5 min read

God Stood Up When Israel Had No Defense Left

Amalek, Esau, and the nations press their case against Israel, and God rises from the throne to become the defender no one else can be.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Amalek Came Without a Complaint
  2. The Advocate Falls Silent
  3. God Rose From the Throne
  4. The Nations Circled but Could Not Surround

Amalek Came Without a Complaint

Amalek did not fight Israel because of a territorial dispute. There was no broken treaty, no competing claim over water rights or grazing land. Amalek came because Amalek always comes first, the midrash says, the firstborn of wickedness among the nations, Esau's grandson acting out in national form what Esau had already chosen in his own life.

Midrash Tehillim 9:8 traces the line from Esau back through a single ruinous day. Esau came in from the field famished and sold his birthright for lentil stew. The midrash names what Esau committed in that transaction and in the hours around it: violence, contempt, desire, denial. He sold what should have been sacred because the hunger in front of him felt more real than covenant.

Amalek inherits that contempt. When Israel left Egypt and came through the wilderness, Amalek struck at the stragglers, the weak, the ones at the back. The attack had no military logic. It was pure contempt given a spear.

The Advocate Falls Silent

Every court has advocates. Every accused person hopes for someone who will speak on their behalf, who knows the case and the law and has the standing to be heard. Israel, standing before the nations in the midrash's imagined tribunal, expects this. There should be someone.

Midrash Tehillim 20:1 describes the moment the advocate goes silent. The nations press their accusations. They have evidence: Israel's sins, Israel's failures, the gaps between what the people promised at Sinai and what they actually did in the wilderness and afterward. The advocate looks at the record and says nothing, because the accusations hold.

The silence lands heavier than any blow. Defeat on a battlefield can be mourned and reversed. But a silence in the courtroom, when the person who should speak on your behalf cannot speak, carries a different kind of terror. It means the case may be lost not through injustice but through accuracy.

God Rose From the Throne

The Judge stands up. That is the image Midrash Tehillim 20:1 arrives at, and it is strange enough that the midrash pauses to consider it. When does the Judge rise from the throne? When no one else can take the role of defender.

God speaks in Israel's defense, not by denying the record but by arguing from a different basis. The nations who came against Israel did not do so out of justice. Amalek did not represent righteousness when it struck the stragglers. Esau did not represent covenant when he treated the birthright as surplus. The Judge who has been watching the nations' history as well as Israel's history rises to say: I know all the records, and these particular prosecutors have no standing.

Midrash Tehillim 118:10 completes the movement. Angels come to Israel and say: do not fear. God is your kinsman. The word for kinsman here carries legal weight. A kinsman-redeemer in Israelite law was the person obligated to defend the relative who could not defend himself, to stand in the gap when no outside advocate was available. God takes that role.

The Nations Circled but Could Not Surround

The Psalm that drives Midrash Tehillim 118:10 is the one that says all nations surrounded me, in the name of the Lord I cut them down. The midrash does not read the cutting down as purely military victory. It reads it as the moment Israel understood who was standing with them.

The nations' encirclement is real. The pressure is real. What changes is not the threat but the recognition of the kinsman who has already risen. A person surrounded by enemies who knows that the Judge has left the bench to stand in the defense can face the circle differently. Not because the enemies have withdrawn, but because the one who speaks for you is not limited by the same constraints that silenced everyone else.


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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.

Midrash Tehillim 9:8Midrash Tehillim

" This verse, seemingly simple, becomes a springboard for a deep dive into themes of good and evil, destiny, and the very nature of creation.

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) starts by connecting the verse to Amalek, that perennial thorn in Israel's side. As (Numbers 24:20) states, "Amalek was the first of the nations." Then, the focus shifts to Esau, the wicked brother, described in (Malachi 1:4) as "the border of wickedness." Now, why Esau? The Midrash paints a pretty damning picture, claiming he committed five sins in a single day: relations with a betrothed woman, murder, denial of resurrection, denial of God's sovereignty, and contempt for his birthright. Quite the rap sheet!

What's the ultimate fate of these evildoers? Quoting (Exodus 17:14), the Midrash declares, "I will utterly blot out the remembrance of Amalek." A powerful and chilling pronouncement.

It gets even more interesting when we turn to the story of Rebecca, pregnant with twins, Jacob and Esau. (Genesis 25:23) tells us, "Two nations are in your womb." According to Rabbi Levi, God isn't just talking about two peoples; He's talking about "two governments" destined to emerge from her. God reveals a hidden truth to her: "The first of the nations shall emerge from you," echoing (Jeremiah 2:3), "Israel is the holy first fruits of his harvest." It's a complex and layered interpretation, hinting at the intertwined destinies of these two brothers and their descendants.

Rabbi Elazar, quoting Rabbi Yehoshua, makes a rather bold claim: God only needed to rely on an intimate relationship with a woman (Rebecca) once, and even then, it was through an angel. And Rabbi Yose, as quoted by Rabbi, adds that Rebecca was blessed through the name of Noah's son. It's a reminder that even the most pivotal moments in our history are often shrouded in mystery and divine intervention.

The Midrash then broadens its scope, connecting Rebecca's twins to the seventy nations descended from Noah's sons. We get a quick genealogy lesson: Japheth had fourteen descendants, Gog and Magog thirty, and Ham thirty, totaling seventy. "From these the isles of the nations were separated," as (Genesis 10:5) tells us. The "two nations" in Rebecca's womb, then, also represent the potential for division and conflict among all the nations of the world.

Another interpretation? One nation is proud of its wealth (Edom), the other of its royalty (Solomon's Israel). But another: the two nations embody a deep-seated hatred, with the world hating both Esau and Jacob. These interpretations highlight the ongoing tension and conflict between these two lineages.

And then comes a fascinating detail: "From this, we learn that Jacob was born circumcised." He's not alone. The Midrash lists thirteen figures born circumcised, starting with Adam and including Seth, Noah, Shem, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, Samuel, David, Isaiah, and Jeremiah. These figures, the Midrash suggests, possessed an innate connection to God from birth, a physical sign of their chosen status. Note how the repeated name indicates this status: Shem, Shem; Noah, Noah; Terah, Terah; Jacob, Jacob; Joseph, Joseph; Moses, Moses; Samuel, Samuel.

Why is this significant? It suggests a preordained path, a destiny intertwined with the divine.

Finally, the Midrash returns to David, the author of the Psalms. Seeing how Esau's descendants enslaved Israel, David cries out to God, "Rebuke the nations who seek to destroy me." This brings us full circle to the opening verse, (Psalm 44:6), highlighting the enduring struggle between good and evil, the constant need for divine intervention, and the hope for ultimate redemption.

So, what do we take away from this deep dive into Midrash Tehillim 9? It's a reminder that even familiar texts can hold layers of meaning, revealing profound insights into our history, our faith, and our relationship with the divine. It challenges us to look beyond the surface, to confront the complexities of human nature, and to never lose hope in the face of adversity.

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Midrash Tehillim 20:1Midrash Tehillim

They're thousands of years old, yet they speak to our struggles, our joys, our fears as if they were written yesterday. Midrash Tehillim 20, a fascinating exploration of Psalm 20, which starts with the plea, "May the Lord answer you on a day of trouble."

This midrash, a method of interpreting scripture that unearths deeper meanings, isn't just a dry commentary. It’s a vibrant tapestry woven with stories, analogies, and theological insights. It asks: what does it mean to call out to God in times of distress, and what does God's response look like?

The Midrash Tehillim highlights the verse (Psalms 50:15): "Call upon me in the day of trouble; I will deliver you, and you shall glorify me." The text proposes that when Israel is in distress and turns to God, honoring Him in that very moment of need, He answers. But how can we understand this relationship?

The midrash uses a powerful analogy: a woman angry with her mother. Even in her anger, when the woman experiences the pain of childbirth, she cries out to her mother. Why? Because, even amidst conflict, there's a deep, primal connection. The neighbors might question her actions, but she knows, at her core, that her mother's presence, even in voice, is a comfort. Similarly, when the Temple was destroyed, it cried out in lamentation, as it is written: "The Lord of Hosts called in that day for weeping and for mourning" (Isaiah 22:12). The angels, witnessing God's grief, questioned it. God's reply? "My Temple is destroyed, and my children are in captivity and pain." As (Psalms 91:15) puts it: "With him I am in distress."

Rabbi Joshua the Priest beautifully connects this psalm to the nine months of pregnancy, each verse resonating with the hope and anticipation of new life. Rabbi Shimon bar Abba links the eighteen psalms starting with "Happy is the man" to the eighteen blessings recited daily in prayer, suggesting that reciting (Psalms 91:15) after these blessings amplifies their power.

But the midrash doesn't stop there. It explores the concept of a "day of trouble" as a universal day of judgment, a time when the nations of the world question Israel's unique relationship with God. They challenge: "Master of the Universe, what makes them so different? They do the same things we do!" At this moment, the advocate of Israel falls silent, unable to defend them.

Then, in a powerful turn, God Himself steps in. Not because of Israel's flawless record, but because of the righteousness they demonstrated in accepting the Torah. As (Isaiah 45:21) proclaims, "I speak the truth; I declare what is right." Rabbi Pinchas, Rabbi Elazar, and Rabbi Yochanan offer interpretations that emphasize the merit gained by receiving the Torah. One suggests that without this act, God would have destroyed them; another argues that the world itself would have returned to chaos (Jeremiah 33:25).

Finally, the midrash connects this salvation to Joseph. (Daniel 12:1) promises that "at that time your people shall escape, everyone who is found written in the book." By whose merit? By Joseph's. Why Joseph? Because he resisted temptation, refusing to sin against God (Genesis 39:9). Rabbi Samuel bar Nahmani suggests their connection lies in being called by God's name (Isaiah 43:7), while Rabbi Levi sees it in the shared language of "escape" (Daniel 12:1, Joshua 5:9), linking their deliverance to the removal of the "reproach of Egypt."

So, what does this all mean for us today? Perhaps it's a reminder that even in our darkest moments, when we feel most vulnerable and alone, we are not forgotten. The Midrash Tehillim invites us to see our own struggles reflected in the ancient text, to find solace in the knowledge that God hears our cries, and that even when we falter, there is a legacy of righteousness and faith that can deliver us. It is in this connection to tradition, to prayer, and to the unwavering covenant that we find our strength and our hope.

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Midrash Tehillim 118:10Midrash Tehillim

Specifically,

It’s a bold statement, isn’t it? Almost defiant. But where does that confidence come from?

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) begins by drawing parallels between David, the author of many Psalms, and earlier figures in our history. Just as Abraham questioned Abimelech, "What will you do to me?", and Jacob wondered about Esau, and David himself challenged Goliath, "What will you do to me?", so too can we find strength in the face of adversity. It's a lineage of courage, passed down through generations.

The Midrash doesn't stop there. It goes on to paint a vivid picture of the Jewish people standing in judgment before the Almighty. Imagine the scene: a courtroom of cosmic proportions. Naturally, there's fear, apprehension. But then, the ministering angels step in with a message of profound reassurance.

"Do not be afraid," they say, "for He is your kinsman." This is more than just a distant, all-powerful being. This is family. The angels remind us, drawing on verses from other parts of the Tanakh (Hebrew Bible), that God is our brother, our father. “Is not he your father who bought you?” (Deuteronomy 32:6) it asks. It's an incredibly intimate and personal relationship, a bond that transcends the formality of judgment. As it says in (Isaiah 43:1), "Israel, my chosen ones." What does it mean to have God as your family?

The Midrash continues by contrasting Israel's unwavering faith with the actions of five righteous individuals: Noah, Shem, Eber, Abraham, and Assyria (interestingly included among the righteous). Noah, rather than confronting the wickedness around him, retreated into his own world, planting a vineyard. Shem and Eber hid themselves away. Even Ashur, feeling overwhelmed, chose to leave, as it says, “From that land, he went out to Assyria” (Genesis 10:11). All understandable reactions, perhaps, but ultimately a withdrawal.

But Abraham? Abraham's righteousness, the Midrash tells us, stands forever. He doesn't abandon God, and God, in turn, doesn't abandon him. "I am the Lord who brought you out" (Genesis 15:7), God proclaims. It's a reciprocal commitment, a covenant of unwavering support.

So, what does this all mean for us today?

I think it's a reminder that even when we feel vulnerable, facing judgment or adversity, we are not alone. We have a powerful advocate, a loving family member, in the Divine. The Midrash invites us to tap into that ancient wellspring of faith, to remember the words of the Psalmist: "The Lord is for me, I shall not fear; What can man do to me?"

It's not about being fearless, but about finding the courage to face our fears, knowing that we are supported, loved, and ultimately, never truly alone. Can we access that deep well of faith that Abraham had? The Midrash seems to suggest that we can, and that in doing so, we too can stand strong in the face of whatever challenges life throws our way.

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