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Manasseh Prayed From a Brass Bull and Returned

Manasseh had spent a lifetime closing every door back to God. Sealed inside a heated brass bull by his captors, he found the one door still open.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The King Who Went Further Than Anyone
  2. The Brass Bull Becomes His Teacher
  3. The Closed Gate That Opened
  4. What the Prayer Said
  5. Return and Restoration

The King Who Went Further Than Anyone

Manasseh reigned fifty-five years, longer than any other king of David's line. The book of Kings does not congratulate him for the longevity. It catalogs what he built and what he burned: altars to Baal in the Temple courts, forbidden rites conducted in the holiest precincts, his own son passed through the fire of Molech. He filled Jerusalem with idolatry so thoroughly that the later prophets would say his sins, not his grandson Jehoiakim's, were the true cause of the final exile. He became a reference point for what a king could do if he decided to go as far as possible in the wrong direction.

The Talmud in Sanhedrin lists him among the kings who lose their share in the world to come.

And yet.

The Brass Bull Becomes His Teacher

The Assyrians captured him. They bound him in bronze fetters and carried him to Babylon. The midrash fills in what the book of Chronicles leaves bare. His captors placed Manasseh inside a hollow brass bull and lit a fire beneath it. This was a form of execution used against people whose suffering was meant to be spectacular.

Inside the heating metal, Manasseh called on every power he had served. The gods of the nations. The forces he had installed in the Temple courts. The forbidden names. Not one of them answered. The heat increased. The silence was total.

Then he called on the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

The Closed Gate That Opened

Heaven had a problem. Manasseh's record was long enough and dark enough that the angels who present the prayers of Israel had grounds to argue that this prayer should not reach the throne. A lifetime of deliberate violation. A Temple he had systematically defiled. Children he had sacrificed. The righteous he had killed. What standard would be left if this prayer was answered?

God heard it anyway. The tradition says God carved a passage for the prayer beneath the throne, bypassing the regular channels, getting around the objections of the angels by moving through space that was not subject to their jurisdiction. Manasseh's prayer arrived not through the front door of heaven but through a hidden tunnel that no one knew existed until it was used.

What the Prayer Said

The Prayer of Manasseh, a short text preserved among Second Temple writings, gives voice to that moment. It begins by addressing God as the Lord of Hosts, the God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob, connecting itself immediately to the covenant Manasseh had spent his reign betraying. It acknowledges what the patriarchs did not need: forgiveness. Abraham and Isaac and Jacob did not require this kind of mercy, the prayer says, because they had not sinned in this way. "But I have sinned. The weight of my sins is heavier than the sand of the sea. I have provoked your wrath and done evil before you."

Inside the brass bull, stripped of every power and comfort and adviser, Manasseh had nothing left to offer except the acknowledgment. That turned out to be enough.

Return and Restoration

God heard the prayer and returned Manasseh to Jerusalem. The book of Chronicles says he knew after that that the Lord was God. He removed the foreign altars from the Temple courts. He restored the altar of God and offered peace offerings and thank offerings on it. He commanded Judah to serve the God of Israel.

The fifty-five years of ruin had a turn at the end. The tradition preserves this not to diminish the damage Manasseh had done, but to insist that the gate of return does not close, not even for someone who spent a lifetime closing it. The brass bull became the place where the most closed king in Judah's history discovered the only door still open.

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From the tradition

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Gaster, Exempla of the Rabbis No. 252 (1924); Sanhedrin 101bThe Exempla of the Rabbis (1924)

King Manasseh of Judah reigned fifty-five years, longer than any other king of David's line, and the book of Kings accuses him of a staggering catalog of evils (2 Kings 21:1-18). He rebuilt the shrines his father had torn down. He raised altars to Baal in the courts of the Temple. He even passed his own son through the fire of Molech. The Talmud in Sanhedrin 90a lists him among the kings who lose their share in the olam haba, the world to come.

Yet, the same tradition preserves his repentance. The book of Chronicles (2 (Chronicles 33:11)-13) tells how the Assyrians took him captive, bound him in bronze fetters, and carried him to Babylon. The midrash, elaborating on these verses and preserved as exemplum 252 in Moses Gaster's 1924 Exempla of the Rabbis, tells what happened in that captivity.

His Assyrian captors, or in another version his Babylonian ones, placed him inside a hollow statue of a bronze bull and kindled a furnace beneath it. It was a torture device the ancients called the bull of Phalaris. The king cried out. He called on every idol he had served, every Baal whose altar he had built, every carved god he had once worshiped in the Temple itself. None answered. At last, in the furnace, he called on the God of his fathers, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Ribbono shel olam, Master of the universe, if you save me now I will repent with my whole heart.

The angels in heaven, horrified that such a sinner might be heard, tried to block the gates of prayer. The Holy One bored a hole beneath His Throne of Glory so that Manasseh's prayer could come up directly, bypassing the angelic blockade. He was heard. The fire died. The king was restored to his throne in Jerusalem, and according to Chronicles he spent the last years of his life removing the idols he had set up. This midrash, preserved in Gaster's 1924 collection, teaches a truth that unsettles angels and comforts sinners. The gates of repentance never close, even for a king in a bull in a furnace.

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Prayer of Manasseh 1:1Prayer of Manasseh

That’s where our story begins, with the Prayer of Manasseh. It's a short, powerful text, not found in the Tanakh, but preserved among the Jewish writings of the Second Temple period. And it offers us a glimpse into the heart of a king who went astray, and then, miraculously, found his way back.

The prayer begins with a powerful invocation: "Adonai of hosts, God Almighty, God of our ancestors Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and God of their righteous seed."

Think about those words for a moment. Adonai Tzva’ot, Lord of Hosts – a name that speaks of God's immense power and dominion over all creation. It's a reminder that

Then, the prayer immediately connects God to the lineage of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Why is this important? It's a grounding. It's a plea for mercy rooted in the covenant, the unbreakable promise God made to their ancestors. It's almost as if Manasseh is saying, "Remember your promise, remember your people."

But there's more to it than just lineage. The prayer also mentions "their righteous seed." It’s a subtle but significant detail. Manasseh himself wasn't exactly known for his righteousness, as we’ll see. But he's appealing to the merit of his ancestors, and perhaps even hinting at the potential for righteousness within himself, a seed waiting to sprout.

What strikes me most is the sheer audacity, really, of beginning a prayer of repentance with such a grand, sweeping statement. It's a bold move, isn't it? To approach the Almighty, not with timid apologies, but with a declaration of faith in His power and His promises.

It sets the stage, doesn't it? It tells us that this isn't just any prayer. This is a prayer from someone who knows who he's talking to, someone who understands the gravity of the situation, and someone who, despite everything, still believes in the possibility of redemption.

And that, my friends, is a powerful place to begin. But who was this Manasseh, and what did he do that required such a prayer? That's a story for another time. But keep this opening in mind. It's a beacon of hope, shining even in the darkest of circumstances. Because even when we stumble, even when we stray, the possibility of returning, of reconnecting, always remains.

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Prayer of Manasseh 1:10Prayer of Manasseh

The Prayer of Manasseh, though considered apocryphal by some, gives voice to that very human feeling. It's a raw, honest cry from the heart of someone who knows they've messed up – big time.

The prayer doesn’t pull any punches. It starts with acknowledging God's righteousness, pointing out that Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob – the patriarchs themselves – didn't need forgiveness in the same way Manasseh does. Why? Because they hadn't sinned in the same way. "You, Adonai, God of the righteous, did not grant forgiveness to the righteous Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, as they had not sinned to you; but for me, I, a sinner, You have granted forgiveness, for I have sinned."

It’s a stark contrast, isn’t it? He admits, plain and simple, "I am a sinner."

The weight of his sins is almost unbearable. He feels like he can’t even look up to the heavens because his transgressions are just too great. "My iniquities are beyond number, and I should not see, or raise my eyes, or look towards on high, from the greatness of my transgressions." Imagine carrying that around with you. The feeling that you don't even deserve to look up.

And he accepts the consequences. He acknowledges that his suffering – his captivity – is a direct result of his actions. "And now, Adonai, rightfully have You afflicted me, and have repaid me according to my hands’ work with captivity." There's no blaming others, no making excuses. Just a stark recognition of cause and effect.

The image he paints is vivid: "I am bent down with iron bands, I cannot even raise my head from my soul’s sins." He's not just physically weighed down, but spiritually crushed. The "iron bands" are not just literal chains, but the chains of his own guilt and regret.

What did he do that was so terrible? He says, "I moved Your spirit and was evil in your eyes – I did not do Your will and did not guard Your commandments, and I set up disgusting idols and I increased abominations." It wasn't just a matter of breaking a few rules. It was a wholesale rejection of God’s will, a turning to idolatry and "abominations."

It’s a powerful and uncomfortable prayer. It forces us to confront our own failings, our own moments when we’ve fallen short. But within that discomfort, there’s also a glimmer of hope. The very act of praying, of acknowledging his sin and turning to God, suggests a path towards redemption. Even in the depths of despair, there's a recognition that forgiveness is possible.

The Prayer of Manasseh reminds us that we all make mistakes. We all stumble. But it’s what we do after we fall that truly matters. Do we stay down, crushed by our guilt? Or do we find the strength to look up, to acknowledge our failings, and to ask for forgiveness? The prayer leaves us pondering: what does true repentance really look like, and how do we begin the journey back to what is.

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Prayer of ManassehPrayer of Manasseh

Manasseh, King of Judah. Not exactly a role model. The Bible paints a pretty grim picture: idol worship, child sacrifice, all sorts of wickedness. You can read about it in 2 Kings 21 and 2 Chronicles 33. A real low point in Israelite history. But here’s the thing about Jewish tradition: we believe in teshuvah (repentance) – repentance. The possibility of return, no matter how far you've strayed. And Manasseh? He becomes a fascinating example of that very idea.

Tradition tells us that Manasseh was eventually captured by the Assyrians, thrown into prison, and it was in that dark, desperate place that he finally turned his heart back to God.

That's where the Prayer of Manasseh comes in.

This short, powerful prayer isn't actually found in the Hebrew Bible itself. It’s part of the Apocrypha, a collection of Jewish texts that didn't make it into the final canon. But it resonates deeply with the themes of repentance and forgiveness. It's included in some Orthodox Bibles as well as Catholic Bibles, and it echoes through Jewish liturgy, particularly during the Yamim Noraim, the High Holy Days.

The prayer is a heartfelt plea for mercy. Manasseh acknowledges his sins, recognizes God's justice, and begs for forgiveness. He says, "I have angered You and done what is evil in your sight," confessing his wrongdoings.

And then comes this beautiful affirmation, a powerful declaration of faith: "And I shall praise You always, all the days of my life, for to You praise all the host of heaven, and to You, Adonai, is the honor, for ever and ever, amen."

It’s a simple statement, isn’t it? But imagine the weight of it coming from Manasseh! This is a man who actively turned away from God, who embraced idolatry, now declaring that he will praise God always. That even now, after everything, he recognizes that God is worthy of honor.

There's a profound message here, isn't there? It’s about the enduring nature of hope. The belief that even after immense darkness, even after profound mistakes, we can still find our way back to the light. That repentance is always possible. Even someone like Manasseh, who seemingly hit rock bottom, could find redemption. What does that say about our own potential for growth, for change, for teshuvah? What does it say about the boundlessness of God's mercy?

Perhaps the Prayer of Manasseh isn’t just about a king who messed up big time. Perhaps it's a reminder for all of us, that no matter where we are on our journey, the door to repentance is always open. And that even in our darkest moments, we can still find the strength to offer praise. Always.

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Pesikta DeRav Kahana 27:3Pesikta de-Rav Kahana

"He has turned to the prayer of the destitute" (Psalms 102:18). Rabbi Reuben said, we cannot make sense of David's manner: sometimes he calls himself a king and sometimes he calls himself poor. How so? When he gazes and sees that the righteous are destined to arise from him, such as Asa, Jehoshaphat, Hezekiah, Josiah, he calls himself a king, "O God, give Your judgments to the king and Your righteousness to the king's son" (Psalms 72:1). And when he gazes and sees that the wicked are destined to arise from him, such as Ahaz, Amon, Manasseh, he calls himself poor, "A prayer of the poor when he is faint" (Psalms 102:1).

Rabbi Alexandri interpreted the verse concerning a laborer: just as this laborer sits and watches all day for when his employer will set him a little aside and gather it for him at the end. What is "the feebler" (Genesis 30:42)? Rabbi Isaac bar Hakila said, the latecomers. Resh Lakish said, this verse has no end that fits its beginning nor beginning that fits its end. "He has turned to the prayer of the destitute" (Psalms 102:18) should have said, He did not despise his prayer; "He did not despise their prayer" (Psalms 102:18) should have said, He turned to the prayer of the destitute ones. Rather, "He has turned to the prayer of the destitute," this is Manasseh king of Judah; "and He did not despise their prayer," this is his prayer and the prayer of his fathers. This is what is written, "And He was entreated by him" (2 Chronicles 33:13), but it is written "and He dug through for him." Rabbi Lazar bar Simeon said, in Arabia they call digging "entreating." "And He brought him back to Jerusalem" (2 Chronicles 33:13), by what did He bring him back? Rabbi Samuel bar Jonah in the name of Rabbi Aha said, by a wind He brought him back, as you say, "who makes the wind to blow." "And Manasseh knew that the LORD is God" (2 Chronicles 33:13), at that moment Manasseh said, there is judgment and there is a Judge.

Rabbi Isaac interpreted the verse concerning these generations that have neither king nor prophet nor Urim nor Thummim, but only this prayer alone. David said before the Holy One, blessed be He, Master of the worlds, do not despise it. "Let this be written for the last generation" (Psalms 102:19), from here that the Holy One receives the penitent. "And a people yet to be created shall praise the LORD" (Psalms 102:19), for the Holy One, blessed be He, created them a new creation. Another interpretation: "Let this be written for the last generation," this is the generation of Hezekiah, whom God made a new creation. Another interpretation: this is the generation of Mordecai and Esther, who were doomed to death; and "a people yet to be created shall praise the LORD," for the Holy One created them a new creation. Another interpretation: these are the generations doomed to death, and "a people yet to be created shall praise the LORD," for the Holy One, blessed be He, is destined to create them a new creation. And what is upon us to take? The lulav and etrog, to praise the Holy One, blessed be He. Therefore Moses warns Israel and says to them, "And you shall take for yourselves" (Leviticus 23:40).

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Prayer of Manasseh 1:14Prayer of Manasseh

That feeling of being utterly unworthy. it's a human experience that echoes through centuries, and finds a powerful voice in a short, potent prayer attributed to a very unlikely source: Manasseh, King of Judah.

Manasseh wasn't exactly known for being a righteous ruler. The Bible paints him as one of the worst kings Judah ever had. He rebuilt pagan altars, embraced idolatry, and even sacrificed his own son! 2 Kings 21 tells us the gruesome details. He led the people astray on a massive scale. So, what's his prayer doing in the Apocrypha – those texts considered canonical by some, but not included in the standard Hebrew Bible? That's part of what makes it so compelling.

This prayer, simply titled "Prayer of Manasseh," offers a glimpse into a repentant heart. It's raw, vulnerable, and surprisingly moving. The prayer isn't found in the Hebrew Bible, appearing instead in the Greek Septuagint, a translation of the Hebrew scriptures, and later in the Latin Vulgate. to the heart of it. It begins with a profound act of humility: "And now I bend the knee of my heart, for I desire Your goodness." It's not just a physical gesture, but a complete surrender, a bending of the very core of his being toward the divine. He doesn’t say “I bend my knee," but "the knee of my heart". He's not just going through the motions; he’s opening himself to the possibility of grace.

Then comes the stark confession: "I have sinned, Adonai, I have sinned, and of my transgressions I am well aware." Adonai, meaning "Lord," is a name we use to reverently address God. There's no sugarcoating here, no excuses. Just a direct acknowledgement of wrongdoing. "And of my transgressions I am well aware" is key. Manasseh isn't just saying he messed up; he understands the weight and scope of his sins.

And it continues, a desperate plea rising from the depths of despair: "And thus I will plead unto you, Adonai, forgive – please! – forgive me, and do not let me die in sin, and do not forever guard and keep iniquities, and do not cast me away from You and place me in the depths of the earth, for You are Adonai, God of the repentant are You!"

Did you catch that? The repetition, the urgency? It's the sound of a soul clinging to hope. He's begging not to be defined by his mistakes, not to be eternally condemned. He acknowledges God's attribute as the God of the repentant. This is a crucial point. Manasseh isn't just asking for forgiveness; he's appealing to God's very nature, to the divine capacity for compassion and redemption.

The prayer concludes with a humble request: "Show me – please! – Your goodness even to me and save me in Your great compassion, though I am not worthy to see it." The honesty is striking. He knows he doesn't deserve it. He admits his unworthiness. Yet, he still dares to ask for a glimpse of God's goodness, a touch of salvation.

The story of Manasseh, both his wicked reign and his supposed repentance, raises so many questions. Can someone truly be forgiven for such egregious sins? Is redemption possible, even for those who seem beyond hope? The Prayer of Manasseh doesn't offer easy answers, but it does offer a powerful reminder: that even in the darkest of times, the possibility of turning towards the light remains. It’s a evidence of the enduring human need for forgiveness, and the belief, however fragile, that such forgiveness might be possible.

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Legends of the Jews 9:46Legends of the Jews

The story of King Manasseh is a wild ride, a evidence of the idea that no one is beyond the reach of repentance.

See, Manasseh wasn't just a bad king; he was really bad. He deserved the punishment he eventually received for his "sins and crimes." And not just him, but also that old Danite idol, Micah's image.

Things went from bad to worse in Babylon. The king found himself thrown into an oven, heated from below. Can you imagine the desperation? According to Legends of the Jews, in this moment of sheer terror, Manasseh started pleading with every god he could think of. But nothing worked.

Finally, he remembered something his father had taught him: "When thou art in tribulation, if in the latter days thou shalt return to the Lord thy God, and hearken unto His voice, He will not fail thee." So, Manasseh figured, what did he have to lose? He cried out to God, thinking, "If He inclines His ear unto me, well and good; if not, then all kinds of god are alike." A pretty cynical prayer. But here’s where it gets really interesting. The angels, understandably, weren't thrilled. "Lord of the world!" they protested, "Art Thou willing to give gracious hearing to one who has paid worship to idols, and set up an idol in the Temple?" They tried to block his prayer from reaching God.

God's response, though, is the heart of the story. He said, "If I did not accept the penance of this man, I should be closing the door in the face of all repentant sinners." God, in His infinite mercy, made a small opening under the Throne of His Glory and received Manasseh's prayer.

Suddenly, a wind swept through, carrying Manasseh all the way back to Jerusalem. According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, his return to God not only rescued him from his predicament, but also brought him complete forgiveness. So complete, in fact, that he didn’t even lose his share in the world to come, the Olam Ha-Ba (the World to Come).

So, what do we take away from the tale of Manasseh? It's a powerful reminder that repentance, teshuvah (repentance), is always possible. Even for the worst of us. Even when the angels themselves are protesting. It’s a evidence of the boundless compassion of God, who is always willing to welcome us back, no matter how far we’ve strayed. Makes you think, doesn't it?

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Midrash on 2 Kings 21; cf. Sanhedrin 102bHebraic Literature (1901)

Someone once asked Rabbi Akiba how it could be that King Hezekiah, the righteous teacher of Torah, had raised a son as wicked as Manasseh. "Twelve years old was Manasseh when he became king," Scripture records, "and fifty-five years reigned he in Jerusalem, and he did that which was evil in the sight of the Lord" (2 Kings 21:1–2).

Akiba answered with another question. Did Hezekiah fail to teach Torah to his son? Impossible. Hezekiah taught Torah to the whole world. Of course he taught his own child. The problem was not Hezekiah's instruction. The problem was Manasseh's attention. "Manasseh paid no attention to his father's precepts," Akiba said, "and neglected the word of God."

Neglect has consequences. Scripture says the Lord spoke to Manasseh and his people, "and they listened not." Only then did God let the armies of Assyria sweep down, capture the king, bind him with fetters of bronze, and drag him off to Babylon. Chronicles records the scene in painful detail: "they took Manasseh with hooks, and bound him with fetters, and carried him to Babylon" (2 Chronicles 33:11).

There, in exile, the turn happened. "When he was in affliction, he besought the Lord his God, and humbled himself greatly before the God of his fathers" (2 Chronicles 33:12). God heard him. God permitted Himself to be entreated. God brought Manasseh back to Jerusalem and to his throne.

"Then," as Chronicles concludes, "Manasseh felt conscious that the Lord is indeed the true God." Akiba's point in the midrash is hard to miss. Some of us learn Torah from our parents and hold onto it. Some of us have to be dragged in chains to a foreign city first. Either way, teshuvah, repentance, is never closed.

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Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer 43:4Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer

Jewish tradition, in its infinite wisdom, offers a resounding "No!"

Let's This isn't your average "sinned a little" kind of guy. Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer, in chapter 43, recounts a truly wild story, as told by Rabbi Joshua, highlighting the power of teshuvah (repentance), repentance.

Manasseh, wasn't just dabbling in bad behavior. He was all in. He committed "all the evil abominations much more than all the nations." He sacrificed his own son to Baal. The text specifies this happened just outside Jerusalem, causing doves to fly in terror. He worshipped the entire host of heaven, every star and constellation. It was a full-blown spiritual rebellion.

It didn't end well for him.

The princes of the Babylonian king came and captured him. Can you picture it? Dragged by his hair, all the way to Babylon. Then, the ultimate humiliation and torment: he was placed in a pan over a fire. Imagine the agony! Desperate, he called out to all the foreign gods he had worshipped, begging for salvation. But silence. Nothing.

That's when something shifted. Manasseh, at the very bottom, remembered his roots. He remembered the God of his fathers. "I will call on the God of my fathers with all my heart," he thought, "perhaps He will do unto me according to all His wonders which He did unto my father."

And he prayed. Really prayed. Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer emphasizes he called on God "with all his heart."

And God heard him.

As it says in (2 (Chronicles 33:1)8), "And he prayed unto him; and he was intreated of him, and heard his supplication… then Manasseh knew that the Lord he was God."

The verse is so simple, yet so profound. God was "intreated," meaning He allowed Himself to be moved by Manasseh's prayer. God heard his plea. And in that moment, Manasseh understood. He understood that there is both judgment and a judge. A power that holds us accountable, yes, but also a power that can offer redemption.

What can we learn from this? It's not just about Manasseh's specific sins, which are pretty extreme. It's about the possibility of return, no matter how far we've strayed. Even after sacrificing to idols, even after unimaginable acts, the door of repentance is never truly closed. Teshuvah is always possible. We can always turn back.

This story, recounted in Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer, isn't just ancient history. It's a timeless message of hope. A reminder that even when we feel consumed by the flames of our own mistakes, we can still find our way back to the source of all compassion. We can still find our way back home.

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