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God Hid the Wicked From the Angels Before Adam Was Made

The angels wanted to know what the new creature would be like. God told them about the righteous who would come out of him and left out the other half.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. What the Angels Wanted to Know
  2. The Two Columns
  3. The Womb That Was Carved
  4. What She Had Left on Deposit
  5. Not One Nose Ring
God Hid the Wicked From the Angels Before Adam Was Made Click for full size

What the Angels Wanted to Know

Before there was a man there was a meeting. God turned to the ministering angels and said, "Let us make Man in our image, in our likeness."

They did not simply agree. They asked one question first.

"What is his nature?"

"Righteous people will arise out of him," God said.

That was true, and it was half. He had already looked down the whole line of everyone who would ever descend from this creature, and He had watched both kinds come walking out of it, and He handed the angels one of the two lists and hid the other. Rabbi Hanina said out loud why. Had God shown them the second list, the attribute of justice would not have permitted the man to be made. The angels would have argued the case and won it, and the argument would have been correct.

The Two Columns

Rabbi Berekhya told the same moment from inside the deliberation, where nobody was watching. God stood over the clay with both futures in front of Him.

"If I create him, wicked people will descend from him. But if I do not create him, how will righteous people ever descend from him?"

He did not solve it. That is the part worth slowing down. He pushed the road of the wicked out of His own field of vision, took hold of the attribute of mercy the way a man takes hold of a tool he is going to need, and put His hands in the clay. That is how Adam got made. Up to that point the account of the making of the world uses one name for Him. From the making of the man it uses two, and the one that gets added is the name of mercy.

The Womb That Was Carved

Everything after that happened under a decision nobody could see.

Sarah was one of the people who lived under it. Rabbi Yehuda taught in the name of Reish Lakish that her body was not a body with a closed womb. She had no womb at all. There was nothing in her to open, no organ that had failed, no season that had passed. God cut one into her that year, the way a mason cuts a chamber into rock, and then a woman of ninety fed a baby at her own breast.

Rabbi Nehemya said He gave her back the days of her youth outright. Rabbi Abahu put the last piece in place. God said, "I will impose fear of her upon all the nations of the world, so they will not torment her and call her the barren woman." Somewhere in the towns around her, men who had used that word about her for decades opened their mouths in her presence and could not get it out.

What She Had Left on Deposit

Rabbi Ada explained the whole thing as a matter of goods held in trust. "I am a keeper of deposits," God said. "Amalek deposited with Me bundles of thorns." So bundles of thorns went back to Amalek, and the verse that records the return says only that God remembered what Amalek did to Israel.

"Sarah deposited with Me commandments and good deeds." So commandments and good deeds went back to Sarah. Not a reward in some other currency. The same goods she had left, handed back in the shape of a son who would spend his life performing them. She had been paying into that account for ninety years without a receipt.

Not One Nose Ring

Her grandson walked out of the house with nothing in his hands.

Rabbi Shmuel bar Nahman heard Jacob in the psalm that begins by lifting the eyes to the mountains, and heard the word for mountains bend toward the word for parents. I lift my eyes to my parents, to my teachers, to the ones who raised me. From where will my help come?

Because Jacob was doing arithmetic on the road, and it came out badly. When Eliezer went to fetch Rebecca for Isaac, the servant took ten camels loaded with goods. Jacob was going out on the same errand, to bring back a wife, and he did not have one nose ring or one bracelet. Rabbi Hanina said Isaac sent him out empty. Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi said Isaac sent him out loaded, and Esau came up the road behind him and took it all.

Then Jacob stopped himself in the middle of the sum. "What, will I lose my confidence in my Creator? God forbid. I will not lose my confidence in my Creator."

He could not see what was walking with him. The guard against Esau and against Laban, the guard against the angel of death, the one who neither sleeps nor dozes, none of it was visible from the road. It never is. That is the arrangement heaven made before the first man was ever pulled out of the ground, and Jacob went down toward Haran counting camels that belonged to somebody else.


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The texts behind this telling. Some cards carry a translation of the source; others are our own retelling of it, and each card says which. Every card links out to the original.

Bereshit Rabbah 8:4Bereshit Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

The rabbis of old, confronting the very same question, offered some pretty fascinating answers.

Take this story from Bereshit Rabbah, a classic collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Genesis. Rabbi Berekhya imagines God, before creating Adam, wrestling with a monumental dilemma. He sees, in His divine foresight, the whole spectrum of humanity that will descend from this first man – the righteous and, inevitably, the wicked.

"If I create him," God thinks, "wicked people will descend from him." A sobering thought. But then comes the counterpoint: "But if I do not create him, how will righteous people ever descend from him?" It’s a real cosmic Catch-22.

So, what does God do? According to Rabbi Berekhya, God "distanced the way of the wicked from His attention" and "appended the attribute of mercy to Himself" before creating Adam. In other words, God, knowing the risks, chose to focus on the potential for good, emphasizing mercy in the act of creation. That even knowing the potential for darkness, the possibility of light is worth the risk.

The verse from (Psalms 1:6) becomes key here: "For the Lord knows the way of the righteous, and the way of the wicked will be eradicated." Rabbi Berekhya interprets this to mean that God eradicated the awareness of the wicked from His immediate focus to allow for creation to proceed. And it’s worth noting, as the text points out, that at this pivotal moment of creation, the text shifts from using only the name Elohim (God) to Hashem Elohim (the Lord, God), with Hashem indicating God's attribute of mercy.

Now, Rabbi Ḥanina offers a slightly different, but equally compelling, take on the story. He pictures God consulting with the ministering angels before creating Adam, saying, "Let us make Man in our image, in our likeness" (Genesis 1:26).

The angels, naturally, want to know what this new creation will be like. God tells them that righteous people will arise from him. This is where (Psalms 1:6) comes in again. Rabbi Ḥanina interprets "For the Lord knows [yode’a] the way of the righteous" as God informing [hodi’a] the angels about the righteous who would emerge.

But here's the kicker: God doesn't tell them about the wicked. He "eradicated" or concealed that part from them. Why? Because, according to Rabbi Ḥanina, if the angels had known the full picture, the "attribute of justice" would have prevented them from agreeing to Adam's creation. They would have protested! The very existence of humanity, with all its flaws and failings, might never have happened if the full truth had been revealed beforehand. This interpretation highlights the delicate balance between justice and mercy, and the necessity of hope, even in the face of uncertainty.

These stories, these midrashim (rabbinic interpretive commentary) – interpretations – aren't just ancient tales. They're profound meditations on the nature of existence, the choices God makes (or is imagined to make), and the very real consequences of those choices for us. They remind us that we are, in a way, the answer to that original question: the embodiment of both the potential for righteousness and the shadow of wickedness. What we choose to do with that potential, that's up to us.

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Bereshit Rabbah 53:5Bereshit Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

The Torah, and the rabbinic tradition that blossoms from it, is obsessed with this very question. to a fascinating passage from Bereshit Rabbah 53, a midrash – a rabbinic interpretation – on the verses in Genesis about Sarah finally conceiving Isaac.

The passage kicks off with a quote from I Kings, Solomon's prayer at the dedication of the Temple: "Lord, God of Israel… who upheld for Your servant David, my father, what You had spoken to him." (I (Kings 8:23)–24). Bereshit Rabbah sees this as a pattern, a divine precedent. Just as God keeps promises to David, so too did God remember Sarah. “Who upheld for Your servant” – this, the midrash says, refers to Abraham. “What You had spoken to him” – that is, "at the prescribed time, I will return to you.” The promise, spoken long ago, finally comes to fruition. “You spoke with Your mouth, and You fulfilled it with Your hand, on this day” (I (Kings 8:2)4) – and this is linked directly to (Genesis 21:1)–2: “the Lord remembered Sarah […and Sarah conceived, and bore Abraham a son in his old age, at the appointed time that God had spoken to him].”

The midrash then turns to (Psalms 113:9): “He sets the barren woman at home, the mother of children is joyful.” This verse, according to the Rabbis, perfectly encapsulates Sarah's transformation. "He sets the barren woman at home" – that's Sarah, the Sarah who "was barren" (Genesis 11:30). "The mother of children is joyful" – that's Sarah, too, the Sarah who "would nurse children" (Genesis 21:7).

The midrash doesn’t stop there. The verse in Genesis says, "The Lord remembered Sarah as He had said, [and the Lord did to Sarah as He had spoken]." Why the double language? Why "said" and "spoken"? The Rabbis, masters of close reading, see significance in every word. What He Himself had "said" to her was communicated with saying, while "The Lord did to Sarah as He had spoken" refers to what He had spoken to her by means of an angel. It’s a subtle distinction, highlighting the different ways God communicates promise and fulfillment.

Rabbi Nechemya, however, flips the script. According to him, what He had said to her by means of an angel was with saying, while what He Himself had spoken to her was what He actually did.

Then comes Rabbi Yehuda, who offers yet another layer. "As He had said" – to grant her a son. "As He had spoken" – to bless her with milk. Rabbi Nechemya challenges this, pointing out that Sarah never received tidings about producing milk. This leads to another interpretation: God restored her to the days of her youth.

Rabbi Abahu adds that God imposed fear of her upon all the nations of the world, so they would not torment her and call her the barren woman. Imagine the societal stigma Sarah endured, and how this divine act protected her from further pain.

And then, a truly radical idea from Rabbi Yehuda in the name of Reish Lakish: She did not even have a womb, and the Holy One blessed be He now carved out a womb for her. This is more than just a miraculous pregnancy; it's a complete, transformative creation.

Finally, Rabbi Ada offers a powerful analogy: God is a "keeper of deposits [pikdonot]." Amalek deposited with God bundles of thorns – their animosity towards Israel. God returned those thorns. Sarah, on the other hand, deposited with God mitzvot (commandments) and good deeds. And God returned to her mitzvot and good deeds – "the Lord remembered Sarah." In other words, she was granted a son who would become a righteous person and perform mitzvot, fulfilling her legacy of good.

So, what does it all mean? This passage from Bereshit Rabbah isn't just about a miracle birth. It’s about the nature of promise and fulfillment, the many-sided ways God interacts with humanity, and the profound impact of righteous actions. It’s about a transformation so complete that it transcends even the physical limitations of the body. And ultimately, it's a reminder that even in the face of seemingly impossible circumstances, hope, faith, and good deeds can shape our destiny. What "deposits" are we making in the world, and what kind of "remembrance" are we hoping for?

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Bereshit Rabbah 68:2Bereshit Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

Rabbi Shmuel bar Naḥman begins our story in Bereshit Rabbah 68, by interpreting a verse from Psalms (121:1) as referring directly to Jacob’s experience. “A song of ascents. I lift my eyes to the mountains [heharim]” – but Rabbi Shmuel doesn’t see literal mountains. Instead, he sees those who came before: “I lift my eyes to the parents [hahorim], to my teachers, and to those who raised me.” It’s about looking back to our foundations, to those who shaped us.

Then comes the gut punch: “From where will my help come?”

Jacob is about to begin a journey, a potentially dangerous one. He's being sent away from his family, from the safety of his father's home, to find a wife. He’s venturing out into the unknown. And he's comparing his situation to that of Eliezer, Abraham's servant, when he went to find a wife for Isaac. Remember that story? "The slave took ten camels…" (Genesis 24:10). He was loaded with gifts, provisions, everything he needed! But Jacob? Jacob laments, “…but I do not have even one nose ring or one bracelet.”

Ouch.

The Rabbis debate why Jacob was sent off so seemingly empty-handed. Rabbi Ḥanina says plainly: Isaac sent him empty-handed. Harsh! But Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi offers a slightly different take: He did send him with gifts, but Esau, ever the troublemaker, rose up and took them from him!

Either way, Jacob feels stripped bare.

So what does he do? Does he despair? Does he give up before he even starts?

No. Instead, he declares, “What, will I lose my confidence in my Creator? God forbid, I will not lose my confidence in my Creator.” He recognizes where his true help lies. Instead, “My help is from the Lord” (Psalms 121:2).

It's a powerful moment of faith. Jacob understands that material possessions aren't everything. His trust is in something far greater.

The passage continues, drawing strength from the Psalms: “He will not let your foot give way; He who watches over you will not slumber” (Psalms 121:3). “Behold, [the Guardian of Israel] neither slumbers nor sleeps…” (Psalms 121:4).

This idea of God as a constant, watchful protector is a recurring theme in Jewish thought. It's a source of immense comfort, especially in times of uncertainty.

“The Lord will guard you from all evil" (Psalms 121:7) – from Esau and from Laban; “He will guard your life” (Psalms 121:7) – from the angel of death. “The Lord will guard your going and your coming” (Psalms 121:8) – “Jacob departed.”

Even as Jacob departs, seemingly vulnerable and alone, he's surrounded by divine protection. This isn't just physical safety; it's a safeguarding of his very essence, his life force.

Maybe it's this: we might not always have the "ten camels" we think we need. We might feel unprepared, ill-equipped, facing a daunting journey. But like Jacob, we can choose to place our trust in something deeper, something more enduring. We can remember that our help comes from a source that never slumbers nor sleeps, a source that guards our going and our coming. And that, perhaps, is the most powerful resource of all.

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