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Metatron Keeps Heaven Steady While Israel Provokes Below

The moment the desert Tabernacle rose, a mirrored sanctuary locked into place above it. Metatron runs the upper one. Bilam ran his mouth with iron in it.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Two Tabernacles Going Up at Once
  2. God's Patience and Its Outer Edge
  3. Bilam and the Iron Bit
  4. The Two Sanctuaries and the Sorcerer Who Made One Beautiful

Two Tabernacles Going Up at Once

When God told Moses to raise the Tabernacle in the desert, Rabbi Simon imagined the instruction going out in two directions simultaneously. Moses received it and relayed it to the craftsmen below. At the same moment, the same instruction arrived in the heights.

The two structures rose in lockstep. The moment the desert poles slid into their bronze sockets below, a mirrored sanctuary locked into place above. Same blueprint, different building materials. Below: acacia wood, gold, silver, linen, dyed wool, animal skins. Above: what the angels handle and what fire holds together.

And the heavenly one had a caretaker. Metatron, the angel the later mystics would call the Prince of the Presence, presides over the upper sanctuary. His job description in this text from Bamidbar Rabbah is stark. He offers the souls of the righteous as atonement for Israel while Israel is in exile. The earthly Tabernacle was not a copy of a heavenly original. It was the second half of a single act of construction that required both worlds to complete itself. Moses built the bottom. Metatron maintains the top. The exile has been running on this arrangement ever since the earthly building burned.

God's Patience and Its Outer Edge

Numbers 14:11 records a moment when God's question breaks through the Torah's surface with unusual rawness: How long will this people provoke me? Bamidbar Rabbah could not read this as a rhetorical flourish. The rabbis took the question literally. They heard a specific limit being named, a point past which the provocation could not go without consequence.

Rabbi Yochanan and Rabbi Shimon bar Lakish debated what the limit was. Rabbi Yochanan said God's patience was the thing that made Israel's survival possible at all. The people had provoked Him with the golden calf, with the quail, with the spies, with Korach, and yet the punishment had never been final. The question was not a threat. It was a statement of astonishment. How long, and yet they continue.

Rabbi Shimon bar Lakish heard it differently. God's question was the voice of a parent who has absorbed blow after blow and is asking, not to the children, but to himself, how much more can this hold? The answer Bamidbar Rabbah gave was: more than you expect. The patience that held the people together from Egypt to Sinai to the Land was not a passive tolerance. It was a capacity that had been built, from the beginning, to absorb what a human community in the desert would inevitably do.

Bilam and the Iron Bit

Then the sorcerer arrives. Bilam ben Beor, hired by Balak king of Moab to curse Israel as they camped on the plains before the Jordan. The man who could open a divine address and make his words stick. Balak believed that if Bilam cursed from the right hilltop at the right moment, the curse would travel and Israel would weaken.

Bamidbar Rabbah described what happened to Bilam's mouth when he tried to curse. God put an iron bit in it. Not metaphorically. In the midrash's reading, Bilam's jaw was controlled the way a horse's jaw is controlled by a rider: he could open his mouth, he could form words, but the direction of the words was no longer his to determine. The curses that assembled themselves in his mind and traveled to his tongue came out as blessings. Numbers 23:8: How shall I curse whom God has not cursed?

Bilam knew what was happening. He was not confused. He was a professional who had lost control of his own tool. He could hear himself blessing while he was trying to curse, and there was nothing he could do about it. He stood on the heights of Peor and opened his mouth and out came the words that would be spoken in every synagogue every morning for the rest of Jewish history: How goodly are your tents, O Jacob, your dwelling places, O Israel (Numbers 24:5).

The Two Sanctuaries and the Sorcerer Who Made One Beautiful

Bamidbar Rabbah placed Bilam's blessing inside the same framework as Metatron's maintenance of the upper sanctuary. Both are about what happens to forces that operate against Israel when they come within range of something that holds the covenant in place. The iron bit in Bilam's mouth was not a punishment. It was the same force that made the Tabernacle poles slide into their sockets in perfect alignment with the heavenly structure above. The design does not tolerate opposition well. The words that leave Bilam's mouth are shaped by the same architecture that Metatron maintains above.

The Tabernacle below is still standing, in the sense that Torah still circulates and the structure of the covenant still operates. The Tabernacle above is still being maintained, in the sense that Metatron still offers the souls of the righteous as the earthly building no longer can. And the sorcerer's words, shaped into beauty against his will, are still being sung every morning as evidence that the design holds even when the people provoke and even when the enemies assemble on the heights.

Midrash RabbahMetatronProphecyRebellion And Mercy
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From the tradition

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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.

Bamidbar Rabbah 12:12Bamidbar Rabbah

Bamidbar Rabbah turns to Angels Attend to Metatron.

The verse in question is from (Exodus 15:13): "You guided with Your kindness this people that You redeemed; You directed them with Your strength to Your holy abode." Beautiful. But the rabbis see even more layers within these words. They teach that the entire world rests on three pillars: Torah, service (avodah), and acts of kindness (gemilut chasadim). You may have heard this idea before; Avot 1:2 also tells us this.

Here’s the really clever part. The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) sees all three of these pillars reflected in that single verse from Exodus. "You guided with Your kindness this people that You redeemed" – that's kindness, plain and simple. "You directed them with Your strength" – that refers to Torah, because, as (Psalms 29:11) says, "The Lord will give strength to His people." And finally, "to Your holy abode" – that signifies the service performed in the Tabernacle (Mishkan) and, later, in the Temple.

It gets even more interesting! The Midrash goes on to say that God led the generations from creation until the Exodus from Egypt with kindness alone. Why? Because they didn't have enough good deeds to merit God's favor. God’s kindness, pure and undeserved, sustained them. And, as a evidence of this incredible kindness, King David recited, "For His kindness is forever" (Psalms 136:1-26) a whopping twenty-six times in the psalm!

The Torah then came into the picture, offering a second leg to stand on. But what about that third leg? According to this passage in Bamidbar Rabbah, that third leg was the erecting of the Tabernacle. Before the Tabernacle, the world was like a wobbly chair with only two legs – kindness and Torah. Unstable, precarious. But once the Tabernacle was built, it provided the necessary stability, allowing the world to stand firm. "To Your holy abode," and immediately, it stabilized and stood.

And here's a little Hebrew wordplay for you: The text emphasizes the phrase "Erecting the Tabernacle" (et ha-mishkan). The word "et" is usually untranslated, but the Midrash suggests it hints that the world itself, which is also called a tent (in Hebrew, ohel), was erected with the Tabernacle. The building of the Mishkan was cosmic, a world-building event.

But wait, there's more! Rabbi Simon offers a stunning idea: When God instructed the Israelites to build the Tabernacle, He also signaled to the angels to build one in the heavens. "When the one below was erected, the one above was erected." Think of it: a mirrored image, a sacred space both on Earth and in the celestial realm. This heavenly Tabernacle, says Rabbi Simon, is presided over by the angel Metatron, who offers the souls of the righteous as atonement for Israel during their exile. So, the earthly Tabernacle reflects a divine reality, a connection between our world and the heavens. It is as if the verse states: “The place You fashioned for Your dwelling, Lord, the Sanctuary, my Lord, that Your hands established” (Exodus 15:17) is referring to two Tabernacles: the dwelling place being the heavenly one, and the sanctuary being the earthly one crafted in the desert.

So, what does this all mean for us? Perhaps it's a reminder that we each have a role to play in upholding the world. Through acts of kindness, through studying and living by the wisdom of the Torah, and through finding our own "holy abode" – whether it's a physical place of worship or simply a space of inner reflection – we contribute to the stability and well-being of the entire cosmos. And maybe, just maybe, we help build a little piece of heaven here on Earth.

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Bamidbar Rabbah 16:24Bamidbar Rabbah

That feeling resonates deeply in a powerful passage from Bamidbar Rabbah 16. It explores the fraught relationship between God and the Israelites, focusing on their repeated rejection of divine counsel.

The passage begins with a stinging question from God: "Until when will this people provoke Me?" It's a cry of frustration, echoing the words in Proverbs (1:25, 1:30): "You nullified all my counsel and are unwilling to receive my rebuke." The Hebrew word used here, vatifre’u, isn't just about rejecting advice. It suggests a corruption, a spoiling of all the good that God intended. It’s like being given a precious gift and deliberately breaking it. God descended to deliver them from Egypt (Exodus 3:8), but they resisted even then, clinging to their idols. As Ezekiel (20:5-8) reminds us, God called on them to abandon those idols, but they refused. Then, at the Red Sea, they were "defiant" (Psalms 106:7), immediately ruining the divine plan.

The text continues with a vivid image. Imagine thousands upon thousands of angels descending, each Israelite receiving two – one armed for protection, the other placing a crown upon their head. Rabbi Yehuda of Tzippori even suggests they were armed with weapons, while Rabbi Simai says they were adorned in royal purple garments, inscribed with the ineffable name of God. These garments would have been an invincible protection, shielding them from evil and even the angel of death. But when they sinned, Moses commanded them to remove their ornaments (Exodus 33:5-6), and they were stripped of that divine protection.

Then comes a particularly striking Midrashic (rabbinic interpretive commentary) interpretation. Rabbi Elazar son of Rabbi Yosei HaGelili paints a scene where the angel of death protests to God, "Was I created in the world for nothing?" God replies that the angel's domain is over idol worshippers, but not over this chosen nation. This connects to the idea of freedom, ḥerut in Hebrew. The Torah, the very words of God, were ḥarut, engraved on the tablets (Exodus 32:16). Rabbi Yehuda says this meant freedom from kingdoms, Rabbi Nehemya says freedom from the angel of death, and Rabbi [Yehuda Hanasi] says freedom from suffering.

But within forty days, the Israelites corrupted this counsel. They built the Golden Calf.

The passage then takes a somber turn, quoting (Psalms 82:6-7): "I had said: You are divine, like beings on High, all of you… yet as men [adam] you will die." God intended them to be immortal, like the ministering angels, but their actions condemned them to mortality, like Adam. Adam, who was given one commandment and failed. As Genesis (1:27) says, "God created man in his image," intending for him to live and endure like God. But Adam's sin led to the decree: "For you are dust, and to dust you shall return" (Genesis 3:19).

The text doesn’t stop there. Even the manna, the miraculous food that sustained them in the wilderness for forty years, became a source of complaint. They ate the "bread of the mighty" (Psalms 78:25), which the Midrash interprets as meaning it became "limbs" – perfectly nourishing them. But they grumbled, "Our soul loathes this insubstantial bread" (Numbers 21:5). It's a powerful illustration of ingratitude.

And what about the spies sent to scout the land of Canaan? God, in God's mercy, even manipulated events to protect them. According to Bamidbar Rabbah, in every province the spies entered, the leader would be struck dead, distracting the inhabitants and preventing them from harming the spies. But the spies, focusing only on the death they witnessed, returned with a negative report: "A land that consumes its inhabitants" (Numbers 13:32). They saw only death where God had provided protection.

The passage closes with a lament, comparing Israel to a vineyard that yields only inferior grapes (Isaiah 5:4). God had hoped they would be "like grapes in the wilderness" (Hosea 9:10), a source of sweetness and delight. Instead, they became "like Sodom" (Deuteronomy 32:32).

So, what does this all mean for us? Perhaps it's a reminder to appreciate the gifts we've been given, both big and small. To recognize the divine hand in our lives, even when things seem difficult. And, most importantly, to avoid the trap of rejecting wise counsel, especially when it comes from a place of love and care. It’s a warning against squandering the potential for greatness that lies within each of us. After all, who wants to be remembered for dropping the ball when they could have caught it and run towards the end zone?

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Bamidbar Rabbah 20:20Bamidbar Rabbah

Bamidbar Rabbah turns to Kingdom of Bilam of Balak.

The story unfolds in Bamidbar Rabbah 20, a midrashic (rabbinic interpretive commentary) collection that dives deep into the biblical text. It picks up on a specific moment: "He said to Balak: Stand here with your burnt offering, and I will be happened upon there" (Numbers 23:15). What does it mean to "be happened upon"? The text emphasizes that this wasn't Bilam's initiative. He was, shall we say, being divinely influenced.

The midrash highlights the image of God placing speech in Bilam’s mouth, comparing it to "a person who places an iron bit in an animal’s mouth and restrains it, and leads it to wherever he wishes." Ouch. The Bamidbar Rabbah paints a picture of Bilam as a reluctant mouthpiece, struggling against the divine force compelling him.

Balak? He's not happy. He expected a curse, but instead, Bilam keeps blessing the Israelites. The text notes that initially, “He, and all the princes of Moav” were present (Numbers 23:6), eager to witness the curse. But as the blessings continue, they start to peel away. "When they saw that it was to no avail, they left him, and only some of the princes of Moav remained with him." Can you feel the awkwardness?

Balak, realizing Bilam isn't under his control, even starts mocking him. But Bilam, despite his predicament, asserts his authority: "Stand, you are not permitted to sit when the words of the Omnipresent are being said." Even with God’s hand forcing words from his mouth, Bilam still demands respect for the divine message.

Then comes a powerful statement: "God is not a man, that He will deceive." The midrash explains that unlike humans, who might abandon old friends for new and better ones, God doesn't break promises. He is bound by His word, especially the oaths made to the patriarchs.

But what about divine decrees of punishment? The text explains that even though God might threaten evil, He is merciful and accepts repentance. "He says to bring evil upon them, but if they repent, he nullifies the evil." We see examples from the Torah, like the incident of the Golden Calf, where God initially intended to destroy the Israelites but relented after their repentance.

The midrash continues, emphasizing God’s unique perspective on Israel: "He does not look at the transgressions that they have made, but rather, He looks only at the matters of which they are proud." It's a powerful reminder that even when we stumble, God sees our potential, our inherent goodness.

Bilam then describes Israel as a guarded orchard, protected by God, "Behold, the Guardian of Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps" (Psalms 121:4). How can he, Bilam, possibly harm them when they have such a vigilant protector?

The text also touches on Israel’s unique spiritual practices. Unlike other nations who rely on divination and sorcery, Israel has a direct connection to God through the High Priest and the Urim and Tumim (oracular devices used on the High Priest's breastplate). And even more, the Jewish people have the power of repentance, which can negate any negative decree. "Who negates the omens of deceivers, and leads diviners astray" (Isaiah 44:25).

Finally, Bilam prophesies about the future of Israel, envisioning them as students sitting before God, learning Torah. Even the angels are curious about what God teaches them!

The midrash concludes with a description of the Israelites as lions, rising from sleep to proclaim God's oneness. Even demons flee from their declaration of faith. And in a fascinating detail, Bilam's death is connected to his initial mission. He is ultimately killed when the Israelites take revenge against the Midianites, fulfilling Bilam's own prophecy that Israel "will not lie down until it has devoured prey."

So, what are we to make of this strange and captivating story? Perhaps it's a reminder that even those who intend to harm us can be forced to speak blessings. Perhaps it's a evidence of the enduring power of repentance and the unwavering protection of God. Or maybe, it's simply a reminder that things aren't always what they seem, and that even the most reluctant voices can be used for good.

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