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Before Jerusalem Existed, Mount Moriah Was a Valley

God summoned the surrounding hills and commanded them to merge. What had been a hollow in the earth rose to become the axis of the world.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Low Ground
  2. The Hills That Were Ordered to Move
  3. What the Red Sea Had to Do With It
  4. How the Valley Was Raised Instead of a Peak Chosen

Low Ground

Before Abraham climbed it with a knife in his hand, before David purchased it for fifty shekels, before the Temple rose on its summit, the place we now call Mount Moriah was not a mountain. It was a valley. Unremarkable low ground, the kind of terrain a traveler crosses without looking up.

The Midrash on Psalms asks how a valley becomes the holiest place on earth. The answer is not geological. It is a command.

The Hills That Were Ordered to Move

God summoned the mountains surrounding that unnamed hollow and issued an instruction: come together. Yield to each other. Merge. The hills, obedient as clay, moved inward. The valley floor was forced upward. What had been a depression in the earth became a height from which the whole world could be seen.

This is what the Midrash on Psalms 91:7 preserves, compiled in the academies of late antique Palestine sometime between the sixth and eighth centuries CE. The holiest place on earth did not start holy. It was manufactured from the outside in, assembled by divine command from materials that had been lying around in ordinary geographical arrangements.

The logic runs against every intuition about sacred geography. Sacred places are supposed to be elevated by nature, set apart by their inherent character. The rabbinic tradition insists on the opposite: God is drawn toward what is low. The valley was chosen because it was a valley. The mountain was made because the valley needed to become one.

What the Red Sea Had to Do With It

The creation of Mount Moriah was not an isolated miracle. The Midrash on Psalms places it in a sequence of cosmological negotiations between the Holy One and the natural world. When God prepared to part the Red Sea, the sea initially refused. It took a divine command, and the tradition records that the sea complied only after being reminded of what had been established at creation: that certain places and certain waters had agreed, at the very beginning, to yield when called upon.

Mount Moriah was part of that original compact. The hills that merged to form it were not coerced. They participated. The sacred geography of Israel, in this reading, was not imposed on a resistant world but activated from a world that had been prepared for it since the first days of creation. The mountain was always going to be a mountain. It was just waiting for the moment to rise.

How the Valley Was Raised Instead of a Peak Chosen

The Midrash makes the point precisely. Had God chosen the highest peak already standing, holiness would have rested on natural elevation, on the inherent specialness of certain places. By choosing a valley and raising it, the order is reversed: holiness is not found in what was already tall. It is created by what is willing to be gathered and lifted.

Abraham arrived at a mountain that had been built specifically for the moment of the binding. The stones were already there, as another tradition insists. The altar was already waiting. The place had been prepared not by human hands but by the movement of hills that had agreed at the beginning of time to come together when commanded.

Mount MoriahJerusalemShekhinahCreationTempleAdamSacred Geography
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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.

Midrash on Psalms 91:7Midrash Aggadah

A world freshly formed, still finding its shape. In the beginning, the area where Jerusalem now stands wasn't a mountain at all. It was a valley, a simple vale. But God, in His infinite wisdom, had a vision: this place, this unassuming valley, would become the site of His sanctuary, the place where His Shekhinah (the Divine Presence) – that radiant, divine presence – could dwell.

Well, the story goes that God issued a command, a kind of cosmic invitation, to the mountains surrounding the valley. He beckoned them to come together, to unite and form an abode, a fitting place for the Shekhinah. They converged, they fused, they became one. And that, according to some traditions, is how Mount Moriah was created. It's a beautiful image, isn't it? Mountains, ancient and powerful, answering the call of the Divine.

As is often the case in Jewish lore, there's more than one way to understand the story. Another tradition, found in Tree of Souls by Howard Schwartz, suggests that God created not one, but seven mountains. Of these seven majestic peaks, He chose Mount Moriah to be the site of the Holy Temple. Why Moriah? Because, as the Psalmist sings (Psalm 132:13-14), it was the mountain that God desired as His dwelling. "For the Lord has chosen Zion; He has desired it for His habitation. This is My resting place forever; here I will dwell, for I have desired it."

So, which story is "true?" Maybe both. Maybe neither. The point, perhaps, isn't the literal geological formation of the mountain, but the powerful idea that Mount Moriah, and by extension Jerusalem, is a place divinely chosen, a place where heaven and earth meet. Whether formed by converging mountains or selected from among seven, Mount Moriah represents a deliberate act of creation, a conscious choice by God to establish a connection with humanity. The Midrash Rabbah, that incredible collection of rabbinic teachings, is filled with similar stories explaining the deep meaning behind the creation of even the smallest thing.

The Zohar, the foundational text of Kabbalah, could tell us even more about the mystical significance of mountains and their connection to the divine realm. That's a journey for another time, though.

It makes you wonder, doesn't it? What "mountains" are being called to converge in our own lives? What places, what moments, are we being invited to transform into sacred spaces? Perhaps the story of Mount Moriah is not just about a physical place, but about the potential for holiness within us all.

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Shemot Rabbah 21:8Exodus Rabbah

Rabbi Avtolis the Elder said: A parable of a king who had a son who angered him, and he decreed against him a harsh decree, and the tutor was pleading on his behalf. He said to him: Are you asking anything of me except on behalf of my son? I have already been reconciled to my son. Rabbi says: He said to him, "Last evening you were saying, 'And since I came to Pharaoh' (Exodus 5:23), and now you stand and multiply prayer? 'Why do you cry out to Me?' (Exodus 14:15). Last evening they were saying, 'Is it because there are no graves?' (Exodus 14:11), and now you multiply prayer? 'Speak to the children of Israel that they go forward' (Exodus 14:15)" let them remove the matter from their heart.

Rabbi says: The Holy One, blessed be He, said: The faith with which Israel believed in Me is worthy that I should split the sea for them, for they did not say to Moses, "How shall we turn back?" so as not to break the heart of the little ones and the women who were with them; rather, they believed in Me and went after Moses. Rabbi Eliezer says: The Holy One, blessed be He, said to Moses: There is a time to be brief and a time to be lengthy. My children dwell in distress, and the sea is closing in, and the enemy pursues, and you stand and multiply prayer? "Speak to the children of Israel that they go forward" (Exodus 14:15).

Rabbi Joshua says: The Holy One, blessed be He, said to Moses: Israel need only journey, and that alone. "That they go forward" let them move their feet from the dry land into the sea, and you will see the miracles that I shall perform for them. Rabbi Meir says: The Holy One, blessed be He, said to Moses: Israel need not pray before Me. For if for Adam, who was a single one, I made dry land for his sake, as it is said, "Let the waters be gathered together from beneath the heavens" (Genesis 1:9), then for the sake of a holy congregation that is destined to say before Me, "This is my God and I will glorify Him" (Exodus 15:2), how much more so!

Rabbi Benayah says: By the merit of Abraham I split the sea for them, on account of what he did, as it is said, "And he split the wood for the burnt offering" (Genesis 22:3), and it says, "And the waters were split" (Exodus 14:21). Rabbi Akiva says: By the merit of Jacob I tear open the sea for them, as it is said, "And you shall break forth to the west and to the east" (Genesis 28:14). Rabbi Shimon says: I have already written concerning you, "In all My house he is faithful" (Numbers 12:7), and you are in My authority and the sea is in My authority. I have already made you treasurer over it, as it is said, "And you, lift up your staff" (Exodus 14:16).

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Legends of the Jews 6:197Legends of the Jews

Our ancestor Jacob certainly did.

The Torah tells us that Jacob wrestled with an angel – a divine being – all night long (Genesis 32:25-30). But what really happened that night? What was at stake? And what does it mean for us, generations later?

The story goes that Jacob, on his way to reconcile with his estranged brother Esau, found himself alone. And then, out of nowhere, a man – an angel in disguise – attacked him. They grappled, struggled, locked in a fierce battle that lasted until the break of dawn. Jacob, tenacious as ever, refused to let go.

It wasn’t enough for Jacob to simply survive the encounter. He needed something more. He needed to understand what he was fighting for. He demanded the angel reveal his name. And the angel finally relented, revealing that his name was Israel, the very name that Jacob himself would now bear! Jacob, the trickster, the schemer, is renamed Israel, meaning "he who struggles with God" or "God prevails." His very identity is transformed through this wrestling match.

According to Legends of the Jews, the angel finally departed, but only after Jacob blessed him. And Jacob, forever changed by the encounter, named the place Penuel, meaning "face of God." Interestingly, the text notes that he had previously named the same place Mahanaim, both names signifying a meeting place with angels. It's as if Jacob is trying to capture the essence of this liminal space, this place where the earthly and the divine intersect.

But the story doesn't end there. The day after the wrestling match held its own miracles. The Legends of the Jews continue, telling us that dawn broke unusually early that day – two hours before its normal time, in fact! This was to compensate Jacob for the early sunset he experienced years before, on his journey to Haran, when he passed Mount Moriah (the future site of the Temple in Jerusalem). That earlier sunset had induced him to stop and spend the night on that sacred ground. It's a beautiful idea – the universe bending time itself to accommodate Jacob's spiritual journey.

And the sun itself held a special power that day. According to tradition, it shone with the same brilliance and ardor it possessed during the six days of creation. It shone as it will shine again at the end of days, healing the sick and consuming the wicked. On that very day, the legends say, the sun healed Jacob's hip (which was injured during the wrestling match), while simultaneously scorching Esau and his princes with its intense heat.

The Midrash Rabbah adds layers to this, suggesting the sun's power manifested in both healing and destruction – a duality reflecting the complex nature of divine judgment and redemption.

So, what are we to make of this fantastical story? It's more than just a tale of a man wrestling an angel. It’s a powerful metaphor for our own struggles – our wrestling with faith, with doubt, with our own inner demons. Jacob's story reminds us that these struggles, however difficult, can ultimately lead to transformation and a deeper understanding of ourselves and our relationship with the divine.

What "angel" are you wrestling with? Perhaps the answer lies not in winning the fight, but in embracing the struggle itself. Because it's in that struggle, in that relentless pursuit of understanding, that we, like Jacob, can be transformed and find our own name, our own Israel, within.

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