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What Was Precious Before the World Existed

Abraham joins ten things precious to God before creation. The Messiah waits. Amalek wounds the throne. A stranger is loved like a king loves a gazelle.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The List of the Precious
  2. The Messiah Who Was Already Waiting
  3. The Name That Breaks the Throne
  4. The King and the Gazelle

The List of the Precious

Before the world existed, the Holy One had already determined what would matter inside it. Midrash Tehillim names ten things the Psalms call precious, and the list is not what anyone expects.

Wealth appears first, not as a blessing but as a category the Holy One marked with the word precious before any person held it. The Torah appears second. Then Israel itself. Then knowledge, prophecy, understanding. The list accumulates until it reaches Abraham. The Holy One calls Abraham precious by name, placing the patriarch inside the same category as the Torah and the people who would receive it.

The midrash treats this not as poetry but as cosmological fact. The divine valuation was established before creation, which means the world was built to contain these ten things, to allow them to come into being and to be recognized for what they were. Abraham's preciousness was not earned inside history. It was inscribed before history had a surface to write on.

The Messiah Who Was Already Waiting

The palm tree in Psalm 92 gave the midrash an image it could not ignore. The righteous will flourish like a palm tree. Midrash Tehillim pressed the image further. What is a palm tree? It is beautiful and its fruit is sweet. And Israel flourishes like a palm tree because Israel was present in the divine mind before the ground was made.

The Messiah appears in this context as someone already prepared at the dawn of creation. Not born, not arrived, but prepared, set aside, waiting in the structure of time for the moment when history would require him. The midrash does not describe what the Messiah was doing in that pre-creation space. It simply states that he was already there. Creation went forward with the Messiah already accounted for.

The Name That Breaks the Throne

Amalek's name the midrash cannot speak without returning to a cosmic problem. Rabbi Elazar taught that as long as Amalek exists in the world, the throne of God is incomplete. The name of God is incomplete. The proof was in the verse: Exodus 17:16 does not spell out the full divine name, and the Psalms cut the throne in half. Both, the rabbi taught, point to the same wound.

The Holy One swore on the throne itself to erase the memory of Amalek until the name was gone. Only then would the throne be whole again. Only then would the full name be sayable. Amalek was not simply a nation that attacked Israel from behind in the desert. It was a force that had somehow gotten into the structure of the divine name and made it bleed.

The King and the Gazelle

Why does God love the stranger with such disproportionate intensity? A king takes his flock out to graze every day. One morning a gazelle joins the sheep. The king notices it, is charmed by it, and tells the shepherd to take special care of it. The gazelle has chosen to be there. The sheep were born into the flock. They had no other life to compare it to. The gazelle walked in from the open country and decided to stay.

The midrash reads the stranger, the ger, as that gazelle. The Israelite was born into covenant. The stranger arrived at the fence, looked in, and crossed over. The Holy One's love for the convert is the love of someone who watched a wild thing choose domesticity, choose this particular flock, and understood what that choice cost. The Torah says in many places: love the stranger. The midrash counts the verses. The repetition is not redundancy. It is the Holy One saying the same thing many times because the feeling runs that deep.

Midrash TehillimAbrahamMessiahAmalekConvertsPre Creation
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Midrash Tehillim 116:8Midrash Tehillim

Midrash Tehillim, a collection of homiletic interpretations on the Book of Psalms, gives us a list of ten things that are dear to the Holy One. And you might be surprised by what makes the cut.

First, there's wealth. "A man's wealth is his strong city," (Proverbs 10:15) tells us. Then comes the Torah, which, as (Proverbs 3:15) says, "is more precious than rubies." Seems straightforward. But then the list gets more interesting. Am Yisrael, the people of Israel, are precious, as God says in (Jeremiah 31:20), "Ephraim is a precious son to Me." And knowledge, too. (Proverbs 21:20) notes, "Precious treasure and oil are in a wise man's dwelling."

What else does God treasure? Prophecy, understanding, and… wait for it… foolishness! Yes, foolishness. (Ecclesiastes 10:6) states, "Folly is set in great dignity." Now, that takes a bit of unpacking, doesn't it? We'll get back to that. Then there are the righteous, whose thoughts are precious to God, as (Psalm 139:17) proclaims. Kindness is on the list, too. "How precious is Your lovingkindness, O God!" exclaims (Psalm 36:8).

Finally, we arrive at the tenth thing: The death of the righteous. As (Psalm 116:15), the very verse that sparked this midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), tells us, "Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His righteous ones."

But why? Why is the death of a righteous person considered precious? It seems counterintuitive, doesn't it?

The Midrash then launches into a parable. Imagine a king sending an official to collect taxes. The official stays with a homeowner for eleven days, entrusting him with a hundred coins each day – a total of ten thousand coins! But when the official comes to collect, the homeowner claims he only owes fifty. How can the official possibly recover the rest?

This parable, the Midrash suggests, reflects God's difficulty in asking righteous individuals to die.: God asked Abraham to sacrifice Isaac, a son blessed with Heaven and Earth, who sanctified God’s name. It was a difficult request. It was also difficult to ask Isaac himself to be sacrificed, a man who willingly offered himself on the altar. And what about asking Jacob to die, after a lifetime devoted to Torah? Or Moses, who risked his life facing Pharaoh? Or David, who, as the Midrash says, "completed his soul and descended to his eternal rest?"

And it doesn't stop there. Think of Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah, who threw themselves into a fiery furnace rather than betray their faith. According to this Midrash, God finds it difficult to ask any righteous person to die.

The text makes a powerful claim: If the righteous didn't, in a sense, ask for death, they might not die at all! The Midrash then strings together verses from the Torah, Prophets, and Writings where righteous figures express a desire for death or acknowledge its approach. Abraham laments being childless (Genesis 15:2). Isaac speaks of blessing his son "before I die" (Genesis 27:7). Jacob says he'll "go down to the grave in mourning" (Genesis 37:35). Moses resigns himself to dying before entering the Promised Land (Deuteronomy 4:22). David knows he's "about to go the way of all the earth" (1 Kings 2:2). Even Jonah cries out, "Please, take my life" (Jonah 4:3).

Because the righteous, in a way, accept and even ask for death, God allows it. “Let these go because of those,” God says.

But why? The Midrash offers a practical reason: succession. If Abraham had lived forever, how would Isaac have reigned? The same goes for Jacob, Moses, Joshua, Samuel, David, and Solomon. God needs to make way for the next generation. "Let these go because of those," God declares.

So, what are we to make of this? Is it simply about making room for the next generation? Or is there something deeper at play? Perhaps the "preciousness" lies in the culmination of a life lived righteously. Perhaps it's the ultimate act of surrender and trust in God's plan. Or maybe, just maybe, it's because the death of the righteous inspires us to live more meaningful lives ourselves. What do you think?

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Midrash Tehillim 92:8Midrash Tehillim

Midrash Tehillim, a collection of homiletic interpretations of the Book of Psalms, uses the image of the palm tree in Psalm 92 to unlock a fascinating perspective on the righteous, the people of Israel, and our relationship with the Divine.

"The righteous will flourish like a palm tree," the psalm sings. But what does that mean? The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) doesn't leave us hanging. It paints a picture: this palm tree is beautiful, and its fruits are sweet. Just so, it suggests, the Messiah, the son of David, will be beautiful in appearance, and his actions will be pleasing to God.

The Midrash doesn't stop there. Rabbi Yitzhak bar Ada offers a poignant observation: "Just as the shade of the palm tree is far from it, so too is the reward of the righteous far from them until the World to Come." It's a reminder that sometimes, the fruits of our labor, the true reward for righteous living, might not be immediately apparent. We have to trust, as (Deuteronomy 7:12) and 7:9 remind us, that God keeps His commandments "unto a thousand generations."

The Midrash then shifts, offering another interpretation: the palm tree is never lacking in its produce. Similarly, Israel is never lacking in righteous individuals. Think of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob – the patriarchs. Or Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah, who bravely faced the fiery furnace. These figures, throughout history, embody the unwavering spirit of the Jewish people.

And what about the practical uses of the palm tree? It provides the lulav for Sukkot (the Festival of Tabernacles), branches for kindling, strength, and even guidance. In the same way, Israel provides righteous individuals, knowledgeable in Torah, who perform acts of kindness. Even among the unlearned, the Midrash assures us, there are those with "choice fruits," as (Song of Songs 4:13) puts it.

There's a fascinating idea here about nurturing wisdom. The Midrash compares the palm tree to a wise student, urging caution with their "embers, so as not to be burnt." What does this mean? It's a call to handle knowledge and responsibility with care, because, as (Genesis 12:17) reminds us through the story of Pharaoh's plagues, those who are not careful will face consequences. Israel, the Midrash continues, is filled with those knowledgeable in Torah, Mishnah (the earliest code of rabbinic law), Talmud, and Aggadah – the breadth of Jewish learning.

The Midrash continues, "This palm tree's heart faces upward, so too do the hearts of Israel face their Father in Heaven." It’s a beautiful image of constant yearning, of a connection to something higher. The palm tree, it says, has desires, and so too does Israel desire the Lord.

Our rabbis tell a story of a palm tree in a hot spring that wouldn’t bear fruit. It longed for the fragrance of the miriacho (a spice). Once brought, it immediately bore fruit. This illustrates a powerful truth: Israel's deepest desire is for the Holy One, blessed be He.

Then comes an interesting comparison. The Midrash notes that utensils aren't made from the palm tree. Similarly, it suggests, Israel… isn’t either? This seems contradictory, but it sets up a comparison with the cedar. Rabbi Tanchuma even recounts asking Rabbi Huna about the cedar, and being told that in Babylon, cedars were used to make utensils. The cedar, unlike the date palm, doesn't bear fruit. So, the Midrash reasons, Israel is like both: sometimes like the cedar, sometimes like the date palm.

The Midrash lands on a powerful image: "Like a cedar in Lebanon, whose roots are numerous below the ground… they do not move it from its place, so too Israel, who are planted in the house of God." Despite all the winds of the world, all the challenges and persecutions, the Jewish people remain steadfast, rooted in their faith.

Like a garden planted row by row, Israel will be replanted from an unclean land to a pure land, "planted in the house of the Lord," as the psalm says. "They shall flourish in the courts of our God. They will still bring forth fruit in old age; they shall be fat and flourishing." Even in old age, they will show forth the Lord's good works.

So, the next time you see a palm tree, remember this Midrash. Remember the strength, the resilience, the yearning, and the unwavering faith it represents. It's more than just a tree; it's a symbol of the enduring spirit of the Jewish people, forever reaching towards the Divine.

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Midrash Tehillim 9:10Midrash Tehillim

The story of Amalek is one such echo. Amalek, that ancient nemesis of the Israelites, wasn't just a tribe; they represented something far more sinister: the embodiment of unprovoked hatred and a challenge to God's very authority.

So, what happened to them? Did they just fade into the mists of time?

Well, according to Midrash Tehillim 9, it's not that simple. That Rabbi Elazar taught, in no uncertain terms, that God Himself swore an oath "on His throne of glory" to ensure that "no memory of Amalek" would remain "under the heavens." This is linked to the verse in Job (18:19), stating that Amalek "has no offspring or descendant among his people." It’s a complete erasure. The idea is that no one should even be able to point and say, "That tree? That belonged to Amalek," because "their memory has perished."

Why such a strong reaction?

Rabbi Levi, quoting Rabbi Ḥama, offers a powerful explanation: "As long as the seed of Amalek exists, the Name is not whole and the throne is not whole." What does that mean? He bases this on the verse in Exodus (17:16), "Because there is a hand on the throne of the Lord." Notice something crucial here. It doesn't say "on the throne of God," but "of the Lord." In Hebrew, that's the difference between El (God) and the Tetragrammaton, YHWH, the ineffable Name of God.

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) is telling us that the very wholeness, the very integrity, of God's presence in the world is somehow diminished, incomplete, while even a trace of Amalek remains. It’s as if their existence is a stain on the divine tapestry.

And what happens when Amalek is finally and completely gone? Then, and only then, "the Name will be whole and the throne will be whole." This is connected to the verse in Psalms (9:7), "The enemy's swords have been destroyed forever." Only then can we truly say, as the very next verse proclaims (Psalms 9:8), "And the Lord shall endure forever; He has established His throne for judgment." The destruction of Amalek isn't just about military victory or political dominance. It's about restoring balance to the cosmos, completing the divine image, and allowing God’s justice to fully manifest.

The implication is profound: the struggle against evil, against those who embody unprovoked hatred, is not just a physical battle. It's a spiritual imperative, a necessary step towards a more complete and whole world. So, while we might not be facing Amalek in the literal sense today, the principle remains. What "Amalek" are we still fighting within ourselves, within our communities, within the world? What unfinished business still prevents the "Name" and the "throne" from being truly whole?

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Midrash Tehillim 146:5Midrash Tehillim

It all comes down to this idea: God loves the stranger.

Why? What's so special about the stranger?

Midrash Tehillim, a collection of rabbinic teachings on the Book of Psalms, offers a beautiful parable to explain it. Imagine a king, a shepherd, and a flock. The king would take his sheep out to graze every day. One day, a gazelle joined the flock, grazing alongside the sheep and goats. Of all the animals, the king loved the gazelle the most. He told the shepherd, "Take special care of the gazelle. Make sure no one harms it. Give it food and drink."

The shepherd, understandably, was a little confused. "My lord," he asked, "you have so many sheep and goats. Why do you single out the gazelle?"

The king explained that the sheep are used to grazing. They know the routine. But the gazelle? It lives in the wilderness. It doesn't know human settlements. It chose to leave its familiar world and come to us. Therefore, we have an obligation to treat it with exceptional kindness. for a second. It’s not just about being nice; it's about recognizing the vulnerability and the courage it takes to be different, to be an outsider.

Midrash Tehillim then connects this parable directly to God's love for the stranger. Just as the gazelle left its home to join the flock, the stranger leaves their family and their father's house to come to us. And just as the king cherished the gazelle, God cherishes the stranger. That's why we are commanded to "love the stranger" and "not wrong a stranger," as we find in (Exodus 22:20).

But the story doesn't end there. The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) goes on to say that "The Lord watches over the sojourner, the orphan, and the widow; He sustains them." God pairs the sojourner with the orphan and the widow. Why? Because, the Midrash tells us, they are all despised and poor. Moses, too, recognized this, saying, "He executes justice for the orphan and the widow" (Deuteronomy 10:18). They are all vulnerable, all in need of protection.

And who are these orphans and widows, really? The Midrash suggests they can also represent the people of Israel themselves, exiled and vulnerable, as it says in (Lamentations 5:3), "We are orphans and fatherless, our mothers are like widows." And Jerusalem, desolate after destruction, is like a widow, as we find in (Isaiah 1:8): "The Daughter of Zion is left like a shelter in a vineyard, like a hut in a cucumber field, like a city under siege."

So, is God encouraging all orphans and widows, regardless of their actions? The Midrash clarifies: No, only if they are righteous. As (Psalm 68:6) says, "Father of orphans.." but if it were referring to the wicked, it would say, "And the way of the wicked shall perish" (Psalm 1:6).

The text even explores the idea of Gehinnom, the Jewish concept of Hell. The Midrash explains that God decrees upon both the righteous and the wicked, and they both ascend to Jerusalem. But when they arrive, God brings the righteous to the Garden of Eden, and leads the wicked on the way to Gehinnom. That's why (Psalm 1:6) says, "And the way of the wicked shall perish."

The message is clear: God champions the vulnerable, the outsider, the one who needs protection. As (Psalm 147:6) says, "The Lord encourages the humble and humbles the wicked to the ground." And the righteous reign with God, as it says, "The Lord shall reign forever."

So, the next time you see someone who seems like they don't belong, remember the gazelle. Remember the stranger. Remember that showing kindness and compassion is not just a good deed, but a reflection of God's own love and justice in the world. How can we be more like that king, more like the shepherd, and more like the God who watches over the vulnerable?

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