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Moses Toured Gehinnom and Asked Who Was There

Moses saw the place of divine judgment on the same tour that showed him heaven. What he saw was not chaos. It was an exact inventory of social failures.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Gates That Cried Out
  2. The Catalog of What Was There
  3. Zipporah Waiting at the Well
  4. What the Tour Was For

The Gates That Cried Out

Moses heard Gehinnom before he saw it. The gates called out to be fed, a sound the tradition describes as a bitter cry, echoing through the spaces between the heavens, wanting something. God told Moses that Gehinnom was hungry for the wicked of the world, that it consumed what was sent into it and asked for more. Moses stood at the entrance and looked in.

The angel who accompanied him through the place was named Nasargiel. He was not the angel of death. He was the angel of Gehinnom itself, assigned specifically to that domain, and he moved through it with the ease of a bureaucrat walking through his own office. He knew where everything was. He explained what Moses saw. Moses looked and asked questions.

The Catalog of What Was There

What Moses found was not undifferentiated suffering. It was organized. Each category of the condemned was there for a specific failure, and the failure was named. Men who had defied their fathers were there. Men who had pursued the wives of their neighbors were there. Men who had lent money at interest to their brothers were there. Men who had risen early on the sabbath to pursue their own business, who had used false weights in the market, who had taken bribes, who had shamed the poor in front of their communities, each category had its place and its punishment, and Nasargiel could account for every one of them.

The judges who had perverted justice were there. The community leaders who had acquired their positions through flattery and manipulation rather than merit were there. The scholars who had studied Torah only to acquire the prestige of learning, without intending to live by what they learned, were there alongside the hypocrites who gave charity in public so that others would admire them.

Zipporah Waiting at the Well

Moses's path to that heavenly tour had not been direct. The tradition preserved a story the Torah almost entirely passes over: Moses, traveling through Midian years before the exodus, had been thrown into a pit by Jethro and had spent ten years there, imprisoned, largely forgotten, waiting. Zipporah, Jethro's daughter, had fed him in secret every day for those ten years. She had carried food to the pit and passed it down and said nothing to her father about why she was doing it. When Jethro finally asked whether Moses was alive after all that time, it was because Zipporah had been keeping him alive without authorization, because she had seen something in him that her father had not looked closely enough to notice.

The man who would eventually tour heaven and Gehinnom and return with a catalog of divine justice had survived to do it because a woman with a bowl of food was more reliable than the plans of either of their fathers.

What the Tour Was For

The tradition did not preserve Moses's tour of Gehinnom as a warning story, a display of hellfire intended to frighten the living into compliance. It preserved it as information. Moses had seen both sides of the divine architecture: the heavens with their angels and their treasuries, and the place of judgment with its precise and documented population. He came back from both tours as someone who understood the full structure of what God had made. You cannot fully understand a legal system if you have only observed the upper courts. You need to know what happens when justice is finally administered.

The Book of Jubilees preserved a related image: Moses at the moment of his death, facing the accounting of his own life. The man who had watched others face judgment had to face it himself. The tradition was unsparing about this. Even Moses did not get to see the inside of divine judgment and then escape its logic. He faced it. He came through it. But he faced it.


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From the tradition

Sources

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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.

Legends of the Jews 4:182Legends of the Jews

Legends of the Jews turns to Moses and Divine Judgment of Nasargiel.

Well, some of the sights were, shall we say, less than pleasant. Imagine Moses, standing before the very gates of Gehenna, hell itself. And what did he hear?

A cry. A loud, bitter cry, echoing through the cosmos. According to Legends of the Jews, that monumental work by Louis Ginzberg that compiles centuries of Jewish folklore, hell was hungry. Utterly, desperately hungry.

"Give me something to eat, I am hungry," hell wailed to Nasargiel, one of the angelic gatekeepers.

Can you imagine the scene? This insatiable void, personified, demanding sustenance. And what did it crave? Not fire and brimstone, but something far more precious: souls. Specifically, the souls of the pious.

But Nasargiel stood firm. "The Holy One, blessed be He, will not deliver the souls of the pious unto thee." There's a powerful image of divine justice and protection right there, isn't there? A line drawn in the sand, a promise that righteousness will ultimately prevail.

But the vision didn't end there. Moses was then shown a place called Alukah. The name itself sounds ominous, doesn't it? In this place, sinners weren't consumed by fire, but suspended by their feet, heads downward. Imagine the torment, the reversed perspective, the utter helplessness. And then came the worms. Not just any worms, mind you, but black worms, each an impossible five hundred parasangs long. A parasang is an ancient unit of distance, roughly equivalent to 3-4 miles. So, do the math: these were some seriously long worms!

These tormented souls, covered in these monstrous creatures, cried out in anguish. "Woe unto us for the punishment of hell. Give us death, that we may die!" They longed for oblivion, for an end to their suffering, but even that was denied to them.

Who were these wretched souls? Nasargiel explained that they were sinners of a particular kind, those who had transgressed in specific and harmful ways. They had sworn falsely, profaned the Sabbath and holy days, despised the sages, called their neighbors by unseemly nicknames, wronged the orphan and the widow, and borne false witness. As Ginzberg tells us, drawing on earlier sources, they were guilty of social sins, of harming the fabric of community and trust.

These aren't just abstract theological concepts, are they? They're about how we treat each other, how we build or break down the bonds of society. These are the sins that leave lasting scars, the ones that ripple outwards, affecting generations. And for these sins, God, in his justice, had delivered them to these worms.

What does this all mean for us? Is it just a scary story to frighten us into obedience? Perhaps. But I think there's something deeper here. It’s a reminder that our actions have consequences, not just for ourselves but for the world around us. It urges us to consider the weight of our words, the impact of our deeds, and the importance of living a life of integrity and compassion. Maybe, just maybe, it’s a call to build a world where the cries of Gehenna are a little bit quieter, a little bit further away.

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Legends of the Jews 4:185Legends of the Jews

Legends of the Jews turns to Moses and the Angels of Nasargiel.

Jewish tradition, particularly in its more mystical corners, isn’t shy about describing the fate of the wicked. Prepare yourself.

In Ginzberg's retelling in, Legends of the Jews, Moses himself got a glimpse into the afterlife’s darker side. The angel Nasargiel, whose name itself hints at severity, offered to show Moses the horrors awaiting sinners.

"Come and see how the sinners are burnt in hell," Nasargiel urged.

Now, Moses, being the humble and righteous leader we know, initially demurred. "I cannot go there," he said. Can you blame him? But Nasargiel insisted, reassuring him, "Let the light of the Shekinah (the Divine Presence) precede thee, and the fire of hell will have no power over thee."

So, Moses relented. And what he saw was… well, it was hellish. Literally.

Imagine this: sinners engulfed in flames, yet simultaneously frozen. One half of their bodies burned in fire, the other half submerged in snow. It’s a brutal paradox, a constant, unbearable torment. And that's not all. Their own flesh bred worms that crawled over them, adding another layer of revulsion. And as if that wasn’t enough, the Angels of Destruction were there, ceaselessly beating them.

Nasargiel didn’t mince words, explaining the sins that landed these souls in such a horrific place: "These are the sinners who committed incest, murder, and idolatry, who cursed their parents and their teachers, and who, like Nimrod and others, called themselves gods."

This place, Nasargiel revealed, is called Abaddon – a Hebrew term often translated as "destruction" or "place of ruin." Even there, in the depths of despair, the sinners hadn’t given up trying to alleviate their suffering. Moses witnessed them stealing snow and putting it under their armpits, desperately seeking a moment's respite from the agonizing fire.

But it was futile.

The passage concludes with a stark observation: "The wicked mend not their ways even at the gate of hell." It’s a sobering thought, isn’t it? Even faced with eternal consequences, some souls remain unrepentant, unwilling or unable to change.

What does this gruesome vision tell us? Is it a literal depiction of hell? Or a metaphor for the consequences of our actions? Perhaps it's both. It certainly serves as a powerful reminder of the importance of ethical living and the enduring consequences of our choices. It forces us to confront the idea that actions have consequences, and that even in the face of unimaginable suffering, some patterns of behavior remain stubbornly entrenched.

It makes you think, doesn't it?

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Legends of the Jews 4:131Legends of the Jews

Not just inconvenienced, but utterly, hopelessly stuck. Thrown into a pit, forgotten, left to rot. That's what happened to Moses, according to some fascinating threads in the tradition of Jewish legend. And the surprising hero of this particular story? His future wife, Zipporah.

The familiar version gives us Moses as the great lawgiver, the one who led the Israelites out of Egypt. But before the burning bush, before the plagues, before any of that, he found himself in a very deep hole, literally. He'd angered Jethro (also known as Reuel), Zipporah's father, and the penalty was a dark, lonely confinement.

Zipporah? She wasn't about to let him starve. For seven long years, she secretly brought Moses food and treats while he was imprisoned. Can you imagine the dedication? The sheer commitment to a man she barely knew?

After all that time, Zipporah approached her father with a clever idea. She reminded him of a similar incident – a man he’d thrown into the pit for a much lesser offense (fetching Jethro's rod from the garden!). "Father," she said, according to the Legends of the Jews, as retold by Louis Ginzberg, "I recall that once you cast a man into yonder pit for taking your rod, and you committed a great trespass thereby."

She then suggested they check on Moses. "If he's dead," she reasoned, "we should remove the body before it stinks up the place." A practical concern, of course. But if he was alive? That would be a sign. A sign that he was a tzaddik (צַדִּיק) – a truly righteous man. Otherwise, wouldn't he have succumbed to hunger and the elements?

Think about the implications of this. Zipporah wasn't just worried about basic human decency, although that was surely a factor. She was actively testing fate, or perhaps more accurately, testing God's will. She was giving her father. And maybe herself, an opportunity to recognize something extraordinary about Moses. This wasn’t just about freeing a prisoner; it was about acknowledging a destiny.

And what happened when they opened the pit? Well, that's another story for another time. But Zipporah's role in this early chapter of Moses' life is a reminder that even before the grand acts of leadership, quiet acts of kindness and courage can change the course of history.

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Book of Jubilees 33:13Book of Jubilees

The Book of Jubilees, a text from around the 2nd century BCE, gives us a glimpse into that mindset. It’s a retelling of Genesis and Exodus, but with some… well, let's call them expansions. It’s like the director's cut of the Torah. This book was considered scripture by some ancient Jewish groups, though it's not part of the canon today.

Chapter 33 gets right to the heart of it: "And there shall be nothing unclean before our God in the nation which He hath chosen for Himself as a possession." It paints a picture of a society striving for absolute holiness, a community where every action, every thought, should be pleasing to God. This wasn't just a suggestion; it was a fundamental principle guiding their lives.

The text then zeroes in on a particularly egregious offense: incest. Specifically, sleeping with your father's wife. Ouch. "And again, it is written a second time: 'Cursed he be who lieth with the wife of his father, for he hath uncovered his father's shame'; and all the holy ones of the Lord said 'So be it; so be it.'"

The force of that “So be it; so be it” is chilling, isn't it? It's the community affirming the severity of the transgression, a collective agreement on the consequences. It emphasizes just how deeply ingrained the prohibition against incest was. This wasn’t just a social taboo; it was a violation of the very fabric of their covenant with God.

And the penalty? Well, let's just say it wasn't a slap on the wrist. "And do thou, Moses, command the children of Israel that they observe this word; for it (entaileth) a punishment of death; and it is unclean, and there is no atonement for ever to atone for the man who hath committed this, but he is to be put to death and slain, and stoned with stones, and rooted out from the midst of the people of our God."

Strong words. No room for interpretation there. Death. No atonement. Complete removal from the community. It's a stark reminder of the consequences for violating these sacred boundaries. The text emphasizes the permanent stain of this sin, something that cannot be washed away. The offender must be "rooted out," completely excised from the people of God.

What are we to make of this today? It's easy to recoil at the severity of the punishment. But it also forces us to confront the values of this ancient society. The emphasis on purity, the horror of incest, and the unwavering commitment to upholding God's law. It's a world away from our modern sensibilities in some ways, yet the underlying concern for moral order and the sanctity of relationships still resonates, doesn't it? It makes you wonder: what are the boundaries we hold sacred today, and what consequences do we attach to violating them?

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