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God Intended Hezekiah to Be the Messiah and He Did Not Know It

The sun went backward for Hezekiah. The Assyrian army died overnight outside Jerusalem. God had arranged everything. Then Hezekiah failed to sing.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Shadow Moves Backward
  2. The Plan That Was in Place
  3. The Song That Did Not Come
  4. What He Did Instead
  5. What the Tradition Preserved

The Shadow Moves Backward

The prophet Isaiah came to Hezekiah with a death sentence. Set your house in order, for you shall die and not recover. Hezekiah turned his face to the wall and prayed. Before Isaiah had left the middle court of the palace, God spoke to him again: go back. Tell Hezekiah I have heard his prayer and seen his tears. He shall live. I will add fifteen years to his life, and I will deliver Jerusalem from the hand of the Assyrians.

Then God offered a sign. The shadow on the sundial of Ahaz would move backward ten degrees. Not forward, not stay still: backward. Against the natural direction of time. Against the movement of the sun. The shadow retreated ten steps, and every astronomer in Babylon saw it happen, and delegations came from Babylon to find out what had occurred in Jerusalem that the sun itself had reversed its course.

The rabbis believed they knew what it meant. The sign was too large, too unprecedented, too cosmically significant to be merely personal. God does not reverse the sun to extend one man's life by fifteen years. The reversal of the sun meant the moment had arrived. This was it.

The Plan That Was in Place

The Legends of the Jews preserves the tradition with startling directness. God intended to make Hezekiah the Messiah. Sennacherib, the Assyrian king who had besieged Jerusalem with a hundred and eighty-five thousand soldiers, was to be Gog and Magog, the final enemy of Israel whose destruction would inaugurate the messianic age. The angel who destroyed the Assyrian army overnight was not simply winning a military battle. He was executing the last battle, the one that comes at the end of exile and opens into the reign of peace.

The Talmud in tractate Sanhedrin records the conditions in place. Every person in Israel knew the laws of purity and impurity during Hezekiah's reign. Not the scholars. Everyone, from the greatest to the smallest, from Dan to Beersheba. This level of Torah knowledge had never existed before and would not exist again. The king himself was righteous, the schools were open, the people were prepared. Sennacherib's army lay dead outside the walls. Everything was arranged.

The Song That Did Not Come

Hezekiah did not sing. The morning after a hundred and eighty-five thousand soldiers died in their camp without a battle being fought, the king of Judah did not compose a song of thanksgiving. David would have sung. Moses had sung at the sea. The tradition expected the moment to be met with a song, with the full acknowledgment that what had just happened was the end of something and the beginning of something else, the recognition that he was standing at the hinge of history and that the hinge required a song to turn on.

The Talmud records that the divine attribute of justice objected. David composed many songs and psalms in your honor, the attribute said, but you never said a single song in your honor. And because Hezekiah did not sing, did not rise to meet the moment, did not recognize what he was holding, the messianic appointment was withdrawn.

What He Did Instead

He showed the Babylonian ambassadors everything. They had come because of the sun going backward, and Hezekiah took them through the treasure house and the armory and the storehouses of spices and the precious oil. He showed them all of it. There was nothing in his house or in all his realm that Hezekiah did not show them. Isaiah came afterward and asked who these men were and what they had seen, and Hezekiah told him, and Isaiah delivered the prophecy that everything Hezekiah had shown them would one day be carried to Babylon. His descendants would serve as eunuchs in the palace of the Babylonian king.

Hezekiah's response was strange. He said: the word of God that you have spoken is good. He meant: there will be peace and truth in my days. The rabbis read this as the moment that sealed the judgment. Not the showing itself but the response: as long as the catastrophe comes after I am dead, it is good. The man who had been positioned as the Messiah spent his last act of recorded speech accepting a prophecy of exile for his children and calling it good because it did not apply to him.

What the Tradition Preserved

The mystical tradition on Hezekiah extends beyond his death. He was taken to heaven after he died and shown the world to come, and what he saw there is preserved in hints and fragments in the aggadic literature. He had been close enough to the messianic appointment that even in his failure the tradition could not let go of him entirely. He remained a figure of what almost arrived and did not. Isaiah's messianic chapters, composed in Hezekiah's time and possibly with Hezekiah in view, were not discarded when Hezekiah failed to step into them. They were kept, waiting.

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From the tradition

Sources

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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.

Legends of the Jews 9:33Legends of the Jews

Hezekiah stood close to a door history never opened. In Ginzberg's Legends of the Jews, the divine plan was ready: Hezekiah would become the Messiah, and Sennacherib would become Gog and Magog, the enemy broken before redemption.

Then Justice objected. David, king of Israel, had filled the world with songs and hymns, but even David had not been made the Messiah. Hezekiah had received wonders and deliverance, but no song of praise rose from him in answer. The missing song became the crack in the future.

The earth itself tried to repair it. The earth came before God and offered to sing in Hezekiah's place, asking that the righteous king still be granted the messianic crown. The Prince of the World joined the plea and asked God to do the will of this righteous man.

Heaven did not yield. A voice announced, "This is my secret, this is my secret." The prophet cried out in grief, "Woe is me! How long, O Lord, how long!" The answer pushed redemption forward into a darker future, to the time when the treacherous dealers would come (Isaiah 21:2).

The story turns one silence into a cosmic loss. Hezekiah was righteous, defended, and beloved. Still, the crown slipped away because deliverance had not become song.

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Shir HaShirim Rabbah 8:3Shir HaShirim Rabbah

It's a story about perspective, gratitude, and maybe even a missed opportunity to usher in... the Messiah!

The passage begins with a verse from Song of Songs, "Look from the peak of Amana" (Song of Songs 4:8). The rabbis, in their beautiful way, see this verse as alluding to the patriarchs. "The peak of Amana" is Abraham, the man who "believed in the Lord" (Genesis 15:6). "From the peak of Senir" is Isaac. And here's a clever bit: just as Senir is hostile to plowing (soneh nir), Isaac only faced one major ordeal in his life – the Binding of Isaac. "And Ḥermon" is Jacob. The text emphasizes that all the good – priesthood, the Levites, the kingship – comes from Jacob. He was the culmination of the patriarchs.

Then the verse shifts to "the dens of lions" – Siḥon and Og, those mighty, haughty kings. Shir HaShirim Rabbah tells us they were so arrogant, they didn't even bother to help each other, despite being only a day's walk apart! And "the mountains of leopards" are the Canaanites, as brazen and shameless as leopards. The text even references (Joshua 8:17), noting how the men of Ai all came out after Israel, showing their audacity.

Here's where the story takes an interesting turn. Rabbi Berekhya, quoting Rabbi Elazar, says it would have been fitting for Israel to sing a song of victory after defeating Siḥon and Og. And similarly, Hezekiah should have sung a song after the downfall of Sennacherib. But, as we read in II (Chronicles 32:25), Hezekiah "did not reciprocate according to the reward bestowed upon him."

Why not? Because "his heart had grown haughty." Now, wait a minute! Hezekiah, a righteous king, haughty? The text clarifies: Hezekiah was too proud to sing a song! He thought his Torah study was enough.

Rabbi Abba bar Kahana explains that Hezekiah believed his Torah study atoned for the lack of song. Rabbi Levi adds that Hezekiah felt recounting God's miracles was unnecessary because they were already known throughout the world – after all, hadn't the sun stood still (II (Kings 20:1)1), displaying God's power to everyone?

Rabbi Yishmael ben Rabbi Yosei, citing Rabbi Abba, even brings in Pharaoh of Egypt and Tirhaka of Kush! They were involved in the miracle of the sun standing still and came to aid Hezekiah. Sennacherib sensed their presence and bound them, but an angel struck Sennacherib’s troops. In the morning, Hezekiah found the kings bound, released them, and they went on to spread the news of God's miracles. (Isaiah 45:14) is then interpreted as referring to these events, with Egypt and Kush ultimately acknowledging God's greatness.

Isaiah, witnessing all this, cries out, "Indeed [akhen] You are God who conceals Himself" (Isaiah 45:15). The text plays on the word akhen, asking, "Where [ekhan] are You hiding, God?" It's a powerful moment of recognizing God's hidden hand even in the midst of miraculous events.

But here's the kicker. Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi says that if Hezekiah had sung a song after Sennacherib's defeat, he would have become the Messianic king, and Sennacherib would have been the equivalent of Gog and Magog! But he didn't. Instead, he recited (Psalms 20:7)–8, acknowledging God's power and anticipating a future king, "His anointed one [meshiḥo]," implying that he himself wouldn't be the Messiah.

Wow. So, what's the takeaway? Is it about the importance of singing praises? Is it about recognizing God's miracles, even when they seem obvious? Maybe it's about not letting our accomplishments, even righteous ones, blind us to the need for gratitude and humility. Perhaps Hezekiah’s story is a reminder that sometimes, the greatest acts of service are not enough if they are not accompanied by a song of the heart. And perhaps, just perhaps, sometimes singing the right song at the right time can change the course of history.

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Midrash Tehillim 108:1Midrash Tehillim

Midrash Tehillim reads Psalm 108 as a map of prayer that reaches heaven. The verse opens with the heart: "Truly my heart is directed towards God; I will sing and give praise." Before the mouth sings, the heart must turn.

The Midrash brings Daniel as its first witness. Daniel set his face toward the Lord God, seeking prayer and supplications (Daniel 9:3). The movement matters. Prayer begins when the whole person turns toward God with purpose.

The sages also warned against prayer spoken lightly. Berakhot 30b teaches that a person should pray with seriousness, without idle words, so the prayer can be heard. The issue is not volume or length. It is direction.

Then the Midrash turns to David. Scripture says that David went in and sat before the Lord (2 Samuel 7:18), though prayer is usually imagined as standing, as with Phinehas (Psalm 106:30). The Midrash resolves the tension by reading David's sitting as endurance. He remained in prayer until the prayer was complete, and only then spoke his humility before God.

Rabbi Shmuel bar Nachman gives the rule: when a person directs the heart during prayer, the prayer has been heard. (Psalm 10:17) makes the same movement visible: God prepares the heart and inclines the ear.

The same pattern appears in Ezra, who prepared his heart to seek and perform the Torah (Ezra 7:10), and in Hezekiah, who prayed for Israel and directed his heart with fullness. His prayer rose to God's holy dwelling place, even to heaven (2 Chronicles 30:18-27).

David hears the pattern and answers it with song. If the heart is directed before God, the voice can rise after it.

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Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer 52:9Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer

A fascinating text compiling stories and interpretations of the Torah, there was a time when sickness was a one-way street. From the moment creation sprang into being, if you fell ill, that was it. There was no recovery. Can you imagine a world like that? Hopeless.

Then came Hezekiah, King of Judah.

He fell sick, gravely so. But Hezekiah wouldn't accept the inevitable. He turned to the Holy One, blessed be He, with a heartfelt prayer. He pleaded, "Remember, O Lord, how I have walked before you in truth and with a perfect heart, and have done what is good in your sight" (2 Kings 20:3). Hezekiah reminded God of his devotion. Of his righteousness.

His prayer was heard! As it says, "Behold, I will add unto thy days fifteen years" (Isaiah 38:5). Fifteen more years of life! A miracle! But Hezekiah, understandably, wanted proof. He asked for a sign, "What shall be the sign that the Lord will heal me, and that I shall go up unto the house of the Lord?" (2 Kings 20:8).

Now, here’s where the story gets really interesting. The prophet Isaiah responded, reminding Hezekiah that his father, Ahaz, had a dark history. Ahaz had "compelled the constellations" and "bowed down to the sun," causing the sun to retreat ten steps westward. A cosmic disruption! Isaiah offered Hezekiah a choice: should the sun move forward ten steps as a sign, or backward?

Hezekiah, showing remarkable faith and perhaps a touch of audacity, chose the more difficult option. He asked that the shadow retrace the steps it had already taken, "Nay, but let the shadow return backward ten steps" (2 (Kings 20:1)0). Imagine the faith it took to ask for that! It wasn't just a movement; it was a reversal of a previous cosmic event.

And the Holy One, blessed be He, granted his request. "Behold, I will cause the shadow on the steps, which is gone down on the dial of Ahaz with the sun, to return backward ten steps" (Isaiah 38:8). The sun moved backwards! A sign so undeniable, so breathtaking, that it shook the very foundations of the world.

The Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer calls this the Seventh Wonder. A recovery from sickness was unheard of, yet it happened. The sign that accompanied it was so astonishing that "all the kings of the earth saw, and they were astonished, for there had been nothing like it from the day when the world was created" (2 (Chronicles 32:3)1). Ambassadors from Babylon were even sent to investigate this incredible phenomenon.

So, what does this story tell us? It's more than just a tale of a king's recovery. It's about the power of prayer, the possibility of miracles, and the profound impact of faith. It reminds us that even when faced with seemingly insurmountable odds, even when the very laws of nature seem fixed, there's always the potential for something extraordinary to happen. It reminds us of the awesome power of teshuvah (repentance), or repentance, and the relationship between humanity and God. What wonders might we witness if we, like Hezekiah, approached the Holy One with sincerity and unwavering belief?

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