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Three Things Moses Faced Before God Called Him Home

Moses refused to die until he watched Midian fall. He sat in Akiva's classroom and heard his own Torah returned to him, unrecognizable and credited to Sinai.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Cousin Who Wanted His Crown
  2. What Moses Saw When He Looked Ahead
  3. The War Moses Would Not Leave Before It Was Finished
  4. The Prophet Who Died Still Carrying Business

The Cousin Who Wanted His Crown

Korach's argument was already familiar to Moses. The man was Yitzhar's son, Yitzhar meaning oil, and oil rises. Moses had heard the logic. Aaron was anointed. David was anointed. If oil rises, why did Yitzhar's son not rise with it? Why did Moses get the prophecy and Aaron get the priesthood while Korach got the carrying duties for the Tabernacle furniture?

Rabbi Levi, recorded in Bamidbar Rabbah, refused to let Korach's challenge be dismissed as simple ambition. The Torah says Korach took (Numbers 16:1) without saying what he took. Job 15:12 supplied the answer: to what does your heart take you? Korach took nothing in his hands. His heart took him. The grievance was real. The argument had internal coherence. The problem was that the heart that built the case had mistaken its own genealogy for a consecration.

Moses heard the argument. He fell on his face. He did not strike back. He proposed a test: let everyone bring incense before God and let God choose. The ground opened and closed the question permanently. But Moses had lived with Korach's challenge for forty years, carrying it the way you carry an unresolved argument with someone who died before you finished saying what you needed to say. It was one of the accounts still open when God told him to prepare for the end.

What Moses Saw When He Looked Ahead

Bamidbar Rabbah preserves a strange and beautiful tradition about what Moses was shown when he reached the edge of his own death. Among the things God showed him was a room in the future, a school in the land of Israel, where a man named Akiva ben Yosef was teaching Torah to rows of students. The students were asking questions. Akiva was answering with a depth and precision that Moses could not fully follow.

Moses sat in the back of the room, in the tradition's image, in the eighth row. He listened to what his own Torah had become in the hands of this man who would live fifteen hundred years after him, and he could not recognize half of what he heard. The Torah he had received on Sinai had been transformed into something of such density and range that its own author could not parse it.

This disturbed Moses. Then a student asked Akiva: from where do you derive this law? And Akiva said: it is a law given to Moses at Sinai. Moses heard his own name receive credit for something he had not understood, and the disturbance turned into comfort. It was his Torah. The roots were his. The flowering was Akiva's. Both were true at once.

The War Moses Would Not Leave Before It Was Finished

God told Moses to take vengeance on Midian before he died (Numbers 31:2). Moses organized the army, appointed the commanders, sent twelve thousand men across the Jordan. He did not wait at the camp. He stood and watched. The Midianites who had sent Cozbi and Bilam to weaken Israel, who had turned the plain of Peor into a catastrophe, were to be answered before Moses stepped off the stage.

Bamidbar Rabbah made a point of Moses's refusal to die first. He knew the war was coming. He knew God had told him the war would happen and then the death would follow. He could have accepted the sequence passively, delegated the vengeance and climbed the mountain while the army was still crossing. He did not. He waited until the army came back, until the captains reported, until the inventory was complete and the division of the spoil was settled.

This was not bloodthirstiness. The rabbis read it as a kind of honor owed to the dead of Peor, to the twenty-four thousand who had died in the plague that Phinehas's spear had stopped. Moses had watched that plague begin. He had stood at the entrance to the Tent of Meeting and wept while people died. He owed those dead a reckoning before he went. And he stayed to see it happen.

The Prophet Who Died Still Carrying Business

Bamidbar Rabbah's portrait of Moses near the end is the portrait of a man who has not finished. He has unresolved arguments with dead cousins. He has seen the future of his Torah in a school he will never attend. He has vengeance to oversee before he is permitted to close his own eyes.

The serene prophet ready to climb the mountain and dissolve into a divine sleep does not appear in this midrash. The Moses of Bamidbar Rabbah is still doing what he has always done: holding the account open until it can be properly closed, refusing to die until the people are taken care of, watching the school in the vision and taking comfort from credit he did not know he would ever receive.

God, in this telling, accommodates this. The death waits while the business is finished. Korach gets the last argument Moses has for him. Akiva gets the name attached to his wisdom. Midian gets the accounting it is owed. And then, and only then, Moses climbs the mountain, looks across at the land he will not enter, and lets the account close.


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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 18:16Bamidbar Rabbah

That feeling, that potent brew of envy and ambition, is at the heart of the story of Korah.

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), specifically Bamidbar Rabbah, doesn't just tell us Korah argued, assembled people, or even spoke out. It says he "took." What did he take? The Midrash answers: He took nothing outwardly. Rather, “his heart took him.” It's a subtle but crucial distinction. The verse from Job says it all: “To what does your heart take you, and what do your eyes intimate?” (Job 15:12). It wasn't about a rational argument; it was about the desires that consumed him.

Rabbi Levi explores Korah’s motivations. Why did Korah, of all people, challenge Moses? He was, after all, from a distinguished family. Korah's claim, as Rabbi Levi presents it, is fascinating. "I am the son of oil," he declared, "ben Yitzhar" (Numbers 16:1). Yitzhar refers to oil. He points to the verse in Deuteronomy (7:13): “And He will bless your wine [vetiroshekha], and your oil [veyitzharekha]…” Here, vetiroshekha is wine, and veyitzharekha is oil.

Korah then makes his argument. "Every liquid into which you place oil, it is on top." Oil rises. It signifies prominence, leadership. He even references (Zechariah 4:14): “These are the two anointed dignitaries [benei hayitzhar], literally, “sons of oil,” who attend the Lord of the entire land." Does oil have children? Of course not! The Midrash explains that these sons of oil are Aaron and David, both anointed with sacred oil. Aaron took the priesthood, and David the kingship.

And here’s the crux of Korah’s complaint, the seed of his rebellion: "I, who am the son of oil, am not anointed. Shouldn't I also become priest and king?" This perceived slight, this feeling of being overlooked, led him to dispute Moses.

So, what are we to make of Korah’s argument? Was he justified in feeling slighted? The Midrash doesn't explicitly say, but it does highlight the dangers of unchecked ambition and the destructive power of a heart consumed by envy. Korah saw himself as deserving, as naturally entitled to greatness, but his focus on what he lacked blinded him to what he already possessed. It's a cautionary tale, isn't it? A reminder to examine our own hearts, to question the motivations that drive us, and to be wary of the "oil" that might be leading us astray.

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Bamidbar Rabbah 19:6Bamidbar Rabbah

The parah adumah, the red heifer, is famous precisely because its purity law does not behave like ordinary logic.

In Bamidbar, the Book of Numbers, we find the commandment: "They shall take to you a…red heifer" (Numbers 19:2). Now, what's so special about a red heifer? Its ashes are used in a purification ritual, specifically for those who have come into contact with death. It's a powerful, complex ritual, and honestly? Its purpose isn't entirely clear.

That's where our story in Bamidbar Rabbah 19 picks up. Rabbi Yosei ben Rabbi Ḥanina shares a fascinating idea: God says to Moses, "To you I am revealing the rationale of the heifer, but for another, it is a statute." In other words, Moses, you get the "why," but for everyone else, it's simply a decree to be followed. A chukah, a law whose reason is beyond human understanding.

Why the secrecy? Why couldn't everyone understand the reason behind this unusual ritual? Rav Huna sheds some light, drawing on verses from Psalms and Zechariah. He points to the verse, "When I set a time, I will judge with equity" (Psalms 75:3). And then to (Zechariah 14:6), which speaks of a time "there will not be light, pleasant [yekarot] vekipaon."

Now, vekipaon is the interesting part. The text notes that yikfaon is written, similar to the Aramaic word ukfa which means "it floated" (as seen in Targum Yonatan's translation of II Kings 6:6). So, yikfaon is interpreted as "will float." Rav Huna uses this to suggest that matters obscured from us in this world – "there will not be light" – are destined to "float to the surface" [tzofim] in the World to Come.

Think of it like a blind person who can "see" [detzafi], as (Isaiah 42:16) says: "I will lead the blind on a way they did not know." The verse continues, "These are the matters that I have done, and I did not abandon them." Notice it doesn't say, "I will do," but "I have done." The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) explains that this has already been done for Rabbi Akiva and his colleagues.

Wait, Rabbi Akiva? What does he have to do with a red heifer? The text suggests that matters not revealed to Moses were, in fact, revealed to Rabbi Akiva and his scholarly circle. As (Job 28:10) says, "Everything obscured [yekar] his eye has seen" – this, says the Midrash, refers to Rabbi Akiva and his colleagues. They were able to grasp insights that even Moses, the greatest prophet, couldn't fully access!

It's a idea, isn't it? That understanding isn't fixed, that later generations might unlock secrets hidden from earlier ones. It implies a dynamic relationship with Torah, a constant unfolding of meaning.

Rabbi Yosei ben Rabbi Ḥanina adds one final, intriguing detail. He says that God intimated that all other heifers will eventually cease to be relevant, but "yours will endure" – expounded from the phrase "They shall take to you." This suggests a lasting significance to this particular red heifer, perhaps a symbolic one that transcends the physical ritual itself.

So, what does it all mean? Maybe the red heifer isn't just about purification from death. Maybe it's about the enduring mystery at the heart of faith. Maybe it's about the promise that even when we don't understand, there's a deeper meaning waiting to be revealed, perhaps not in this world, but in the World to Come. Or perhaps, through the insights of future generations, like Rabbi Akiva, who continue to wrestle with these ancient texts, seeking new light in their wisdom. A light that even Moses himself couldn't fully see.

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Bamidbar Rabbah 22:5Bamidbar Rabbah

The book of Bamidbar Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Numbers, explores Moses' burning desire to witness the vengeance against Midian before his death. It all starts with the verse, "Take the vengeance" (Numbers 31:2). But what fueled this desire?

Bamidbar Rabbah connects this desire to a verse in Job: "He will not withdraw His eyes from the righteous, and kings upon the throne" (Job 36:7). What does it mean that God "will not withdraw His eyes from the righteous?" It means, the Rabbis suggest, that the Holy One, blessed be He, won't withhold from the righteous what their eyes long to see. Moses yearned to see justice served against Midian, and he pleaded with God to grant him this final glimpse.

Isn't that a deeply human desire? To see the fruits of your labor, the completion of a task, the consequences unfold? It speaks to our need for closure, for a sense of justice in the world.

The text even quotes, "The righteous one will rejoice in seeing vengeance" (Psalms 58:11), specifically referring to the vengeance against Midian. It continues, "He will wash his feet in the blood of the wicked" (Psalms 58:11) – and here, the text specifies, this refers to Bilam.

Now, Bilam. He was no ordinary villain. Moses knew that the wicked Bilam would be present at the battle, attempting to use his sorcery to aid Midian. So, Moses instructed Pinḥas and the soldiers: "I know that the wicked Bilam is there to collect his payment. If the wolf comes to the flock, spread a net for him." It was a clever strategy.

The instructions were specific: "That wicked one, if you see that he is performing sorcery and flying in the air, show him the frontplate on which 'sacred to the Lord' (Exodus 28:36) is written. He will fall; and kill him." That frontplate, the tzitz, inscribed with kodesh l'Adonai, "Sacred to the Lord," was a powerful symbol.

And that's exactly what happened. "They killed the kings of Midian among [al] those they slayed" (Numbers 31:8) – as they were performing sorcery with Bilam and flying. When they saw the frontplate, they fell upon [al] their slain.

It's a dramatic scene, isn't it? The clash between the earthly and the divine, between sorcery and holiness. The power of a symbol, the tzitz, to bring down even the most powerful sorcerers.

So, what does this all mean? It reminds us of the importance of seeing things through, of the desire for justice, and the power of symbols. It also shows us the determination of Moses, a leader who, even at the end of his life, was deeply invested in ensuring the safety and well-being of his people, and that God will give us what we need when we need it. It's a powerful story about leadership, justice, and the enduring human need to see things come to a satisfying close.

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