5 min read

Ezra Decreed Below and Heaven Agreed Above

When Ezra's generation restores the obligations of Israel, the earthly court acts first and heaven seals what human beings dared to restore.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Cry Was Not Polite
  2. God Rode Into Battle Through Darkness
  3. Ezra's Generation Acted First
  4. Mercy Was the Shape of the Answer

The Cry Was Not Polite

The word the midrash uses for Israel's prayer in times of extremity is not the soft word for supplication. It is rinah, a sound that breaks from the body when a person can no longer pretend the world is orderly. Solomon prayed that God would hear the rinah of Israel in the Temple. Moses prayed that Judah's rinah be heard. The righteous who cry this way diminish themselves first, because they know the presence will not be summoned by pride.

Midrash Tehillim 17:15 places that cry near hard verses. Retribution. Captivity. Famine. Children carried away. It refuses to make the cry comfortable. Mercy is not extracted from a pleasant negotiation. It is wrested from the very passages that seem to offer none.

The midrash names what the righteous cry through: the angel who presides over punishments that nations bring on Israel, the darkness God draws from hidden worlds when riding into battle on a single cherub. These are not the conditions in which a person expects to win a hearing. They are the conditions in which the truest rinah is born.

God Rode Into Battle Through Darkness

Midrash Tehillim 18:13 reads the image from Psalm 18 with unsparing literalness. God mounts a cherub and flies. God makes darkness His concealment. The hiding place is not peaceful. It is dense water and thick cloud, and God moves through it on His way to answer those who have cried from within the darkness itself.

The cherub is a single one. Not the cherubim flanking the ark in the Tabernacle. Not the four-faced creatures of Ezekiel's vision. One. The image is of concentrated motion, of divine presence moving through the hidden world that ordinary kings cannot map.

The angel of death, the midrash says, attends even righteous kings. It does not make exceptions for the good. What changes for the righteous is not that death does not come. What changes is what they carry when it arrives, and what their lives before that moment have sealed in the record above.

Ezra's Generation Acted First

Decrees seem to fall from heaven downward. Midrash Tehillim 57:2 insists on a different direction. Ezra's generation restored what had been broken in Israel. They renewed the obligations. They brought the people back to practice that exile had interrupted or destroyed. They did not wait for heaven's permission. They acted, below, and heaven sealed what they had dared to restore.

The midrash treats this as something strange and beautiful and slightly dangerous in its implications. The lower court can act first. A generation that takes responsibility for what it inherited, that refuses to accept the damage as permanent, can present heaven with a decree that it ratifies rather than originates.

Ezra is not primarily a scribe in this telling. He is a man who understood that the relationship between earth and heaven is not entirely one-directional, that restoration is not merely waiting for rescue but is itself an act that draws heavenly confirmation.

Mercy Was the Shape of the Answer

Three forces move at once: the cry that breaks from genuine extremity, the divine movement through darkness toward those who cry, and the earthly action that invites heaven to seal what has been built. Each one is necessary. None of them alone is sufficient.

A cry without action can remain unanswered for a long time. Action without the cry risks becoming bureaucratic restoration that lacks the urgency that gives it life. And the divine movement through darkness is already in motion, always, but requires something human to move toward.

What Midrash Tehillim holds together in these three passages is a picture of how mercy arrives in the world after catastrophe. Not as a single miracle from above, but as the completion of a circuit that runs through human humility, human courage, and divine faithfulness, each waiting for the others to begin.

Midrash TehillimEzraJudgmentMercyAngelsHeavenPrayer
← All myths

From the tradition

Sources

3 sources

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

Midrash Tehillim 17:15Midrash Tehillim

A discussion of "rana," which can be translated as a cry or supplication. But it's not just any cry; it's a cry of righteousness. The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) draws a parallel to other verses, like the one in Kings I (8:28) about hearing the cry, and Deuteronomy (33:7) where God is asked to hear the voice of Judah. Why, it asks, do the righteous diminish themselves, yearning for the Divine Presence?

Then comes a jarring verse from Psalms (37:9): "Happy is he who seizes your infants and dashes them against the rock." Whoa. That's… intense. The Midrash interprets this as God saying "I will dash your little ones against the rock, just as you dashed mine." It's a painful analogy, linking the destruction of the Temple to the destruction of innocence. But the text clarifies that the children weren't dashed, they were taken into captivity. God isn't speaking literally; it's about the Temple, which God built so that Israel could uphold the Torah, received as children. As (Psalm 8:3) states, "Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings have you established strength." It's a powerful and disturbing image, highlighting the reciprocal nature of actions and consequences.

The text then moves into a discussion of divine retribution, quoting Psalms about giving to the wicked according to their deeds. It even mentions hell enlarging itself, drawing on Isaiah (5:14), and emphasizes that God's vengeance will be met with music and celebration. But there's a crucial caveat: even for those who seem undeserving, we should try to find merit, for this has implications for the World to Come. Even in this world, as Job (33:23) reminds us, an angel might intercede.

Next, we encounter the story of King David and the Gibeonites. "Now the Gibeonites were not of the people of Israel," (2 Samuel 21:2). Why was David distancing himself from them, causing famine? The Midrash explains that David believed certain sins, idol worship, illicit relations, bloodshed, and uncharitable judges, caused rain to cease. He sought the reason for the famine in the Urim and Thummim, divine instruments of judgement, and discovered it was connected to Saul's treatment of the Gibeonites. The Gibeonites sought retribution for the killing of their people – woodcutters and water drawers.

The story takes a fascinating turn when David asks what he can do to atone. Their demands are specific and even a bit unsettling: they want seven descendants of Saul to be handed over. Through this, the text highlights the importance of justice, even when it's difficult.

The Midrash then praises those who are merciful, bashful, and perform acts of loving-kindness. Shame, it says, prevents sin. Those lacking shame are likened to the uncircumcised, those who didn't stand with the forefathers at Sinai. It also speaks to the importance of converts, highlighting how God ensured that the door to conversion remained open.

The text further explores different categories of people who confess their allegiance to God, quoting Isaiah (45:23). The righteous converts are highlighted, as are those who repent and fear Heaven. The Gibeonites, however, are described as lacking mercy. Despite this, David sought reconciliation with them, emphasizing the importance of seeking justice for all.

The Midrash continues, mentioning how Ezra also reconciled with them and even suggests that God will distance them in the future.

The text shifts again, this time to the presence of the Holy Spirit in three specific instances: in the court of Shem, the court of Samuel, and the court of Solomon. Each is marked by a pronouncement of truth, validating righteous judgements.

Finally, the text touches upon the 613 commandments given to Moses at Sinai, linking them to the days of the solar year and the number of a man's limbs. It emphasizes the importance of integrity, truthfulness, and kindness, concluding with a reminder that God's ways are not always our ways. His attribute of mercy operates on a different plane.

What can we take away from all this? Perhaps it's a reminder that justice and mercy are complex, intertwined concepts. Perhaps it’s a call to act with integrity and compassion, even when it’s difficult. Or maybe it’s a reminder that even in the face of suffering, there is always the possibility of redemption and reconciliation. The Midrash Tehillim doesn’t offer easy answers, but it does offer a tradition of stories and interpretations to guide us on our journey. It invites us to confront the big questions, to find meaning in the midst of chaos, and to strive to live a more righteous life.

Full source
Midrash Tehillim 18:13Midrash Tehillim

It’s not always what you think. Midrash Tehillim, a collection of homiletic interpretations on the Book of Psalms, offers a glimpse into this very question, and it's wild.

The passage in question revolves around Psalm 18, specifically the verse that speaks of God riding on a cherub and floating on the wings of the wind. But what does it all mean?

Rabbi Tanchuma kicks things off, connecting this verse to future battles between Israel and the nations. He quotes (Zechariah 14:13), "A great tumult from the Lord will arise against them," suggesting that the details of these future wars are already laid out. It’s a cosmic cause and effect. Actions have consequences, and those who exalt themselves will ultimately face destruction, like the generation of the Flood, the builders of the Tower of Babel, the people of Sodom, and even the infamous Gog and Magog. As (Daniel 7:11) says, these powers are ultimately thrown into "the blazing fire.” The House of Jacob will be fire and the House of Joseph flame. (Obadiah 1:18)

Think about Pharaoh in (Exodus 5:2), defiantly asking, "Who is the Lord?" Or Sancheirev in (2 (Kings 19:2)3), blaspheming God through his messengers. Both were punished for their arrogance. In Sancheirev's case, it was an angel, as (2 (Kings 19:3)5) tells us: "Then the angel of the Lord went out…"

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) highlights the unique language of "tumult" used in connection with these wars. It suggests that these battles are fought everywhere, encompassing all aspects of existence. Rabbi Yehuda adds that "the spirit comes out only from between the wings of living creatures," further emphasizing the divine presence in these conflicts. The phrase "and floated on the wings of the wind" is key here.

Then comes a powerful analogy. Imagine a king whose son is kidnapped. His servants offer him a chariot to give chase. But the king, knowing time is of the essence, doesn't wait for the full procession. Instead, he grabs a single horse and rides after his son. Similarly, the Midrash explains, God doesn't wait for the full "chariot" of divine power. He takes a single cherub from the Throne of Glory and wages war against Egypt, as Psalm 18 says, "and rode on a cherub."

Rabbi Chanina bar Papa gets into the specifics of the divine chariot, contrasting the earthly chariots of flesh and blood with God's celestial chariot. (Deuteronomy 33:27) speaks of God as our refuge, with "everlasting arms" underneath us – a powerful image of divine support.

Then we have the curious phrase "ישת חשך סתרו" (yashet choshech sitro). This means that God has many hidden worlds, and he is going to reveal them. This is supported by the verse that says "he makes darkness his hiding place" (Psalm 18:12). Rabbi Nehemiah adds another layer, suggesting that the darkness brought upon Egypt originated from the darkness of Gehenna, often translated as hell. He cites (Job 10:22), "a land of darkness, like utter darkness," to illustrate this point.

So, what are we left with? It's this: God's battles aren't always fought with brute force or grand displays of power. Sometimes, they are fought with a single cherub, a whisper of wind, or even the darkness of Gehenna. God's ways are mysterious, hidden in plain sight, ready to be revealed when the time is right. He fights for us, not always in the ways we expect, but always with a fierce, unwavering love.

Full source
Midrash Tehillim 57:2Midrash Tehillim

It might sound audacious, but our tradition actually suggests there are times when the "lower court" – that's us, down here – and the Holy One, blessed be He, are in a bit of a… disagreement. And, surprisingly, sometimes, God actually agrees with us!

Midrash Tehillim, specifically Midrash Tehillim 57, explores this fascinating idea. It tells us, in the name of Rabbi Simon, quoting Rabbi Joshua, that there are three specific instances where God essentially concurred with the decisions made by the earthly court. Three times when we, humanity, seemed to know best.

What are these three instances? They involve ma'aser, tithes; the Scroll of Esther; and the greeting of peace. The source unfolds them.

First, tithes. Remember, Israel was exiled because they neglected giving ma'aser. As it says, "These are the statutes and the ordinances which you shall observe to do." (Deuteronomy 12:1). But, interestingly, during the exile, they were actually exempt from the obligation! When they returned in the days of Ezra, they re-established the practice themselves. Rabbi Yochanan points to the verse "And the beginning of your dough" (Numbers 15:20) and "Yet we make them" (Nehemiah 10:39), suggesting that whether in exile or not, we still fulfill the commandment.

Now, how do we know that God agreed with this re-establishment? The text says, "With a seal." The idea is that a "seal" implies permanence. Even though the obligation was technically repealed during the exile, the people chose to reinstate it. But didn't Malachi then ask, "Will a man rob God? But you say, 'How have we robbed You?' In tithes and in offerings." (Malachi 3:8)? Rabbi Shmuel bar Rav Yitzchak offers a powerful image: if a student issues a decree and the teacher carries it out, it’s because the student was right. God, in a sense, "carried out" our decree regarding tithes.

Rabbi Levi adds a fascinating interpretation: "Anyone who wants to say to his friend, 'What have you stolen from me?' should say, 'What have you owed me?'" Another explanation is that God says to Israel, "You establish Me [as your God] so that I will not stretch out my hand against the world to destroy it." We see this reflected in the phrase, "Let man establish God." This is quite a heavy idea!

So, that’s tithes. What about the Scroll of Esther? Where do we see God agreeing with us there? The verse tells us, "The Jews established and accepted" (Esther 9:27). They established it above – meaning, their decision preceded and influenced the heavenly decree. According to this interpretation, our acceptance of the story and the holiday of Purim solidified its place in Jewish tradition.

Finally, there's the greeting of peace. Remember when Boaz says to the reapers, "The Lord be with you" (Ruth 2:4)? If someone offers this greeting on their own, they’ve fulfilled their obligation. But if the other person doesn't respond, the obligation isn't fulfilled before Heaven. This is linked to the story of Gideon, where "The angel of the Lord appeared to him and said to him, 'The Lord is with you, you mighty man of valor'" (Judges 6:12). The idea here is that the greeting is a two-way street, requiring acknowledgement and participation to truly have meaning.

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) then takes an interesting turn, connecting this idea to the story of Saul and Samuel. Rabbi Tachlifa of Caesarea points out that when Saul disobeyed God's command regarding Amalek, Samuel rebuked him, saying, "Because you have rejected the word of the Lord" (1 (Samuel 15:2)3). As Samuel turns to leave, Saul tears his cloak. Samuel interprets this, "The Lord has torn the kingdom of Israel from you" (1 (Samuel 15:2)8).

Saul asks who will replace him, and Samuel hints, "the one who tears your cloak is destined to take your kingdom." Later, when David tears a corner of Saul's cloak in the cave (1 (Samuel 24:2)0), Saul realizes the prophecy and understands David's destiny. He says, "Behold, I know that you will surely be king" – king in this world and the world to come.

So, what does it all mean? This Midrash challenges us to think about our relationship with the Divine. It suggests that we are not merely passive recipients of God’s will. Our actions, our choices, our very acceptance can, in some ways, influence the heavenly realms. It’s a humbling and empowering thought, isn't it? It reminds us that we are active participants in shaping our tradition and our relationship with the Holy One. And perhaps, just perhaps, we even have the power to change God's mind… sometimes.

Full source