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Moses Toured Paradise and Gehenna Before Descending Sinai

Before Moses left heaven with the Torah, God showed him both Paradise and Gehenna. The fires retreated when he approached.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Tour No One Else Had Been Given
  2. What the Fires Did When He Approached
  3. Forty Days After the Golden Calf
  4. The Place That Was With God
  5. What Being Called Egyptian Cost Him

The Tour No One Else Had Been Given

Moses had been on the mountain for forty days receiving the Torah, and when the time came to descend, a divine voice spoke to him. You came here and saw My throne of glory. Before you go, you will see Paradise and Gehenna.

No other human being had been given this tour while still living. Enoch had been taken to heaven, but he had not returned. The prophets saw visions. Moses was being shown the actual places, as they existed, as the righteous and the wicked would eventually inhabit them. He was being trusted with a geography that only the dead were supposed to know.

What the Fires Did When He Approached

Legends of the Jews, Ginzberg's early 20th-century synthesis of rabbinic tradition, records the moment Moses reached the gates of Gehenna with particular precision. The fires retreated. Not because they were extinguished or because someone commanded them to stop, they retreated on their own, as if in recognition of who was approaching.

The angel Nasargiel was stationed at the gates. He looked at Moses and asked: Son of Amram, what are you doing here? You have not died yet. Moses identified himself and his purpose, and Nasargiel brought him through. The tour of Gehenna proceeded because Nasargiel confirmed Moses belonged there temporarily, escorted and alive, and not as a permanent resident.

Forty Days After the Golden Calf

The forty days Moses had spent receiving the Torah were followed by forty days of intercession after Israel built the golden calf. Those second forty days were not on the mountain in divine instruction. They were in heaven, pleading. From the eighteenth of Tammuz to the end of Av, Moses stayed above and argued for Israel's survival.

He reminded God of the founding principle: that divine governance operated through mercy extended freely, not through debts collected. The golden calf had been a catastrophic failure, the kind of failure that justified, by any strict accounting, an ending. Moses argued that strict accounting was not God's actual method. He pressed on the mercy that God had declared as the architecture of creation, and used it as the argument for why this people, now, deserved to continue.

The Place That Was With God

Shemot Rabbah, the Palestinian midrash on Exodus, preserved a verse that Moses had received during the Sinai revelation: behold there is a place with Me. The rabbis read this as God pointing Moses toward a location that was not physical in any ordinary sense, not a coordinate on a mountain, not a room in a palace. It was the place of divine accessibility, the threshold at which a human being could stand and not be destroyed by the full weight of what they were standing before.

Moses had asked to see God's glory directly. The answer he received was that the face was inaccessible but the back could be shown. The place that was with God was where you stood when you received what was showable. Moses had stood there. He had been shown Gehenna and Paradise from that place. He carried the Torah back from that place. The fires had retreated from him because of where he had been standing.

What Being Called Egyptian Cost Him

There was a tradition, preserved in Legends of the Jews, that Moses was barred from entering the Promised Land in part because of a single moment in his early life. He had been rescued from the Nile by Pharaoh's daughter and raised in Pharaoh's court. When Jethro's daughters described him to their father, they said: an Egyptian man saved us from the shepherds. Moses, raised as Egyptian royalty, had not corrected them.

The rabbis weighed this small silence against everything else Moses had done. He had stood at the gates of Gehenna and the fires had retreated from him. He had argued Israel back from annihilation after the golden calf. He had carried the Torah down from the mountain. And the tradition held that a single uncorrected misidentification from his youth had been recorded, and had contributed, along with his striking the rock, to the boundary of what he was permitted to complete.


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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 4:176Legends of the Jews

Legends of the Jews turns to God Showed Moses Both Paradise and Hell Before He Left Heaven.

In Legends of the Jews, compiled by Ginzberg, just as Moses was about to leave heaven, a divine voice declared, "Moses, thou camest hither, and thou didst see the throne of My glory. Now thou shalt see also Paradise and hell." After witnessing divine glory, he was then tasked with seeing the absolute depths of… everything else.

So, God sent Gabriel, the archangel, to guide Moses on this… enlightening tour.

First stop: hell.

As Moses approached the gates of Gehenna (hell), and the fires came into view, he was understandably terrified. Can you blame him? The text says he simply refused to go any further.

But Gabriel, ever the reassuring guide, wasn't about to let him back out. He said, "There is a fire that not only burns but also consumes, and that fire will protect thee against hell fire, so that thou canst step upon it, and yet thou wilt not be seared." A fire that protects you from fire. Paradoxical, isn't it? What could this protective fire represent? Is it the fire of divine purpose? The unyielding strength of faith? Or something else entirely? Perhaps it's a reminder that even in the face of the most terrifying realities, we can find a way to navigate through, protected by an inner strength we didn't even know we possessed.

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Legends of the Jews 4:180Legends of the Jews

What about the really dark stuff?

Well, according to Legends of the Jews, compiled by Rabbi Louis Ginzberg, Moses actually took a trip to hell. I know. Quite the field trip.

The story goes that as Moses approached the gates of Gehenna – that's the Hebrew word for hell – the fires themselves recoiled, retreating back a distance of five hundred parasangs. Now, a parasang is an ancient unit of distance, varying by region, but it’s safe to say that's a significant backing-off of the flames.

Who greets him at the gates? None other than Nasargiel, the Angel of Hell. He confronts Moses, asking, "Who art thou?" To which Moses, ever confident, replies, "I am Moses, the son of Amram."

Nasargiel, understandably confused, points out that this isn't Moses's destination. "This is not thy place, thou belongest in Paradise," he says.

But Moses? He's not there for a vacation. "I came hither to see the manifestation of the power of God," he declares. Think of it as a divine fact-finding mission.

So, God, in his infinite wisdom, instructs Nasargiel to give Moses the grand tour. "Go and show hell unto Moses, and how the wicked are treated there." And just like that, Nasargiel becomes Moses’s guide, walking before him “like a pupil before his master.” Can you imagine the dynamic there?

What Moses then witnesses is He sees men and women undergoing specific tortures at the hands of the Angels of Destruction. It’s a visceral, almost allegorical scene. Some sinners are suspended by their eyelids, others by their ears, their hands, their tongues… all crying out in agony.

And the women? They're hanging by their hair and breasts, amongst other means, all bound in chains of fire.

Then Nasargiel, our infernal tour guide, explains the reasoning behind each punishment. "These hang by their eyes," he says, "because they looked lustfully upon the wives of their neighbors, and with a covetous eye upon the possessions of their fellow-men." It's a direct connection between sin and consequence.

Those hanging by their ears? "Because they listened to empty and vain speech, and turned their ear away from hearing the Torah." See, even in hell, there's a lesson in the importance of listening to wisdom.

The tongues are for those who "talked slander, and accustomed their tongue to foolish babbling." The feet belong to those who "walked with them in order to spy upon their fellow-men, but they walked not to the synagogue, to offer prayer unto their Creator." The hands? For those who "robbed their neighbors of their possessions, and committed murder."

And the women hanging by their hair and breasts? Nasargiel explains it’s because "they uncovered them in the presence of young men, so that they conceived desire unto them, and fell into sin."

It's a stark and rather literal interpretation of how our actions in this world shape our afterlife. It's also a reminder that the eyes, ears, tongue, hands, and feet are not just physical parts of our bodies, but tools that we can use for good or evil.

What does this all mean? Is it a literal depiction of hell? Or a symbolic representation of the consequences of our choices? Perhaps it's both.

Maybe the story of Moses's journey to hell isn't just about the afterlife, but about how we choose to live our lives now. After all, aren't we creating our own versions of paradise or hell, right here, on Earth? Food for thought.

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Legends of the Jews 2:115Legends of the Jews

Moses, Moshe Rabbenu, our teacher, wasn't about to give up on them.

For forty days and forty nights, that's right, another forty-day stretch in the Bible, from the 18th of Tammuz to the 28th of Av (roughly mid-summer in the Jewish calendar), Moses remained in heaven. He was pleading, practically begging God to forgive Israel and restore them to His favor. Imagine the sheer stamina, the unwavering dedication!

In Legends of the Jews, as retold by Rabbi Louis Ginzberg, all of Moses' prayers and exhortations seemed to fall on deaf ears. Nothing seemed to work. Can you picture Moses' frustration? His desperation? He knew the stakes were impossibly high.

Finally, at the end of those long forty days, Moses played his trump card. He implored God to remember the pious deeds of the three Patriarchs, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and the twelve sons of Jacob, and to credit their righteousness to their descendants. And that's what finally turned the tide.

Moses essentially said, "Look, if you're angry because they broke the Ten Commandments, remember the ten trials you put Abraham through, the tests he passed with flying colors. If they deserve to be punished by fire, remember the fiery furnace Abraham was willing to be cast into for your glory. If they deserve death by the sword, remember how willingly Isaac laid down his neck on the altar."

He even reminded God, "If they deserve exile, remember Jacob's long journey into exile in Haran." It's a powerful appeal, reminding God of the covenant He made with their ancestors.

Then, Moses asks a question that seems to take God by surprise: "Will the dead ever be restored to life?" God, according to the legend, is taken aback. "Hast thou become a heretic, Moses, that thou dost doubt the resurrection?"

Moses' response is brilliant. "If the dead are never resurrected," he argues, "then you're right to punish Israel so severely. But if they will be resurrected, what will you say to the Patriarchs when they ask what happened to the promises you made them?" It's a masterful piece of theological negotiation!

Moses then pulls another incredible move, saying, "I demand no more for Israel than what you were willing to grant Abraham when he pleaded for Sodom. You were willing to spare Sodom if there were ten righteous men within its walls. I can name ten righteous men among the Israelites right now: myself, Aaron, Eleazar, Ithamar, Phinehas, Joshua, and Caleb."

God points out that this only adds up to seven. But Moses, never one to back down, replies, "But you've said the dead will be resurrected! So, count the three Patriarchs to make the number ten complete!"

And, according to the story, it was Moses' mention of the Patriarchs that truly sealed the deal. God granted his prayer, forgave Israel their transgression, and even promised to lead the people personally.

What's so striking about this story? Perhaps it's the power of intergenerational merit, the idea that the righteousness of our ancestors can influence our fate. Or maybe it's the sheer audacity of Moses, arguing with God on behalf of his people. It's a reminder that even when we feel like we've fallen short, the merits of those who came before us, combined with our own sincere efforts, can pave the way for forgiveness and renewal. And maybe, just maybe, that's a message we can all take to heart.

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Legends of the Jews 6:124Legends of the Jews

Legends of the Jews turns to Moses Pleads for Mercy to Overcome Divine Justice.

He continues, reminding God of a fundamental truth: "Thou Thyself didst tell me when I asked Thee how Thou didst conduct the world, 'I owe nothing to any creature, and what I do for them is a free gift on My part.'" In other words, everything we receive, every kindness, every moment of grace, is just that – a gift. Not something earned, not something owed. And on that basis, he asks for another free gift: the granting of his prayer.

It’s a masterclass in persuasive prayer, appealing to God’s own self-revelation. But the argument doesn't stop there.

He then reminds God of a specific instance, a pivotal moment in Jewish history: the sin of the Golden Calf. Remember that? When the Israelites, impatient for Moses's return from Mount Sinai, fashioned a golden idol and worshipped it (Exodus 32).

in the story, God, in His anger, declared, "Let Me alone, that I may destroy them, and blot out their name from under heaven" (Deuteronomy 9:14). It seems pretty straightforward. Divine decree. End of story.

But our speaker saw something else entirely. He understood that God’s words, "Let Me alone," weren't a command, but an invitation. "Who can restrain God, that He should say, 'Let Me?' It is plain that He desires me to pray for His children." He saw it as a divine prompting, a call to intercede. And he did. He prayed, and his prayer was answered.

The prayer was effective, but the speaker contrasts it with a different situation. "The prayer of the individual for the community was answered, but not so the prayer of the community for the one individual!" Why the discrepancy? What could account for this difference in outcome?

He wonders aloud if his choice of words – calling Israel "rebels" – might be the reason. But then he immediately deflects that notion, pointing out, "But in this I only followed Thy example, for Thou too didst call them, 'the sons of rebellion.'" He’s saying, "I’m just using the language you yourself used! How can you hold that against me?"

It leaves us pondering the nature of prayer, divine justice, and the delicate dance between human agency and divine will. It’s not a simple equation, is it?

This passage raises so many questions. What does it really mean to say that God "desires" us to pray? Does God change His mind based on our petitions? And what role does our language, our choice of words, play in the efficacy of our prayers?

Perhaps the most profound takeaway is the idea that even divine justice can be tempered by mercy, and that our prayers, our heartfelt pleas, can actually make a difference in the world. It’s a powerful and humbling thought.

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Shemot Rabbah 45:6Shemot Rabbah

Not physical places, of course, but… well, the source explores a fascinating passage from Shemot Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Exodus. It explores a profound moment between God and Moses.

The verse in question: "Behold, there is a place with Me, and you shall stand on the rock" (Exodus 33:21). Rabbi Yosei bar Rabbi Ḥanina points out a key nuance. It doesn’t say, "Behold I am at this place," but rather, "there is a place with Me." What's the difference? It suggests, as Rabbi Yosei beautifully puts it, that "My place is ancillary to Me and I am not ancillary to My place." God isn't defined by a location. God is, and existence emanates from that being.

The passage continues with the famous verse about seeing God's back: "I will remove My hand and you will see My back, but My face will not be seen" (Exodus 33:23). But what does it mean? Shemot Rabbah interprets "I will remove My hand" as God showing Moses "the reward of the righteous that I am destined to grant them at the end of days.”

Rabbi Asi adds a layer, noting that even the prophets only saw hints of the Garden of Eden's delights, but not the actual, full reward. As (Isaiah 64:3) says, "No eye has seen it, God, other than You, who will do for one who awaits Him.” Similarly, David in (Psalms 31:20) exclaims, "How great is the goodness that You have stored for those who fear You!" It's a reward so immense, so beyond our comprehension, that it remains largely hidden.

Then comes the most striking part: “I will pass all My goodness before you and I will call in the name of the Lord before you, and I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious and I will have mercy upon whom I will have mercy” (Exodus 33:19). Notice the use of "all My goodness." The text emphasizes that even God’s punishments are, in a way, good. This idea echoes throughout Jewish thought – that even difficult experiences can ultimately serve a higher purpose.

God then shows Moses "all the storehouses of reward that are designated for the righteous." Moses asks to whom each storehouse belongs: those who perform mitzvot (good deeds), those who raise orphans, and so on. It's like a celestial accounting system of merit.

But then, Moses sees a great storehouse, one bigger than the rest. "Who does this storehouse belong to?" he asks. God replies, "One who has, I grant him from his reward; one who does not have, I grant it to him gratis, and I grant him from this."

This is a truly profound idea. This storehouse is for those who, for whatever reason, don't have merits readily apparent. Maybe they struggled, maybe they fell short, maybe life simply wasn't fair to them. This storehouse is for those who wouldn't otherwise have a claim to reward. The Etz Yosef commentary explains that it is "for people who did not have a right to receive reward from any other storehouse."

It highlights the boundless nature of divine grace, that God chooses “to be gracious to whom I wish to be gracious," and extends mercy "upon whom I will have mercy." This isn't about earning, it's about something deeper: unearned, freely given love and compassion.

So, what does this all mean for us? Perhaps it's a reminder that God's ways are often beyond our understanding. That even in the face of hardship, there is a potential for goodness, a hidden storehouse of grace waiting for those who need it most. It's a evidence of the boundless compassion of the Divine, a compassion that extends even to those who seem to have the least. And maybe, just maybe, that's the most comforting thought of all.

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Legends of the Jews 4:129Legends of the Jews

Here's Moses, destined to lead the Israelites out of slavery, to receive the Torah – the first five books of the Hebrew Bible – at Mount Sinai. Yet, according to tradition, he wasn't allowed to enter the Promised Land. Why?

One explanation, found in Legends of the Jews, compiled by Rabbi Louis Ginzberg, hinges on a seemingly small detail: When Moses first met Jethro's daughters at the well, he allowed them to describe him as an Egyptian without correcting them. He didn’t assert his Hebrew identity. And for this, the story goes, God punished him.

It’s a stark contrast to Joseph. Remember Joseph, who rose to power in Egypt? He made it a point to publicly proclaim himself a Hebrew. And Joseph, we are told, found his final resting place in the land of his ancestors. But Moses? He seemingly didn't object to being mistaken for an Egyptian, and so he lived and died outside the land promised to his people.

Is it a harsh punishment? Perhaps. But it speaks to the importance of owning your identity, of standing up for who you are, especially in the face of adversity. It suggests that even the smallest act of denying oneself can have profound consequences.

But the story doesn't end there. Let's rewind a bit. How did Moses even meet Jethro and his daughters? Well, after fleeing Egypt, Moses finds himself in Midian. Jethro's daughters, tending their father’s flocks, were being harassed at a well. Moses steps in, helps them out, and they invite him home.

in the story, Jethro, impressed, suggests that Moses marry his daughter, Zipporah. But it wasn’t as simple as a polite request. Jethro sets a challenge: Moses had to retrieve a specific rod from his garden.

Now, this wasn't just any rod. This was the rod! The very same sapphire rod that God gave to Adam after he was expelled from Paradise! A rod that, after many adventures, eventually ended up in Jethro’s possession. The Zohar, the central text of Kabbalah, recounts these mystical details.

And where was this rod? Jethro had planted it in his garden! Moses, guided by something more than luck, finds the rod, uproots it, and brings it to Jethro.

But here’s where the story takes another unexpected turn. Jethro, upon seeing Moses with the rod, has a sudden, chilling realization. He remembers the prophecies of the Egyptian wise men, who foretold the coming of a Hebrew prophet who would destroy their land. As soon as this thought strikes him, he seizes Moses and throws him into a pit, hoping to be rid of the perceived threat.

Why such a drastic reaction? Perhaps Jethro, a Midianite priest, feared the disruption Moses represented. Maybe he saw in Moses the fulfillment of a prophecy he’d rather avoid. Whatever his reasons, it's a moment of intense conflict and uncertainty.

So, what do we make of all this? We see Moses, a man of immense potential, stumbling blocks on his path. We see the weight of identity, the power of prophecy, and the ever-present possibility of unexpected challenges. It’s a reminder that even those destined for greatness face trials, and that sometimes, the smallest choices can have the biggest impact on our destinies.

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