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Shem Named the Temple Mount Before Abraham Arrived

Noah came off the ark and built an altar on the ridge. Shem later called the place Shalem. Abraham, knife still in hand, gave it another name.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Shem Called the Ridge Shalem
  2. Abraham Gave It Another Name
  3. Moses Heard the Mountain from Across the River
  4. The House Built by Hands Would Fall
  5. The Names Stayed on the Ground

The earth came dry on the seventeenth day of the second month. Noah waited. On the twenty-seventh he opened the ark and sent out the beasts, the cattle, the birds, everything that moved. On the new moon of the third month he walked onto the ridge himself and built an altar on that mountain.

Shem Named the Temple Mount Before Abraham Arrived Click for full size

Water had covered the world. Now there was a stone pile on a particular spine of ground, and smoke. His son Shem stood in that smoke and learned the place by heart.

Shem Called the Ridge Shalem

Shem did not treat the mountain as a campsite. He stayed with it. He called it Shalem (שלם), whole, complete, at peace. The name was what the ground felt like after the water: a world that had ended, then held.

By the time Abraham came, Shem was already doing a priest's work on that height. He came down with bread and wine after Abraham's battles, blessed him in the name of God Most High, and took a tenth. The mountain had a keeper before it had a city. Shem had named it from the inside of the flood.

Abraham Gave It Another Name

Abraham climbed the same ridge with Isaac. He built the altar. He bound his son. He raised the knife. The angel stopped him. A ram stood caught in the thicket, and the test ended. Abraham named the place Yireh (יראה): God will see. God will provide. The gaze had landed on this spot and had not moved off it (Genesis 22:14).

He came back to the mountain later with a different fire. Seven rams, seven kids, seven sheep, seven he-goats. Morning and evening he burned frankincense, galbanum, stacte, nard, myrrh, spice, and costum, seven kinds crushed and mixed in equal parts, pure. He kept the feast seven days, he and his house, and no stranger sat with him, and no uncircumcised man. The mountain took both names from him: the name from the knife, and the smoke of a man who had not been asked to give a son this time, only thanks.

God fused what Shem had called the place and what Abraham had called it. Yeru-Shalem. Jerusalem. God will see peace. Two men, two extreme days, one word.

Moses Heard the Mountain from Across the River

Moses never set a foot on it. He died on Mount Nebo and looked across the Jordan at ground he would not enter. At the moment of his departure a heavenly voice, a bat kol (בת קול), cried aloud.

"Moses, servant of the Lord, thou that art faithful in His house, even as thou hast seen the reward laid up for the pious in the world to come, so thou wilt be worthy of seeing the life of the world that shall be. Thou and all Israel, ye shall see the rebuilding of the Temple and the advent of the Messiah, behold the beauty of the Lord, and meditate in His Temple."

The ridge Shem had named and Abraham had named was already promised to a man who would only see it from the other bank. Moses closed his eyes on a house that had not yet been built, and on a rebuilding after that.

The House Built by Hands Would Fall

God showed what human hands would do with the mountain. The Temple they built was destined to be destroyed. It would be built at another time, by the hand of the Holy One, not by masons. "The sanctuary of Ha-Shem, Your hands have established" (Exodus 15:17). Not ours. His.

The latter house would carry more glory than the first. God would be a wall of fire round about it. Shem's name, Shalem, had meant the world holding after ruin. Abraham's name, Yireh, had meant being seen in the worst hour. The Name on the mount, Ha-Shem, would outlast both of their stone piles.

Moses had been told he would see that. The voice on Nebo did not promise him a building that men could keep. It promised him the one God would set down when the ones men built had already gone to dust.

The Names Stayed on the Ground

Every later prayer that says Jerusalem still carries both men. Shem walked out of the flood onto a ridge and called it whole. Abraham walked up it with a knife and called it seen. Moses died looking at it and was promised a Temple he had never entered. God kept the syllables and did not choose between them.

The altar Noah laid down was the first mark. Shem's name was the second. Abraham's was the third. The voice over Moses was the fourth. The mountain had been taking names for a long time before a single cut stone of the Temple sat on it, and it will take God's own house last, when human building has already failed.

ShemTempleKabbalahNoahAbraham
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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.

Book of Jubilees 6:1Book of Jubilees

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.Sefaria Community Translation · CC-BY

Book of Jubilees turns to Noah at the Temple.

Then, a few months later, on the new moon of the first month, something even more profound happened: "the earth became visible." The waters were receding. We find this echoed in (Genesis 8:13), which also notes the revealing of the earth's surface. But Jubilees provides that extra layer of chronological detail.

The timeline gets even more specific. In the fifth week of the seventh year – – the verse says "the waters disappeared from above the earth." And on the seventeenth day of the second month, the earth was finally, completely dry.

What followed next? Noah didn't rush. He waited. Waited until the twenty-seventh of the month. That's when "he opened the ark, and sent forth from it beasts, and cattle, and birds, and every moving thing." scene. The unleashing of life back onto the planet. The air filled with the sounds of animals, the ground teeming with creatures. A new beginning for all living things.

Finally, on the new moon of the third month, Noah himself emerged from the ark. And his very first act? He "built an altar on that mountain." An offering of gratitude. A recognition of the divine hand that guided them through the storm.

Jubilees gives us more than just dates; it gives us a sense of the emotional weight of these events. The anticipation, the gradual revealing of the world, and ultimately, the act of thanksgiving.

What acts of gratitude are we offering after weathering our own storms? The story of Noah

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Book of Jubilees 16:33Book of Jubilees

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.Sefaria Community Translation · CC-BY

Holidays is often remembered as something ancient and unchanging, but every tradition has a beginning. the tradition turns to one possible origin story, found in the Book of Jubilees, a text that offers a unique perspective on biblical narratives.

Abraham, not just as a patriarch, but as a pioneer of celebration. The Book of Jubilees – an important Jewish text from the Second Temple period, not included in the Tanakh – paints a picture of Abraham establishing a brand-new festival. This wasn't just any get-together; it was a carefully orchestrated act of devotion, full of symbolism and meaning.

The text details the offerings Abraham made: "seven rams, seven kids, seven sheep, and seven he-goats, and their fruit-offerings and their drink-offerings." A veritable Noah's Ark of sacrificial animals! And what did he do with all that? Well, "he burnt all the fat thereof on the altar, a chosen offering unto the Lord for a sweet smelling savour."

We might find the idea of burning animal fat a little…unappealing today. But remember, in the ancient world, sacrifice was a primary way to communicate with the divine. It was about giving your best, your most valuable possessions, as a token of gratitude and devotion. The "sweet smelling savour" wasn't about pleasing God's nose, but about the intention behind the act.

And the fragrant substances? Oh, they are a whole other level of sensory experience. "And morning and evening he burnt fragrant substances, frankincense and galbanum, and stacte, and nard, and myrrh, and spice, and costum; all these seven he offered, crushed, mixed together in equal parts (and) pure." Imagine the aroma! A carefully crafted blend of exotic scents, filling the air, elevating the experience beyond the mundane. It was a multi-sensory experience!

But the celebration wasn't just about offerings and aromas. It was about community, too, albeit a very exclusive one. "And he celebrated this feast during seven days, rejoicing with all his heart and with all his soul, he and all those who were in his house; and there was no stranger with him, nor any that was uncircumcised." This detail tells us a lot about identity and belonging in Abraham's time. The celebration was for those within the covenant, a shared experience of faith and connection. No outsiders allowed.

Seven days of rejoicing! It wasn't a fleeting moment, but a sustained immersion in joy and gratitude. This wasn't just a ritual; it was a way of life, a conscious choice to dedicate time and energy to expressing faith.

Perhaps it's a reminder that traditions, even the most ancient ones, have a starting point. They are born out of specific circumstances, beliefs, and desires. What do they mean to us? What values do they express? And how can we make them more meaningful, more authentic, more…fragrant?

What new traditions can we create that express our values?

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Legends of the Jews 4:193Legends of the Jews

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Legends of the Jews by Louis Ginzberg (1909) · Public Domain

The moment Moses departed this world, a heavenly voice, a bat kol, rang out. It declared, "Moses, servant of the Lord, thou that art faithful in His house, even as thou hast seen the reward that is laid up for the pious in the world to come, so also thou wilt be worthy of seeing the life of the world that shall be in the future time. Thou and all Israel, ye shall see the rebuilding of the Temple and the advent of the Mashiach, the Messiah, behold the beauty of the Lord, and meditate in His Temple."

It’s a breathtaking image, isn’t it? A promise of future glory, not just for Moses, but for all of Israel. According to this legend, Moses wasn't just stepping into some static afterlife. He was stepping into a future where he, and all of Israel, would witness the ultimate redemption: the rebuilt Temple, the arrival of the Mashiach, and the chance to dwell in God's presence. Think about the weight of that promise.

That’s not all. According to the Legends of the Jews, compiled by Rabbi Louis Ginzberg, Moses' role as teacher wouldn't end with his earthly life. Instead, in the world to come, he would continue to guide and instruct the people of Israel.

The people, eager to learn, approach Abraham, the patriarch, requesting instruction in the Torah, the sacred teachings. But Abraham, in his humility, directs them to Isaac, saying, "Go to Isaac, he hath studied more of the Torah than ever I studied."

But Isaac, too, defers. He sends them on to Jacob, explaining, "Go to Jacob, he hath had more converse with the sages than ever I had."

And finally, Jacob sends them to the one who truly holds the key: "Go to Moses," he says, "he was instructed in the Torah by God Himself."

What a powerful image! Even in the world to come, Moses remains the ultimate teacher, the one who received divine instruction directly from God. It speaks volumes about the enduring importance of learning and teaching, of the passing down of wisdom from generation to generation. It’s a beautiful illustration of how Moses’ legacy, his impact on the Jewish people, extends beyond his earthly existence, continuing to shape their spiritual journey in the world to come. It makes you wonder, what kind of legacy will we leave behind?

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Tikkunei Zohar 53:10Tikkunei Zohar

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.Sefaria-hosted English translation · CC-BY

The Tikkunei (spiritual repair) Zohar, a companion work to the Zohar itself, dives deep into the mysteries of creation and the hidden meanings within the Torah. In Tikkunei Zohar 53, we find a fascinating perspective on the Temple in Jerusalem.

That God showed someone – it doesn’t specify who, but it implies a prophet or someone with divine insight – that the Temple, built by human hands, was destined for destruction. A sobering thought. All that effort, all that devotion, seemingly for naught. But the narrative doesn’t end there.

It continues with a powerful promise: The Temple will be rebuilt, but this time, not by human hands, but by the hand of the Kadosh Baruch Hu, the Blessed Holy One himself. It's a radical shift.

The text then brings in verses from the Torah to support this idea. "The abode of the God of old," from (Deuteronomy 33:27), and "the sanctuary of Ha-Shem, Your hands have established," from (Exodus 15:17), hint at a divine involvement that transcends human construction. Ha-Shem, of course, is a way of referring to God that avoids saying the divine name directly.

And then, a powerful quote from (Haggai 2:9): "Great shall be the glory of this House, the latter more than the first.." This isn't just a restoration; it's a transformation. It's not just about rebuilding what was lost, but about creating something even more glorious, even more profound.

Finally, the text cites (Zechariah 2:9): "And I shall be for it, says Yud Yud, a wall of fire round about.." Yud Yud (י״י) is yet another way of referring to God's name. This verse paints a vivid image of divine protection, a Temple surrounded by a fiery, unbreachable barrier. It’s not just a physical structure anymore; it's a place of divine presence, shielded and sanctified.

So, what does this all mean? It’s not just about a building, is it? It's about the cyclical nature of creation and destruction, of hope and despair. It's about the promise that even when things fall apart, there's always the potential for something new, something better, something divinely inspired to rise from the ashes. Maybe the Temples are metaphors for something within each of us. The potential for destruction, but also the promise of an even grander, more glorious rebuilding.

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