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Elijah Before the World Was Made and After It Ends

The rabbis placed Elijah at both ends of history, present before creation and appointed to announce the end. On Mount Horeb, God showed him all of time at once.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. What God Showed Him on Horeb
  2. Before the World Was Made
  3. The Question He Could Not Answer
  4. Appointed to the End

What God Showed Him on Horeb

Elijah had been running for forty days. He had outrun Jezebel's messengers, eaten the bread left by an angel, crossed the wilderness to the mountain where Moses had received the law. He was exhausted in a way that goes past the physical, the exhaustion of a man who has performed a public miracle and watched it change nothing. He had called fire from heaven at Carmel and killed four hundred and fifty prophets of Baal, and within hours Jezebel had sent a message promising his death by morning, and he had run.

On Mount Horeb, God showed him four things: a mighty wind that split rocks, an earthquake, a fire, and a still small voice. The Legends of the Jews does not read these as four natural events. The wind represents this world, strong and transient. The earthquake is the moment of death, when the body shakes loose from itself. The fire is the tribunal of Gehinnom, the judgment that follows. The still small voice is the absolute quiet of the world to come, when only God remains. In four phenomena on a mountain, God had compressed the entire arc of human existence for Elijah's consideration. This was not comfort. It was information. It was what Elijah needed to understand about the scope of the work he had been assigned.

Before the World Was Made

The rabbis traced Elijah backward as far as creation itself. The angel tradition preserved in the Legends of the Jews places him at the dawn, present before the world existed in its current form. His nature was understood to be different from that of ordinary prophets from the beginning. He had not simply arrived on the stage of history at the right moment. He had been part of the structure of history before the stage was built.

The Midrash Tehillim records that when God was creating the order of kings, Elijah was present in the account of their succession. He was not observing from outside. He was part of the architecture. The tradition that places him before creation and inside the divine plan for kingship is a way of explaining the thing that strikes every reader of the Elijah narratives: he seems to know things he has no natural way of knowing, to appear at moments too precisely timed to be coincidence, to move between realms as if the barrier between them is permeable specifically for him.

The Question He Could Not Answer

On Horeb, God asked Elijah what he was doing there. Elijah gave an honest answer: he was the only one left. All of Israel had abandoned the covenant. He had been zealous for God and it had produced nothing, and now they were trying to kill him, and he was the last one. God told him to go back. There were seven thousand in Israel who had not bowed to Baal. Elijah had not known about them.

This moment interests the Midrash because it shows Elijah at his most vulnerable and most mistaken. A prophet who has stood in God's presence and watched fire fall from heaven can still have a catastrophically incomplete picture of what is happening among the people. Elijah's certainty that he was alone was sincere and wrong. The tradition preserved in the account of Elijah explaining why bad things happen to good people shows him wrestling with exactly this gap: the righteous suffer, the wicked prosper, and the scales of justice are not visible from inside the story.

Appointed to the End

Malachi's final verses placed Elijah at the other end of history from his origin. Before the great and terrible day of the Lord comes, Elijah will be sent. He will turn the hearts of parents to children and children to parents. This appointment, made explicit at the close of the prophetic books, is the reason the Passover seder sets a cup for him and opens the door. He has not yet arrived. The cup is for a guest expected but not yet seated. The door is opened for a prophet whose assignment is still pending.

The rabbinic imagination found him everywhere in between. He appears in the Talmud as a source, cited by sages who claim he visited them in their studies. He appears in stories of scholars in poverty whose fortune changed after an old man arrived and gave unexpected advice. He is the prototype of the divine agent who moves through the world in ordinary disguise, identifiable only in retrospect.


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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.

Legends of the Jews 7:16Legends of the Jews

The prophet Elijah knew. And according to tradition, the events leading up to that moment, and even his ascent to heaven, hold profound meaning for us all.

The story goes that before God revealed Himself to Elijah, He sent four distinct phenomena: a mighty wind, a powerful earthquake, a raging fire, and finally, a “still small voice” (1 (Kings 19:11-1)3). But these weren't just random acts of nature. They were a lesson, a glimpse into the very destiny of humanity. The wind, so strong yet so fleeting, represents this world – our present existence, constantly changing and ultimately transient. Then comes the earthquake, symbolizing the day of death, a moment that shakes us to our very core, when the body trembles and quakes. The fire? That's the tribunal in Gehenna (hell), a fiery judgment. And finally, the still, small voice – the quiet, absolute judgment of the Last Days, when only God remains. As Legends of the Jews tells us, God was showing Elijah, and therefore us, the path we all must tread.

The story doesn't end there. What about Elijah’s dramatic ascent to heaven?

About three years later, Elijah was taken up into heaven. But it wasn’t a simple, peaceful journey. He had to contend with the Angel of Death himself! Imagine that confrontation. The Angel of Death, who believes he has dominion over all mortals, including Elijah, stands in his way. "You can't pass," he essentially says. "I have jurisdiction over everyone."

God, however, had other plans. He reminded the Angel of Death that at the very creation of heaven and earth, He had explicitly commanded that Elijah be granted passage! Even so, the Angel of Death argued back, as Legends of the Jews recounts, that allowing Elijah to bypass death would be unfair to everyone else. Why should he get a free pass when no one else does?

God’s response is fascinating: “Elijah is not like other men. He is able to banish thee from the world, only thou dost not recognize his strength." In other words, Elijah possessed a unique power, a strength the Angel of Death underestimated.

And so, a battle ensued. Elijah and the Angel of Death clashed, a cosmic struggle between life and, well, the end of it. And Elijah, through the grace of God, emerged victorious! Had God not intervened, Elijah would have annihilated the Angel of Death altogether. Instead, he held his defeated foe under his feet and ascended heavenward.

What are we to make of this incredible story? It’s a reminder that even in the face of death, there is hope, that extraordinary faith and devotion can lead to extraordinary outcomes. Elijah’s journey, filled with divine encounters and battles against seemingly insurmountable forces, serves as a powerful evidence of the strength within us all. Maybe, just maybe, we too have a strength that even the Angel of Death underestimates.

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Midrash Tehillim 146:3Midrash Tehillim

They found solace and hope in unexpected places, like Psalm 146. Midrash Tehillim, the classical commentary on the Book of Psalms, dives deep into its verses, unearthing profound teachings about God's compassion and the promise of a future redemption.

The verse says, "He makes a sentence for the oppressed…" But what does that even mean? The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) doesn't shy away from asking the tough questions. It asks, who are the oppressed? Who are the hungry?

The Midrash answers by giving us a very specific example: Elijah. Remember Elijah, the fiery prophet? Even he experienced hunger. But, as the story goes in (1 Kings 17:6), God provided for him. "The ravens brought him bread and meat in the morning and bread and meat in the evening, and he drank from the brook." So, when the verse says God "gives bread to the hungry," it’s not just a nice sentiment. It's a evidence of God's active involvement in the lives of even his most devoted servants.

Here's where it gets really interesting. The Midrash then tackles the phrase, "He permits what is forbidden." What could that possibly mean? This is where the rabbis really start to explore the boundaries of Jewish law and the possibilities of the messianic age.

One interpretation offered is that, in the future, all animals that were deemed impure will become pure. The Midrash references (Ecclesiastes 1:9), "What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again." Remember back in the time of Noah? God said (Genesis 9:3), "Every moving thing that lives shall be food for you. I have given you all." Everything was permitted! So why the later restrictions? The Midrash suggests it was a test. "To see who accepts His words and who does not." But in the future, perhaps those restrictions will be lifted.

Or… maybe not. The Midrash doesn’t shy away from presenting conflicting opinions. It cites (Isaiah 66:17), which speaks of those who "eat the flesh of pigs and rats and other abominable things" and warns that "they will meet their end together." So, will the forbidden become permitted? The Midrash leaves us with a question mark hanging in the air.

Then the conversation shifts to niddah (Niddah 3:7), the laws surrounding menstruation. This is considered one of the most significant prohibitions in Jewish law. During a woman's menstrual cycle, she is considered ritually impure, and sexual relations with her husband are forbidden, as (Leviticus 18:19) states: "And to a woman in the impurity of her menstruation." But could even this change in the future?

The Midrash offers a bold suggestion: Perhaps in the messianic era, even the laws of niddah will be transformed. To support this idea, it points to the story of the revelation at Mount Sinai. Before God revealed the Torah to Israel, He forbade marital relations for three days (Exodus 19:11). The Midrash argues that just as there was a temporary restriction before that initial revelation, perhaps the opposite will occur in the future when the Shekhinah, the Divine Presence, dwells among us.

But even here, the Midrash offers another view: some say that even in the future, marital relations during menstruation will remain forbidden.

So, what is meant by "permitting the forbidden"? The Midrash concludes by suggesting that it refers to those prohibitions that carry the most severe penalties – death or Gehenna, hell.

What are we to make of all this? The Midrash isn't giving us easy answers. It's inviting us to confront the complexities of Jewish law, the nature of God's commandments, and the very possibility of a transformed future. It reminds us that even the most seemingly fixed rules are open to interpretation, discussion, and perhaps, even transformation. Maybe the point isn't to know for sure what the future holds, but to keep asking the questions, to keep wrestling with the possibilities, and to keep striving for a world where even the most oppressed find solace and redemption.

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Shir HaShirim Rabbah 13:4Shir HaShirim Rabbah

The verse The rabbis ask, who is speaking, and what are they saying? They suggest that God answers us "by means of Elijah and..the messianic king." What does He say? “Rise up, my love, my fair one.” The commentary then launches into an allegorical interpretation of the following verses, seeing them as signs pointing towards the messianic era.

Rabbi Azarya interprets "For, behold, the winter [hasetav] is past" (Song of Songs 2:11) as a reference to the oppressive kingdom of the "Cutheans" (understood as the Roman Empire), which "incites [mesita] the entire world and misleads it with its lies." This is a direct comparison to (Deuteronomy 13:7), which warns against those who incite you to serve other gods. The end of winter, then, symbolizes the end of Roman oppression. "The rain is over and gone" signifies the end of subjugation itself.

What about "The blossoms [hanitzanim] have appeared in the land" (Song of Songs 2:12)? This, according to Rabbi Berekhya in the name of Rabbi Yitzchak, refers to the "administrators [hanatzohot]" who have appeared. Who are these administrators? They are Elijah, the messianic king, Malki Tzedek, and the one anointed for war (likely referring to Messiah ben Yosef, as mentioned in Sukka 52b). These figures represent the forces that will usher in the new era. We find the source for this connection in (Zechariah 2:3), "The Lord showed me four craftsmen."

The commentary continues, "The time of the nightingale [zamir] has arrived" (Song of Songs 2:12). This is interpreted as the time for Israel's redemption, the removal of the foreskin (both literally and metaphorically), the elimination of the "Cuthean" kingdom, and the revelation of the Kingdom of Heaven. As (Zechariah 14:9) states, "The Lord will be king over the entire earth." Then, "The sound of the turtledove [hator] is heard in our land" is the voice of the messianic king, proclaiming, "How pleasant are the footsteps of the herald on the mountains" (Isaiah 52:7).

Rabbi Hiyya bar Abba says, "The fig tree has formed its unripe figs" (Song of Songs 2:13) signifies that just before the messianic era, a great pestilence will come and eliminate the wicked. "The vines in blossom have emitted fragrance" refers to those who remain, the righteous remnant described in (Isaiah 4:3): "[Of] the remaining in Zion and the remnant in Jerusalem, [holy will be said]."

Rabbi Yoḥanan offers a specific timeline: The Sabbatical cycle during which the son of David comes will be marked by a series of events, starting with uneven rainfall (Amos 4:7), followed by famine, death, the dwindling of pious individuals, the forgetting of the Torah, and finally, great plenty and renewal. The sixth year will bring "sounds [kolot]"– which could mean voices, thunder, or even rumors of the Messiah. The Sabbatical year itself will bring wars, and the year after its conclusion, the son of David will finally arrive.

But, as Abaye points out, many such Sabbatical cycles have passed without the Messiah's arrival. So, what are the true signs? Reish Lakish offers a bleak picture: In the generation of the Messiah, the assembly hall of the Sages will be for prostitution, the Galilee will be destroyed, the Gavlan (Golan) desolate, and people will lack sympathy. The wisdom of scholars will be considered worthless, truth will be absent, and "the face of the generation will be like the face of a dog", brazen and without shame. We even see this idea echoed in (Isaiah 59:15): "Truth is lacking [nederet] and one who deviates from evil is deemed a fool." Where does truth go? The school of Rabbi Yanai says it retreats to the wilderness, while the Rabbis say the Sages of the generation will die, and those who remain will be consumed by sorrow.

The commentary goes on to list further signs: Youths will humiliate elders, families will be torn apart, poverty will proliferate, prices will be high, and the entire monarchy will be transformed into heresy. Rabbi Abba bar Kahana states that the son of David will come only in a generation whose face is like that of a dog, impudent and deserving of elimination. Rabbi Yanai concludes, "If you see generation after generation reviling and blaspheming God, anticipate the footsteps of the messianic king." This connects to (Psalms 89:52): "For Your enemies revile the Lord; they revile the footsteps of Your anointed one."

So, what are we to make of all this? Is it a prophecy to be feared, or a call to action? Perhaps it's both. It reminds us that even in times of darkness and despair, hope for redemption persists. The rabbis, through their interpretation of the Song of Songs, offer a complex and challenging vision of the messianic era, one that demands both vigilance and unwavering faith. It's a reminder that even in the most difficult times, we must strive for truth, justice, and compassion, and never give up hope for a better world.

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Bamidbar Rabbah 12:11Bamidbar Rabbah

Bamidbar Rabbah 12, a section of the classic midrashic (rabbinic interpretive commentary) text, wrestles with this very question, using the construction of the Tabernacle – the mishkan – as a lens. It all starts with a rather cryptic verse from Proverbs (30:4): “Who ascended heavenward and descended? Who gathered the wind in his fists? Who bound water in a garment? Who established all the ends of the earth? What is his name, and what is his son's name, if you know?”

The Rabbis of the Midrash unpack this verse in layers. Initially, it's interpreted as referring to God Himself. "Who ascended heavenward?" – that's the Holy One, blessed be He, echoed in the verse "God ascended with acclaim" (Psalms 47:6). "And descended?" – "The Lord descended upon Mount Sinai" (Exodus 19:20). "Who gathered the wind?" – well, God is "in whose hand is the life of every living being" (Job 12:10). You get the idea. Every phrase points back to the awesome power and majesty of the Divine. God's name, "My son, My firstborn, Israel" (Exodus 4:22).

The Midrash doesn't stop there. It cleverly layers another interpretation onto the same verse. "Who ascended heavenward?" This time, it's Elijah the prophet, who, as we know, "ascended heavenward in a storm" (II (Kings 2:1)1). "And descended?" – referring to when the angel of the Lord told Elijah, "Go down with him; do not fear" (II (Kings 1:1)5). And so on. Elijah, with his dramatic displays of power – controlling rain and even raising the dead – embodies the qualities described in Proverbs.

There's still more! The Midrash connects this verse to the importance of tzedakah, righteous giving, specifically the giving of tithes. "Who ascended heavenward and descended?" – the one whose prayers ascend and bring rain. "Who gathered the wind?" – the one who distributes tithes generously. In other words, our actions here on Earth directly impact the flow of blessing from above. If we're stingy, we're told, the rains will be withheld, and the land will suffer, echoing the curses in Deuteronomy (28:24): “The Lord will render the rain of your land dust and dirt."

And who first separated tithes? None other than Abraham, who "gave him a tithe from everything" (Genesis 14:20). Because of this, the Holy One granted him the heavens and the earth. And his son, Isaac, who also tithed, reaping a hundredfold harvest (Genesis 26:12). The message is clear: giving leads to abundance. "You shall tithe [aser te’aser]… tithe [aser] so you will become wealthy [shetitasher]."

Finally, the Midrash turns to Moses. "Who ascended heavenward?" – "Moses ascended to God" (Exodus 19:3). "And descended?" – "Moses descended from the mountain to the people" (Exodus 19:14). But the most intriguing connection is to the Tabernacle itself. Did Moses establish the ends of the earth? No, but he established the mishkan, the Tent of Meeting.

Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi, in the name of Rabbi Shimon ben Yoḥai, makes a powerful point: The Torah doesn't just say "erecting a Tabernacle [mishkan]"; it says "erecting the Tabernacle [et hamishkan]." That extra word, et, is significant. It implies a second Tabernacle, a tent within the tent, symbolizing the cosmic significance of this structure. Before the Tabernacle was erected, the world was unstable. Only with its construction was the world truly established and grounded.

So, what does it all mean? This passage from Bamidbar Rabbah invites us to see the world as interconnected. The actions of individuals, the giving of tithes, the construction of sacred spaces – all contribute to the stability and well-being of the cosmos. The Tabernacle, in this light, isn't just a physical structure; it's a symbol of our responsibility to create a world grounded in generosity, justice, and connection to the Divine. And maybe, just maybe, that's how we keep the winds gathered, the waters bound, and the earth firmly beneath our feet.

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Legends of the Jews 7:69Legends of the Jews

Legends of the Jews turns to Elijah Explains Why Bad Things Happen to Good People.

One of the most compelling of these tales involves Rabbi Joshua ben Levi, a respected scholar and friend of Elijah. According to Legends of the Jews, Rabbi Joshua asked Elijah for just one wish: to accompany him on his travels through the world. Elijah agreed, but with a strict condition: Rabbi Joshua couldn't question any of Elijah's actions, no matter how strange they seemed. If he asked "why," their journey would end.

So, off they went. They arrived at the home of a poor couple who owned nothing but a single cow. This kind couple welcomed Elijah and Rabbi Joshua with open arms, offering them food, drink, and a comfortable place to sleep. They showed them incredible generosity. But the next morning, as Elijah and Rabbi Joshua prepared to leave, Elijah prayed that the cow would die. And it did.

Can you imagine Rabbi Joshua's shock? He was beside himself! "Is that how the Almighty repays kindness?" he surely wondered. But he remembered his promise and bit his tongue.

Next, they came to the house of a wealthy man who was utterly inhospitable. He barely acknowledged their presence and offered them nothing. This man needed a wall repaired, but before they left, Elijah prayed that the wall would rebuild itself. And miraculously, it did! Again, Rabbi Joshua was bewildered, but he kept his word and remained silent.

Their travels continued, leading them to an ornate synagogue, lavishly decorated with gold and silver. But the congregants were stingy and unwelcoming. They grudgingly offered the travelers a place to stay and some meager provisions. As they departed the next morning, Elijah offered a peculiar blessing: "May God make you all heads!"

Rabbi Joshua struggled to contain himself, but he managed.

Finally, they arrived in a town where they were received with warmth and generosity. The people showered them with hospitality, providing them with everything they needed. In return, Elijah offered this blessing: "May God grant you but a single head."

That was the last straw. Rabbi Joshua could hold back no longer. He demanded an explanation for Elijah's seemingly bizarre behavior.

Elijah, seeing that their journey had reached its end, relented. "The poor man's cow," he explained, "was sacrificed to avert a greater tragedy. The man's wife was destined to die that day, but my prayer caused God to accept the loss of the cow as a substitute."

As for the wealthy, inhospitable man, "There was treasure hidden beneath the dilapidated wall. Had he rebuilt it himself, he would have discovered it. I repaired it miraculously to prevent him from profiting."

And the blessings? "The inhospitable people in the synagogue," Elijah said, "I wished that they be made ‘heads’ because too many leaders will cause only disputes and the community's ultimate ruin. But in the town where we were so well received, I wished for them a single head so that the town may have success."

Elijah concluded with a profound lesson: "Know, then, that if thou seest an evil-doer prosper, it is not always unto his advantage, and if a righteous man suffers need and distress, think not God is unjust." As we find in Midrash Rabbah, these things are not always as they seem.

With that, Elijah and Rabbi Joshua parted ways, each to continue on his own journey.

This story, found in Legends of the Jews, reminds us that we often lack the full picture. What appears to be unfair or unjust on the surface may be part of a larger, more complex divine plan. It challenges us to trust in a higher wisdom, even when we can't understand the reasons behind the events that unfold in our lives. It invites us to consider that sometimes, what we perceive as blessings and curses may be the very opposite. And perhaps, most importantly, it encourages us to act with kindness and generosity, regardless of what we receive in return. Because ultimately, it's not about the reward, but about the kind of person we choose to be.

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