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God Asked the High Priest for a Blessing in the Holy of Holies

On Yom Kippur, Rabbi Ishmael entered the Holy of Holies to offer incense. He looked up, saw Akatriel Yah on the throne, and God asked him for a blessing.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. One Man and One Room
  2. The Blessing He Gave
  3. The Name That Appeared
  4. The Day Rome Took Four Sages

One Man and One Room

On Yom Kippur, there was one man and one door and one room that no one else in the world was permitted to enter.

The High Priest tied a rope around his ankle before going in. If he died inside from unworthiness or error, someone would need to pull the body out, because no other human being could go through that curtain to retrieve it. The room where heaven and earth were nearest to each other was not a place where you sent someone else to check on a problem.

Rabbi Ishmael ben Elisha entered the Holy of Holies on the Day of Atonement to offer incense. He looked up. He saw Akatriel Yah, the Lord of Hosts, seated on a high and exalted throne.

And God said to him: Ishmael, my son. Bless Me.

The Blessing He Gave

Rabbi Ishmael was not struck speechless. He stood before God and gave a blessing. The account in Talmud Bavli Berakhot 7a records it: May it be Your will that Your mercy overcome Your anger, that Your mercy prevail over Your other attributes, that You deal with Your children according to the attribute of mercy, and that You go beyond the boundary of strict judgment for them.

God nodded. The Talmud says God affirmed the blessing. He received it from the High Priest the way a host receives an unexpected gift - with something that could be called gratitude.

The Mekhilta DeRabbi Yishmael, the early halakhic midrash on Exodus that carries Rabbi Ishmael's name and tradition, describes the reciprocity in different terms. When Israel proclaims: who is like the Lord our God in all our calling to Him - marveling that the Creator of the universe actually listens - God immediately responds: and who is a great nation that has God near to it? Israel is astonished by divine accessibility. God is astonished, in the same breath, by Israel's willingness to call. The pattern of mutual astonishment runs through both texts: a God who can be approached, and people who approach, each surprised that the other is there.

The Name That Appeared

Akatriel Yah - the name God bore in the Holy of Holies - means Crown of God. It appears almost nowhere else in rabbinic literature. It is one of the stranger divine names, associated specifically with this encounter, suggesting that the form in which God appeared to Rabbi Ishmael inside the curtain was a form that did not appear elsewhere. The place itself was responsible for the appearance. The innermost sanctuary, the room where the Ark had once stood between the two cherubim, was the point of maximum divine presence, and maximum divine presence produced a manifestation that required a name reserved for that location alone.

The Day Rome Took Four Sages

Heikhalot Rabbati, the Merkavah mysticism text from Babylonia, connects Rabbi Ishmael to a different kind of terror. A day arrived - a Thursday, an ordinary beginning to a week - when news came from Rome that four men from among the mighty of Israel had been seized. One of them was Rabbi Ishmael ben Elisha himself. The ransom demanded was eight thousand students from Jerusalem. Someone would have to decide which lives were worth buying back and which were not.

Rabbi Nehunya ben Hakkanah, hearing the news, entered a state of mystical concentration to understand what was happening in the upper worlds. Messengers stood outside the circle he had drawn, waiting for information that could only be retrieved from the celestial realms. The intersection between the world of Roman arrests and the world of heavenly palaces was where Heikhalot Rabbati lived. Rabbi Ishmael was a figure who inhabited both: the man who had stood inside the curtain of the Holy of Holies and received a nod from God, and also the man who would be seized by Rome and held for ransom.


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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.

Berakhot 7aTalmud Bavli, Berakhot

Rabbi Yohanan said in the name of Rabbi Yose: From where is it derived that the Holy One, blessed be He, prays? As it is said: "And I will bring them to My holy mountain, and make them joyful in My house of prayer" (Isaiah 56:7). It does not say "their prayer," but rather "My prayer." From here it is derived that the Holy One, blessed be He, prays.

What does He pray? Rav Zutra bar Toviyya said that Rav said: "May it be My will that My mercy subdue My anger, and that My mercy prevail over My other attributes, and that I conduct Myself with My children with the attribute of mercy, and that I enter for them within the line of strict justice."

It was taught: Rabbi Yishmael ben Elisha said: One time I entered to offer up incense in the innermost sanctum, and I saw Akhtariel Yah, the LORD of Hosts, who was sitting upon a high and exalted throne, and He said to me: "Yishmael My son, bless Me!" I said to Him: "May it be Your will that Your mercy subdue Your anger, and that Your mercy prevail over Your other attributes, and that You conduct Yourself with Your children with the attribute of mercy, and that You enter for them within the line of strict justice." And He nodded to me with His head. And this teaches us that the blessing of a common person should not be light in your eyes.

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Mekhilta Tractate Shirah 3:7Mekhilta DeRabbi Yishmael

The Mekhilta de-Rabbi Ishmael continues its portrait of the extraordinary dialogue between Israel and the Holy Spirit with another matched pair of verses. When Israel proclaims (Deuteronomy 4:7), "Who is like the Lord our God in all our calling unto Him?", marveling that the Creator of the universe actually listens when they pray, the Holy Spirit immediately responds with the verse that follows in the same chapter: "And who is a great nation that has God near to it?"

The pattern is the same as the preceding teaching, but the emphasis shifts. Here the focus is not on God's unity or Israel's happiness, but on something more intimate: nearness. Israel is astonished that God is accessible. Among all the powers and forces in the universe, the Supreme Being actually hears prayer. And in response, the Holy Spirit is equally astonished, in a sense, that among all the peoples of the earth, there exists a nation that has earned such closeness.

The rabbis who compiled the Mekhilta understood this exchange as evidence that the covenant between God and Israel is not one-sided. It is not simply that Israel worships and God receives. Rather, both parties marvel at the relationship. Israel cannot believe its good fortune in having a God who listens. God, speaking through the Holy Spirit, cannot help but celebrate the people who call upon Him.

This teaching from Tractate Shirah emerges from the Song at the Sea, where Israel first experienced God's dramatic intervention on their behalf. That moment of salvation at the Red Sea established a permanent channel of communication. The Mekhilta is saying: that channel remains open. Every prayer Israel offers upward is met by a divine declaration coming back down. Nearness, once established at the sea, was never withdrawn.

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Heikhalot Rabbati 5:5Heikhalot Rabbati

Heikhalot Rabbati turns to Rabbi Ishmael's Day of Dread When Rome Seized Four Sages.

Rabbi Ishmael, a central figure in this tradition, recounts a day of utter dread. "That day was the fifth day of the week," he says, a seemingly ordinary beginning that quickly shatters. News arrives from Rome, and it's devastating. "Four men from among the mighty of Israel have been seized…" Four pillars of the community, including Rabbi Simon ben Gamaliel and Rabbi Ishmael ben Elisha, are now in Roman hands. And the ransom demanded is staggering: eight thousand students from Jerusalem. Can you imagine the weight of that decision? Who gets saved?

The text doesn't dwell on the political machinations or the human drama for long. Instead, it plunges us into the mystical realm. Rabbi Nehunya ben Hakkanah, sensing the gravity of the situation, takes immediate action. He initiates a descent to the Merkabah – the divine chariot, a vehicle for mystical ascent. He seeks answers not from earthly authorities, but from the heavens.

Through this ascent, Rabbi Nehunya questions Surya, the Prince of the Presence – a powerful angelic being. And the answer he receives is chilling. It seems a decree has been issued in the heavenly court, targeting ten of Israel's most righteous individuals.

The decree itself is linked to a verse from Exodus (21:16): "And he that stealeth a man and selleth him, he shall surely be put to death." But what does this have to do with the Roman imprisonment of these Rabbis? Surya explains that the heavenly court sees a parallel in the biblical story of Joseph. "The sons of Jacob stole Joseph their brother and sold him," Surya points out. "What shall be done concerning them?"

This is where it gets truly intense. According to this mystical understanding, the sin of Joseph's brothers opened a door, granting authority to Sammael – the "wicked," the genius of Rome, often identified with the Angel of Death. Sammael is given permission to "destroy ten of the mighty" in atonement for the actions of Jacob's sons.

Think about the implications. A seemingly ancient sin, a transgression from generations past, ripples through time, manifesting in the present suffering of these great Rabbis. It's a stark reminder of the interconnectedness of actions and consequences, and the enduring power of the past.

But the text doesn't end on a note of despair. It also offers a glimmer of hope, a promise of future retribution. "A vengeance to be avenged upon him is laid up against him," Surya reveals, "until the time shall come when 'The Lord shall punish the host of the high ones on high.'" This echoes the words of Isaiah (24:21), promising a future reckoning when even the celestial powers will face judgment. Sammael, and all the "princes of the kingdoms in the height," will ultimately be brought down, like "the goats and sheep of the day of atonement."

What are we to make of such a powerful, and frankly, unsettling story? It’s a reminder that even in the face of tragedy, the Jewish mystical tradition seeks deeper meaning, finding connections between the earthly and the divine, the present and the past. It suggests that even seemingly random acts of injustice are part of a larger cosmic drama, a drama that ultimately promises redemption and justice, even if that justice is delayed. It's a challenging perspective, demanding that we confront the complexities of faith and the enduring questions of good and evil, even when faced with the most difficult of circumstances. As we find in Midrash Rabbah, these stories aren't just about the past; they are meant to illuminate our present, and guide us towards a more just future. And as the Zohar tells us, even in the darkest moments, the light of the divine can still be found, if we only know where to look.

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