6 min read

Michael Pleaded With God Not to Make Him Tell Abraham

God sent Michael to inform Abraham that his time had come. Michael went, came back to heaven, and asked God to find another way.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Assignment
  2. The Case He Made
  3. The Tour He Gave
  4. What Michael Could Not Say

The Assignment

The assignment seemed simple. God needed someone to go to Abraham and tell him that his time on earth was ending and he should prepare himself. Abraham was old, righteous, loved by God and by everyone who had encountered him. His life had been full. The death that was coming was the natural conclusion of a long story, not a punishment, not a tragedy, simply the last chapter. Send an angel, deliver the news, the matter was concluded.

God chose Michael. He was the greatest of the heavenly messengers, the archangel who stood closest to the divine throne, the one who had been Abraham's guardian and companion through the long decades of the patriarch's life. He had carried Abraham on a cloud and shown him the earth from above and escorted him through the gates of judgment. He knew Abraham better than any other angel. That was presumably why God chose him.

Michael descended. He saw Abraham. And then he ascended directly back to heaven and pleaded with God: "I have not seen upon the earth a man like him."

The Case He Made

The Legends of the Jews records the substance of Michael's plea in detail. He was not simply expressing reluctance or squeamishness. He was making an argument. Abraham's compassion, hospitality, and unwavering devotion had reached a level that Michael had not encountered in any other human being in all the years he had been the guardian of humanity's greatest figures. Telling this man that he was going to die was not a simple delivery. It was going to devastate him.

God listened to the argument. God also did not change the fundamental fact: Abraham's time was ending. What God offered instead was a workaround. "Go to Abraham," God said. "Agree with whatever he says. Eat at his table. Be a guest in his house. Meanwhile I will plant the knowledge of his coming death in Isaac's dream, and Isaac will receive the news and pass it to his father, and the delivery will happen through the family rather than through the angel who cannot bear to make it."

Michael had one more concern. "All the angels of the ministering host," he told God, "would be grieved to learn that Abraham was dying." Not just Michael but all of them. Abraham was not merely a righteous human being. He was the human being who had transformed the relationship between the earthly and the heavenly in a way that made him beloved across both orders of existence.

The Tour He Gave

Michael descended again, this time following God's instructions. He came in a chariot of the cherubim, those powerful angelic beings, and scooped up Abraham and carried him up on a cloud accompanied by sixty angels, and he showed Abraham the earth from above. The Legends of the Jews describes Abraham looking down at the world he had spent a hundred years walking through, seeing it all at once from a height that changed its scale entirely. He saw the good and the bad and the downright ugly. He saw a man committing adultery and demanded that fire come down from heaven to consume them, and it did, because God had told Michael to fulfill Abraham's requests during this tour.

Then Michael brought the chariot around to the gates of judgment. Two gates. One wide and inviting. One narrow and difficult. Abraham saw souls being processed at the two gates, saw the path that led to reward and the path that led to destruction, and he was overcome. He wept for the sinners going through the wide gate. He asked Michael: "who are these?" He wanted to pray for them. He wanted to intervene. He was a hundred years old, preparing to die, watching the souls at the gates of eternity, and his first response was compassion for the ones going the wrong way.

What Michael Could Not Say

Through all of this, the actual message had not been delivered. Abraham did not yet know, from Michael's mouth, that this tour was a preparation, that the cloud ride and the tour of judgment were the last great experience of his earthly life before the news came. Michael had agreed with everything Abraham said. He had eaten at his table. He had been the perfect guest. And he had not said the thing he had come to say.

God's plan worked. Isaac dreamed. He woke and told his father what he had seen in the dream, and the meaning was clear enough, and Abraham understood that the time had come. He prepared himself. He gathered what he needed for the transition. He had not heard it from Michael's lips, but he had heard it, and he received it with the same quality of acceptance that had defined his response to everything God had asked of him over the course of a century. He wept and then he prepared and then he was ready.

Michael had been right that it was not simple. God had found a way around the simplicity.


← All myths

From the tradition

Sources

3 sources

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 5:302Legends of the Jews

The legends paint him as nearly unparalleled in his virtue. Now, the time was approaching for Abraham to depart from this world, but the angel Michael found himself in a bit of a predicament. His task? To remind Abraham of his impending mortality.

The scene. As we read in Legends of the Jews, Michael was so impressed by Abraham's compassion, hospitality, and unwavering devotion that he hesitated. He actually ascended to heaven, pleading with God, saying, "I have not seen upon the earth a man like him!" (Ginzberg). A tough assignment. God, understanding Michael's reluctance, gives him instructions: Go to Abraham, agree with whatever he says, partake in his meals, and God will plant the idea of Abraham's death in Isaac's dream. Clever!

Michael voices another concern. "Lord," he says, "all the heavenly spirits are incorporeal; we neither eat nor drink! And this man has prepared a feast before me!" (Ginzberg). How is an angel supposed to handle a table laden with earthly delights?

God’s response is just brilliant. "Go down to him," He says, "and take no thought for this, for when thou sittest down with him, I will send upon thee a devouring spirit, and it will consume out of thy hands and through thy mouth all that is on the table." (Ginzberg).

A devouring spirit! God essentially provides Michael with a divine workaround, a way to interact with the physical world without truly succumbing to it. It's a fascinating glimpse into how the celestial and terrestrial realms might intersect. The Zohar, a central text of Kabbalah, often speaks of such divine accommodations, ways that God's infinite light is filtered and made accessible to our limited human perception.

So, what does this little story tell us? It's not just about an angel's dining dilemma. It speaks to the immense value placed on hospitality and kindness in Jewish tradition. Abraham’s virtues are so profound that even an angel is awestruck. It also reveals a deeper truth: that even in the face of death, there is a place for grace, compassion, and connection. And sometimes, even a devouring spirit can help us bridge the gap between worlds.

Full source
Legends of the Jews 5:305Legends of the Jews

The tale goes like this: The archangel Michael himself descended, not in a flashy sports car, but in a chariot of the cherubim – those powerful, angelic beings. Can you imagine the sight? He scooped up Abraham and lifted him into the heavens. Not just a little bit into the air, but high above, leading him on a cloud, accompanied by sixty angels!

Abraham, riding in this heavenly chariot, soared over the entire earth. He saw everything – the good, the bad, and the downright ugly. And what he saw wasn't always pretty.

Looking down, he spotted a man committing adultery. Incensed, Abraham turned to Michael and demanded, "Send fire from heaven to consume them!" And here’s the kicker: fire came down and did just that. Why? Because, as the story tells us, God had commanded Michael to fulfill Abraham's requests.

He kept watching. Next, he saw thieves breaking into a house. "Let wild beasts come out of the desert and tear them to pieces!" Abraham commanded. And immediately, wild beasts appeared and devoured them. Ginzberg recounts this in Legends of the Jews.

Then, he witnessed people plotting murder. "Let the earth open and swallow them!" he declared. And just as quickly, the earth opened up and swallowed them alive. Talk about swift justice!

But then, the story takes a turn. God, watching all of this unfold, spoke to Michael. "Turn Abraham away," God said. "Don't let him go around the whole earth. Because he has no compassion on sinners." Abraham, the patriarch, the man of faith, was showing a severe lack of mercy.

God continued, "I have compassion on sinners, that they may turn and live and repent of their sins, and be saved." As we find in Midrash Rabbah, God's perspective is one of enduring patience and the hope for repentance.

What a powerful lesson! This story, found in Legends of the Jews, isn’t just a fantastical tale of a heavenly journey. It’s a reminder that even the most righteous among us can sometimes struggle with compassion. It speaks to the importance of mercy, forgiveness, and the belief that even those who have strayed are capable of turning back to the right path. It makes you wonder, doesn't it? Are we, like Abraham in that moment, sometimes too quick to judge, too eager to condemn, and too slow to offer a chance for redemption?

Full source
Legends of the Jews 5:306Legends of the Jews

The Jewish mystical tradition is rich with stories and visions of the afterlife, and one particularly fascinating account involves Abraham, led by the angel Michael himself.

Michael, the archangel, is escorting Abraham on a celestial tour. According to Legends of the Jews, Michael turns his chariot, taking Abraham to the place where all souls are judged. What does Abraham see there? Two gates. One is wide, inviting, seemingly easy. The other? Narrow, challenging.

These aren't just gates; they represent the paths our lives take. The narrow gate, The broad gate? That's the path of sinners, a road that leads to destruction and eternal punishment, to Gehenna.

Abraham, seeing this stark division, is overcome with emotion. "Woe is me!" he cries. "What shall I do? For I am a man big of body, and how shall I be able to enter by the narrow gate?" He's not just talking about physical size, is he? He's expressing a deep-seated worry about his own imperfections, his own ability to live up to the standards required to enter Paradise.

But Michael reassures him: "Fear not, nor grieve, for thou shalt enter by it unhindered, and all they who are like thee." This is a powerful moment, isn't it? It suggests that even with our flaws, even when we feel inadequate, there's still a place for us in the world to come.

The story takes another turn when Abraham notices a soul suspended between worlds. This soul, it turns out, has an equal measure of good and bad deeds. The judge couldn't decide whether to send it to judgment or to salvation. It was stuck in limbo.

Moved by compassion, Abraham asks Michael, "Let us pray for this soul, and see whether God will hear us." And they do. They pray together, imploring God for mercy. And what happens? Their prayer is answered! The soul is saved, taken by an angel, and carried up to Paradise. What an incredible evidence of the power of prayer and the importance of intercession.

But Abraham's compassion doesn't end there. He remembers those he cursed in anger, those who suffered because of his words – those swallowed by the earth, torn by wild beasts, consumed by fire. "Let us yet call upon the Lord," he pleads, "and supplicate His compassion and entreat His mercy for the souls of the sinners… Now I know that I have sinned before the Lord our God."

This is a profound moment of repentance. Abraham, the patriarch, acknowledges his own failings and seeks forgiveness not just for himself, but for those he wronged. It's a reminder that even the most righteous among us are capable of making mistakes, and that true greatness lies in recognizing those mistakes and striving to make amends.

The story, found in Legends of the Jews, based on earlier sources, is more than just a fantastical tale. It's a reflection on judgment, mercy, and the power of prayer. It asks us to consider our own actions, to strive for righteousness, and to remember that even in the face of judgment, compassion and repentance can pave the way to redemption. What does this story awaken in you? What does it make you think about your own journey and the choices you make along the way?

Full source