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God Descended to Babel and the Angels Came With Him

When God came down to Babel, He did not come alone. The angels descended with Him, and seventy languages rose from the plain like smoke that would never clear.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Descent That Was Not Solitary
  2. The Seventy Languages Rising From One
  3. What Happened to Some of the Builders
  4. The Plain That Bore the Memory

The Descent That Was Not Solitary

God came down in three spare words. The Torah says He saw the tower, He came down, He confounded the language, He scattered the people. It is over almost before it begins. But the angel speaking in the Book of Jubilees, the angel who delivered the book's contents to Moses on Sinai, uses a different pronoun. Not He descended. We descended. The angel standing at Moses's shoulder on the mountain says: we went down with Him.

The confounding of language at Babel was not a solitary act of divine judgment. It was a mission. God and His council moved together through the air above the plain of Shinar and looked at what the builders had made and spoke together about what to do. The phrase from Genesis, come, let us go down, was not a figure of speech. The angels heard the commission and went. The plural had been real all along.

The Seventy Languages Rising From One

The intention of the descent is preserved in the Book of Jubilees in direct divine speech: Go to, let us go down and confound their language, that they may not understand one another's speech, and they may be dispersed into cities and nations, and one purpose will no longer abide with them till the day of judgment.

That last phrase is the significant one. Till the day of judgment. The scattering at Babel is not permanent in the ultimate sense. It is a condition of the current age, an arrangement made for a particular reason to last for a particular duration. Before the tower, one language. After the tower, seventy. Before the day of judgment, seventy. After the day of judgment, something different, what the tradition does not yet say.

The languages rose from the plain like smoke that would never fully clear. People who had been neighbors and workers and family members stood in front of each other and opened their mouths and produced sounds the other could not follow. The construction stopped. Not because the tower was destroyed in that moment but because the workers could no longer coordinate. A project that required communication lost communication and became a ruin before anyone touched it.

What Happened to Some of the Builders

The tradition that followed the Jubilees account added a detail that pressed the punishment further. Some of the builders were turned into animals. Into monkeys and other creatures, the text says, using their hands for things no human hand should need. The transformation was not a metaphor. The men who had placed bricks above workers, who had wept for falling stone while ignoring falling people, became creatures without the language they had abused and without the thumbs they had used to pile fire-baked clay toward heaven.

The tower stood as wreckage. The wind would come, the Book of Jubilees records in an adjacent passage, and overthrow it upon the earth. The physical structure fell separately from the linguistic catastrophe. First the language failed, then the tower fell. The people scattered first in confusion, then in the aftermath of the ruin.

The Plain That Bore the Memory

They named the ruin Overthrow. Not Babel, which Genesis uses and which carries the wordplay on confusion. Overthrow. The land between Asshur and Babylon became a landscape named for what God had done to it, and every generation that came after and looked at the rubble and heard its name would know, without being told, what the builders had done wrong and what it had cost them.

The angels flew back to wherever they had come from. The plain of Shinar slowly refilled with people speaking seventy different things, building seventy different nations, moving toward the futures their lots would assign them, carrying in their mouths the new languages that had replaced the single tongue they had shared on the morning the descent began.


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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.

Book of Jubilees 10:36Book of Jubilees

That disconnect, that inability to understand each other, it goes way back. Like, really way back.

The Book of Jubilees, an ancient Jewish text that expands on the stories we find in Genesis, gives us a concise, powerful account of what happened next. It says, "Go to, let us go down and confound their language, that they may not understand one another's speech, and they may be dispersed into cities and nations, and one purpose will no longer abide with them till the day of judgment."

Who is speaking here? The text says, "The Lord descended, and we descended with Him to see the city and the tower which the children of men had built." So, God, accompanied by.. well, we. Angels? Divine beings? The text leaves it wonderfully ambiguous, inviting us to imagine the scene, the divine council observing humanity's grand, perhaps misguided, project.

And what does God do? He confounds their language. Boom. Just like that. "He confounded their language, and they no longer understood one another's speech, and they ceased then to build the city and the tower."

Imagine the chaos. One minute, you're laying bricks, shouting instructions to your buddy. The next, the words coming out of your mouth are gibberish to him. And his to you. Construction grinds to a halt. Plans are abandoned.

The Book of Jubilees then tells us, "For this reason the whole land of Shinar is called Babel, because the Lord did there confound all the language of the children of men, and from thence they were dispersed into their cities, each according to his language and his nation." Babel, of course, sounds like the Hebrew word balal, meaning "to confuse."

So, there you have it. The Tower of Babel. A story of ambition, divine intervention, and the origin of different languages. But is it just a story about how we started speaking different tongues? Or is it a cautionary tale about the dangers of unchecked ambition and the importance of understanding each other, even when we don't speak the same language? Perhaps it’s both. And maybe, just maybe, that's a message that still resonates today.

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Chronicles of Jerahmeel XXXChronicles of Jerahmeel (Gaster, 1899)

The builders of the Tower of Babel were not just confused. They were transformed. According to the Chronicles of Jerahmeel, a 12th-century Hebrew chronicle translated by Moses Gaster in 1899, when God confounded their language, He also changed their form into that of monkeys. Brothers could not recognize each other. When builders ordered stones, workers brought water. When they asked for water, they received stubble.

The tower itself was a massive undertaking, seventy steps high, with the ascent from the east and the descent from the west. The builders' priorities were revealing: if a man fell from the tower, nobody cared. But if a single brick fell, they wept bitterly and cried, "When, oh when, will another be brought up?" Bricks mattered more than people.

Their ambitions went beyond architecture. The builders planned to "take axes and break open the firmament" so the waters above would drain below, preventing God from ever sending another flood. They intended to wage war against heaven itself and establish themselves as gods. God's response was decisive. He declared He would scatter them, destroy some by water and others by fire, and strike them with thirst, "but Abram, My servant, I shall select."

God revealed that the land He intended for Abraham had been spared even during the flood. He never sent the deluge upon it. Now He would bring Abraham there, make a covenant with him and his descendants forever, and be their God for eternity. Abram had cursed the builders in God's name, but they ignored him. So God descended with seventy thousand angels and shattered their single language into seventy tongues. The tower was abandoned. The people were scattered across the earth.

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Jasher 11Book of Jasher

What about the generations that followed? What were they up to? The Book of Jasher, an ancient text referenced in the Bible itself (Joshua 10:13 and (2 Samuel 1:1)8), offers some fascinating, and sometimes startling, answers.

The story picks up with Nimrod, that mighty hunter we meet in Genesis. According to Jasher, Nimrod wasn't just hunting animals. He was building an empire. He constructs cities in the land of Shinar (that's Mesopotamia, modern-day Iraq). And get this: the names of the cities themselves are a commentary on the Tower of Babel incident!

First, there's Babel, of course, named "because the Lord there confounded the language of the whole earth." Then Erech, because from there God dispersed the people. Eched, a memorial to a great battle. And finally, Calnah, where Nimrod's princes and mighty men were "consumed" because they rebelled against God. Ouch.

Nimrod settles in Babel and, despite the whole tower debacle, doubles down on wickedness. He's even given a new name, Amraphel, because "at the tower his princes and men fell through his means." His son, Mardon, is even worse! The verse reads, "From the wicked goeth forth wickedness." It's a harsh assessment, but it sets the stage for what's to come.

We also hear about a war between the families of Ham, one of Noah's sons. Chedorlaomer, king of Elam, subdues five cities and makes them pay tribute for twelve years. This detail might sound random, but it actually connects to a later biblical narrative involving Abraham and his rescue of Lot (Genesis 14).

But the real heart of this chapter centers on a young Abram. We learn that in the fiftieth year of his life, Abram leaves Noah's house and returns to his father Terah. And here's where things get really interesting. Abram, already knowing the Lord, is appalled by the idolatry he finds in his father's home. Terah, you see, is not just a regular guy. He’s "captain of the host of king Nimrod," and he's deeply involved in serving "strange gods."

The text paints a vivid picture: twelve gods standing in their temples. Abram, filled with righteous anger, vows to destroy them. And he doesn't waste any time.

He confronts his father, asking about the Creator. Terah proudly presents his idols. Abram pretends to be interested in making offerings, even tricking his mother into preparing savory meat for the idols. But of course, the idols do nothing. They can't eat, they can't speak, they can't even move.

Then, the pivotal moment: Abram is "clothed with the spirit of God." He denounces the idols and, in a dramatic act of defiance, he grabs a hatchet and smashes them all! He then cleverly places the hatchet in the hand of the largest idol, setting the stage for a hilarious (and tense) confrontation with his father.

Terah, understandably furious, confronts Abram. Abram, with remarkable audacity, claims the largest idol destroyed the others in a fit of jealousy. Terah, of course, doesn't buy it. "Are they not wood and stone, and have I not myself made them?" he demands.

Abram then turns the question back on his father: "And how canst thou then serve these idols in whom there is no power to do anything? Can those idols in which thou trustest deliver thee?"

The argument escalates, culminating in Abram snatching the hatchet and running away. Terah, enraged, runs to Nimrod, demanding justice.

The scene shifts to a royal court. Nimrod, surrounded by his princes, interrogates Abram. Abram repeats his story about the large idol. When Nimrod scoffs, Abram turns his fire on the king himself, condemning his idolatry and warning him of divine judgment, even referencing the Flood as a consequence of similar wickedness.

Abram concludes with a powerful call to repentance: "Now therefore put away this evil deed which thou doest, and serve the God of the universe, as thy soul is in his hands, and then it will be well with thee." And if not? "Then wilt thou die in shame in the latter days."

The chapter ends with Abram lifting his eyes to heaven, declaring that the Lord sees all the wicked and will judge them. It's a powerful image of faith and defiance in the face of overwhelming opposition.

So, what do we take away from this? The story of Abram's iconoclasm, his smashing of idols, isn't just a tale of youthful rebellion. It’s a foundational narrative about challenging false gods, about speaking truth to power, and about choosing faith over conformity. It sets the stage for the entire Abrahamic tradition, reminding us that sometimes, the most faithful thing we can do is to break the idols in our own lives and in the world around us. And that takes courage, doesn’t it?

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Legends of the Jews 4:103Legends of the Jews

The familiar story is this:. Humanity, united in language and purpose, decides to build a tower reaching to the heavens. A bit audacious, to say the least. And God, seeing this, decides to confound their speech, scattering them across the earth. But there’s so much more to the story!

The confounding of language wasn't just about punishing sin and sinners, though that was certainly part of it. It was also connected to something incredibly profound: a rare and special descent of God to Earth. According to tradition, there are only ten such descents from the creation of the world until the Day of Judgement. This was one of them.

God, surrounded by seventy angels that make up His heavenly court. What are they doing? Holding a divine lottery. As we find in Legends of the Jews, by Ginzberg, they cast lots concerning the various nations of the world. It’s a image, isn’t it? Each angel received a nation as their charge.

Who would get Israel? That's where the story takes a truly special turn. Israel, the chosen people, fell to the lot of God Himself.

And what about language? Each nation was assigned a specific tongue. But Hebrew...Ivrit...that was different. Hebrew was reserved for Israel. The Legends of the Jews tells us that it was the language God used at the creation of the world. Imagine that! A language imbued with the very power of creation.

So, next time you hear Hebrew spoken, remember this story. It's more than just a language; it’s a connection to a divine moment, a reminder of a unique covenant, and a whisper of the very words with which the world was brought into being. It makes you wonder, doesn’t it, about the hidden stories behind every language, every people, every corner of the world?

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