5 min read

Enoch Came Back From the Face of God and Tried to Explain It

Enoch returned from heaven and stood before his sons. He had seen God's face and written 366 books. He had to find words for what no language was built to hold.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Father Who Could Not Begin
  2. By Negation and by Measure
  3. What the Ten Heavens Had Been
  4. What He Asked Them to Do

The Father Who Could Not Begin

Enoch had seen the face of God. He came back to his sons to tell them about it, and the first thing he said was that he could not.

Oh my children, my beloved ones, hear the admonition of your father, as much as is according to the Lord's will.

That qualifier came in the first sentence. He would tell them as much as God permitted him to say. There was a category of what he had experienced that could not be transmitted at all, a portion of the vision that belonged to the tenth heaven and had no equivalent below it, no word that would carry it across the distance between where he had been and where they were standing now.

By Negation and by Measure

He tried. He told them: you see my eyes. I have seen the Lord's eyes, shining like the rays of the sun, and they filled me with awe.

He told them: you see my right hand beckoning you. I have seen the Lord's right hand beckoning me, and it filled all of heaven.

He told them: you hear my voice speaking to you. I have heard the Lord's voice, like a great thunder, shaking everything.

Each comparison worked by showing them the gap. He was not saying God's eyes are like the sun. He was saying: look at my eyes, and now understand that what I saw exceeded that by the distance between a candle and daylight. You cannot see it from where you are. I can only show you the distance.

What the Ten Heavens Had Been

He told them about the ascent in sequence. The first heaven with its celestial sea and the two hundred angels attending to the stars. The second heaven's darkness and the chained angels weeping, who had asked him to intercede and received a refusal. The third heaven's garden, the Tree of Life between corruption and incorruption, the three hundred angels singing without pause. He went through all ten levels, not as a catalogue but as a narrative of increasing wonder, each level preparing his eyes for the next, the anointing in the seventh heaven changing him from a mortal who could not survive the tenth heaven into something that could stand there.

When he reached the tenth, he told them about Pravuil and the reed and the thirty days of dictation, the 366 books that held the working knowledge of everything that existed. He told them he had brought those books back. He told them what was in them. He told them to read them and teach them and pass them down.

What He Asked Them to Do

After the description came the obligation. He told his sons: walk before God's face with fear and trembling. Serve God alone. Bow before God and not before idols. Bring offerings not of words alone but of actions: help the hungry, clothe the naked, protect the orphan, give the widow her due, visit the sick. Love each other. Do not repay evil with evil. What a man does to a neighbor, God will do to him. There is no deception in God. There is no favoritism in God.

He told them: I am one day going to go away from you, and I do not know when. While I am here, hear me. The books are for the time after I am gone.

He had been taken through ten heavens and sat for thirty days writing the inventory of creation and stood before a face like iron in fire, and he came home and told his children to feed the hungry and clothe the naked and love each other. The two things were the same thing, in his telling, and the ten heavens existed to make that connection visible. The structure of everything above the earth was built to explain why the smallest act of mercy below it mattered.

Enoch2 EnochWisdomTeachingDivine PresenceKnowledge
← All myths

From the tradition

Sources

2 sources

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

Ben Sira 44:19Ben Sira

Ben Sira, in his wisdom, offers a clue: "Their wisdom the community will repeat, and their praises the assembly will recount." It's through the act of remembering, of telling and retelling, that their legacies live on.

Who are these figures worthy of such remembrance? Ben Sira gives us a glimpse, starting with Ḥanokh (Enoch).

Ḥanokh, What does it mean to "walk with God"? It suggests a life lived in profound connection, a constant striving for righteousness. And his being "taken" – well, that's a mystery that has fueled countless interpretations. Was it a reward? An escape? A transformation? Whatever it was, it served as "a sign of knowledge," a reminder that such a life is possible.

Then comes Noaḥ (Noah). Righteous Noaḥ, who "was found pure, at a time of destruction he was substituted.": "substituted." He became the vessel, the ark, through which life could continue. The text continues, "for his sake there was a remnant, and in his covenant the Flood ceased."

The weight of the world rested on his shoulders. And what an image: the rainbow, "through an eternal sign the covenant was made with him, and without it all flesh would have been wiped out." A promise. A sign of hope amidst utter devastation. We needed that covenant. We still need that covenant.

Finally, Ben Sira introduces us to Avraham (Abraham), "a father of many [av hamon] nations, given no blemish in his glory." Av hamon – the father of a multitude. This is a crucial point. Abraham wasn't just the father of one nation, but of many. His legacy extends far beyond his immediate descendants. And despite his flaws, his moments of doubt and fear, he was "given no blemish in his glory." Why? Perhaps because his faith, his willingness to follow God's call, outweighed everything else.

What’s fascinating is how these figures are presented. Not as flawless paragons, but as humans who, despite their imperfections, embodied something extraordinary. They walked with God, they saved humanity, they became fathers of nations.

These figures, Ḥanokh, Noaḥ, and Avraham, they weren't just names in a book. They were living examples, reminders that even in the face of immense challenges, we have the capacity for greatness, for righteousness, for making a difference. And it's through remembering their stories, as Ben Sira tells us, that their wisdom continues to guide us. What stories will we tell, and what legacies will we leave behind?

Full source
Ben Sira 44:14Ben Sira

Ben Sira, in his wisdom, grapples with this very question. He paints a picture of two groups of people, both part of the same community, yet destined for very different legacies.

"From among them," he says, "some left a name, that they be rested on their legacy." These are the individuals whose actions, whose character, were so impactful that they resonated through the ages. They built something lasting, something worthy of remembrance. Their very name became synonymous with their deeds.

Then there's the other side of the coin. "And from among them some were not remembered, and ceased to be when they ceased to be." Harsh, isn't it? A stark reminder of our mortality and the very real possibility of fading into obscurity. Ben Sira continues, "When they were no more, they were no more, and their children after them." It’s a chilling thought, the idea that our existence might ultimately be erased, our contributions forgotten.

Does this mean these forgotten souls were somehow less worthy? Were they less pious? Ben Sira offers a comforting reassurance: "Still, these were pious men, and their hope will not cease." Just because their names aren't etched in the annals of history doesn't diminish their inherent goodness, their connection to the Divine. Their hope – their tikvah – remains eternal.

And that brings us to a crucial point: the enduring power of legacy. "With their seed is their faithful goodness, and their inheritance to their children's children." Even if their individual names are lost to time, their mitzvot – their good deeds, their acts of loving kindness – continue to ripple outwards through their descendants. It's a beautiful image of intergenerational connection, of values passed down through the generations.

"Forever and ever their memories stand, and their righteousness will not be forgotten." Wait a minute..didn't we just say some were not remembered? Here's where the nuance lies. Perhaps their individual names fade, but the essence of their righteousness, their commitment to doing good, becomes woven into the very fabric of their family and community. Their impact, though perhaps unseen, continues to shape the world.

Ben Sira concludes with a powerful image: "Their corpses are in peace gathered up, and their names live from generation to generation." Ultimately, death is not the end. Even in physical death, there is a gathering, a sense of peace. And for those who lived righteously, their names – whether remembered individually or as part of a larger collective – live on in the hearts and minds of those who follow.

So, what's the takeaway? It's not about striving for fame or recognition. It's about living a life of meaning, a life filled with tzedakah (righteousness) and chesed (loving-kindness). Because even if our names are eventually forgotten, the positive impact we have on the world will continue to resonate, a evidence of the enduring power of a life well-lived. Our legacy is not just in our names, but in the goodness we leave behind.

Full source