Baruch sits inside Jeremiah's "how." The midrash of the king who exiles twelve sons until even God hires mourning women belongs to the same night. Loss climbs from tribe to tribe until the last child is gone and the lament begins. One word, three witnesses, three moments in the long decline of a beloved city that once had too many people for Moses to carry alone.

The keys in the air and the hired wailers on earth are one gesture: the house has outgrown its keepers' strength. Someone greater must hold what remains. Baruch's throw is not despair alone. It is the last honest inventory of stewardship, counted in metal rising and fabric burning while Babylon counts loot that never should have been hers.

BaruchJerusalemTempleExileLamentKeysDestructionApocalypse
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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 9-122 Baruch

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

Two men stood in the ashes of the world. Baruch and Jeremiah, the scribe and the prophet, whose hearts had been found pure from sin, who had not been captured when the city fell. They tore their garments. They wept. They mourned. They fasted for seven days.

On the seventh day, the word of God came to Baruch with a command that split the two men apart forever. "Tell Jeremiah to go with the captives to Babylon," God said. "But you, remain here amid the desolation of Zion. I will show you what will befall at the end of days."

Jeremiah departed with the people. Baruch returned alone to the gates of the ruined Temple and sat down in the wreckage. And from the depths of his grief, he composed the most devastating lament in all of Jewish apocalyptic literature.

"Blessed is he who was not born. Or he who, having been born, has died. But as for us who live, woe unto us, because we see the afflictions of Zion."

He called every dark creature to join his mourning. Sirens from the sea. Lilin, the night demons, from the desert. Shedim (demons) and dragons from the forests. "Awake and gird yourselves for mourning! Take up the dirges with me! Make lamentation with me!"

Then he turned his grief outward, commanding the entire natural world to stop:

"Farmers, sow no more! Earth, why do you give your harvest? Keep your sustenance within you. Vine, why do you give your wine? No offering will ever again be made in Zion. Heavens, withhold your dew. Open not the treasuries of rain. Sun, withhold your light. Moon, extinguish yourself, for why should light rise again where the light of Zion is darkened?"

He forbade joy itself. Bridegrooms, do not enter. Brides, do not adorn yourselves. Women, do not pray for children, for the barren shall rejoice above all others, and those who have sons shall have only anguish. Why bear children in pain, only to bury them in grief?

Then came the most searing image of all. Baruch turned to the priests: "Take the keys of the sanctuary and cast them into the height of heaven. Give them to God and say: 'Guard Your house Yourself, for we are found to be false stewards.'" And to the virgins who wove the Temple's fine linen and silk with gold of Ophir: "Take everything and cast it into the fire. Let the flames carry it back to the One who made it, lest the enemy get possession of it."

Finally, Baruch turned his fury on Babylon itself. "If you had prospered while Zion still stood in her glory, the grief would have been great enough. But now? The grief is infinite. The lamentation is measureless. You prosper while Zion lies desolate."

He wished the earth had ears and the dust had a heart. So they could descend to Sheol and announce to the dead: "Blessed are you more than we who live."

But even as his lament reached its darkest depth, a warning threaded through it like a blade. He turned to Babylon: "Do not expect to always prosper. The noonday does not always burn. The rays of the sun do not constantly give light. For assuredly, in its own season, divine wrath shall awaken against you, wrath that is now restrained by long-suffering, as if held back by reins."

The reins would not hold forever.

Full source
Pesikta DeRav Kahana 15:6Pesikta de-Rav Kahana

Translation of the source text.Pesikta de Rav Kahana according to an Oxford manuscript, Dov Mandelbaum ed., N.Y. 1987 · CC-BY

"How [Eikhah]" (Isaiah 1:21). Rabbi Yudah and Rabbi Nechemyah differed. Rabbi Yudah said: This word "How" is nothing other than a term of reproach, as it says, "How do you say, We are wise" (Jeremiah 8:8). Rabbi Nechemyah said: This word "How" is nothing other than a term of lamentation, as it says, "How does she sit alone" (Lamentations 1:1), "How has the Lord covered with a cloud in His anger" (Lamentations 2:1), "How is the gold become dim" (Lamentations 4:1).

It is like a noblewoman who had three groomsmen: one saw her in her tranquility, one saw her in her recklessness, and one saw her in her disgrace. So too: Moses saw Israel in their tranquility and said, "How can I bear alone" (Deuteronomy 1:12). Isaiah saw them in their recklessness and said, "How has she become a harlot" (Isaiah 1:21). Jeremiah saw them in their disgrace and said, "How does she sit alone" (Lamentations 1:1).

Full source
Pesikta DeRav Kahana 15:4Pesikta de-Rav Kahana

Translation of the source text.Pesikta de Rav Kahana according to an Oxford manuscript, Dov Mandelbaum ed., N.Y. 1987 · CC-BY

"Thus says the LORD of hosts: Consider, and call for the mourning women, that they may come" (Jeremiah 9:16). Rabbi Yochanan, Resh Lakish, and the Rabbis each expounded this.

Rabbi Yochanan said: It is like a king who had two sons. He grew angry at the first, took the rod, beat him, and exiled him, saying, "Woe to this one, from what ease he has been driven out." Then he grew angry at the second, took the rod, beat him, and exiled him, and said, "It is I who raised them badly." So too, when the ten tribes were exiled, the Holy One began to recite over them this verse, "Woe to them, for they have strayed from Me" (Hosea 7:13). And when the tribes of Judah and Benjamin were exiled, the Holy One said, as it were, "Woe is me for my hurt" (Jeremiah 10:19).

Resh Lakish said: It is like a king who had two sons. He grew angry at the first, beat him with the rod until he convulsed and died, and the king began to lament over him. He grew angry at the second, beat him until he convulsed and died, and said, "I have no strength left to lament him myself; call the mourning women to lament over him." So too, when the ten tribes were exiled, the Holy One, blessed be He, began to lament over them with this verse, "Hear this word which I take up over you, a lamentation" (Amos 5:1). And when Judah and Benjamin were exiled, the Holy One said, as it were, "I have no strength to lament over them; call the mourning women to lament," as it is written, "Thus says the LORD of hosts: Consider, and call for the mourning women" (Jeremiah 9:16). It does not say "let them make haste and take up a wailing over them," but "take up a wailing over us" (Jeremiah 9:17) [the mourning is for Me and for them]. It does not say "that their eyes may run down with tears," but "that our eyes may run down with tears" (ibid.) [Mine and theirs]. It does not say "and their eyelids gush with water," but "and our eyelids gush with water" (ibid.) [Mine and theirs].

And the Rabbis said: It is like a king who had twelve sons, and two died, and he comforted himself with the ten. Two more died, and he comforted himself with eight. Two more died, and he comforted himself with six. Two more died, and he comforted himself with four. But when all of them died, he began to lament over them, "How does she sit alone" (Lamentations 1:1).

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