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Samael Crowed Over Temples He Did Not Destroy

When the Temples burned, Samael celebrated. The Tikkunei Zohar says he did not cause the destruction but moved into the space that human failure opened.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Angel Who Was Glad When the Temple Burned
  2. The Distinction the Tikkunei Zohar Makes
  3. Samael at the Sea and Before Moses
  4. When Moses Died and Samael Lost Courage
  5. The Shekhinah That Descended Into the Destruction

The Angel Who Was Glad When the Temple Burned

When the First Temple fell in 586 BCE and the Second Temple fell in 70 CE, there was an angel who was glad. His name was Samael, and in the Jewish mystical tradition he is not a rebel against God but a force that operates within God's system, specifically the force of strict judgment that turns against Israel when Israel turns against itself.

The destruction of the Temples was not Samael's idea. But he benefited from it. And the Tikkunei Zohar, composed in thirteenth-century Castile, Spain, is careful to explain what that means and what it does not mean.

The Distinction the Tikkunei Zohar Makes

The Tikkunei Zohar says Samael's forces did not fear God, and they destroyed His house. The language is extraordinary. Samael destroyed God's house. But the text is not saying Samael acted outside God's authority. It is saying Samael operated in the space that human failure opened. The Temple's destruction was not a defeat of the divine plan. It was the painful, necessary consequence of a covenant the Jewish people had broken across generations. Samael is the mechanism of that consequence, not its originating cause.

The distinction matters enormously. If Samael caused the destruction independently, then the destruction is a story about divine defeat. If Samael moved into a space that was already open because of Israel's failure, then the destruction is a story about the consequences of abandoning the covenant and about the possibility of return. The Tikkunei Zohar insists on the second reading.

Samael at the Sea and Before Moses

The traditions preserved in the Legends of the Jews, Rabbi Louis Ginzberg's early twentieth-century synthesis of midrashic literature from ancient and medieval sources, show Samael operating at other critical moments in Israelite history. At the moment the Israelites stood trapped between Pharaoh's army and the sea, Samael appeared in the heavenly court to argue that Israel should not be saved. They had been idolaters in Egypt, he argued. They were no better than their pursuers. The decree of mercy had no basis in their merit.

He was right about the facts. He was wrong about the determining factor. The sea split anyway. But the tradition records his argument because it is honest about what was at stake: Israel's survival at the sea was not a matter of earned merit. It was a matter of divine choice to extend mercy despite the absence of a strong merit case. Samael's role is precisely to make that case as difficult as possible. He is the voice that forces mercy to justify itself against the full weight of the record.

When Moses Died and Samael Lost Courage

The Legends of the Jews preserves the account of Samael coming for Moses's soul at the moment of death on Mount Nebo. Moses was nearing the end of his life, the decree had been issued, and God sent Samael to receive his soul. Samael arrived, and then something happened that the tradition finds worth recording: he lost his courage.

Moses, even dying, even at the moment when the decree was final and nothing more could be argued, was not a figure that Samael could approach without difficulty. The light on Moses's face, the proximity of the divine that had accreted over forty years of service, made Samael hesitate. He came for the soul of the man who had spent his life standing between Israel and the judgment that Samael represented. Eventually God withdrew Moses's soul directly, without using Samael as the instrument. Even at the end, even in the final submission to the decree, Moses was not fully at Samael's mercy.

The Shekhinah That Descended Into the Destruction

When the Temple burned, the Shekhinah, the divine feminine presence that had dwelt in the Temple's innermost chamber, did not ascend to safety. She descended into the destruction. The tradition of the Shekhinah accompanying Israel into exile, which the Talmud records explicitly in Megillah 29a, begins at the moment of the Temple's fall. The divine presence that had made its home in the earthly structure went with the structure's inhabitants into their displacement.

Samael's gladness over the destruction is, in this light, not only a celebration of Israel's punishment. It is a celebration of the Shekhinah's displacement, the moment when the divine presence was driven from its earthly home and the connection between heaven and earth was most severely damaged. What Samael cannot celebrate, what the Tikkunei Zohar insists on, is the permanence of that damage. The Shekhinah's exile is real. Its duration is not infinite.


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Legends of the Jews 4:32Legends of the Jews

The stories tell us it wasn't just a simple "get out!" It was a complex struggle, a cosmic battle, and a search for redemption.

Samael (the angel of death), often identified as the embodiment of evil, is gloating, perhaps, or still lingering around Adam and Eve. But then, a voice rings out – the voice of the slain Abel himself! According to Legends of the Jews, the voice emanates directly from the hearts of Adam and Eve, declaring to Samael, "Go hence! I have penetrated to the heart of Adam and the heart of Eve, and never again shall I quit their hearts, nor the hearts of their children, or their children's children, unto the end of all generations."

The story doesn't end there. Adam is overcome with grief. He’s heartbroken. He puts on sackcloth and ashes, a sign of mourning, and fasts for days on end. Finally, God appears to him. "My son," God says, "have no fear of Samael. I will give thee a remedy that will help thee against him, for it was at My instance that he went to thee."

Can you imagine Adam's relief? He asks, naturally, "And what is this remedy?"

And God answers, simply: "The Torah."

But wait... the Torah wasn't given yet. So, what does that mean? God then gives him the book of the angel Raziel. This book, filled with divine wisdom and secrets, becomes Adam's lifeline. He studies it day and night.

Now, here’s where things get even more interesting. The angels, seeing Adam's newfound wisdom, become jealous. According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, they try to trick him, to cunningly destroy him, by calling him a god and prostrating themselves before him. Adam, of course, refuses. "Do not prostrate yourselves before me, but magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt His Name together," he pleads.

But their envy is too strong. They steal the book of Raziel and throw it into the sea. Adam is devastated. He searches everywhere, but it's gone. He fasts again, grief-stricken.

Once more, God appears. "Fear not!" He says. "I will give the book back to thee."

Then, in a beautiful detail, God calls upon Rahab, the Angel of the Sea. Yes, there's an angel in charge of the sea! God orders Rahab to recover the book and return it to Adam. And Rahab, obedient to the divine will, does just that.

So, what does this story tell us? It's more than just a simple narrative. It's about the struggle against evil, the power of divine wisdom (the Torah), and the importance of humility. It suggests that even after the fall, there is a path to redemption, a way to reconnect with the divine. And sometimes, even angels need a little nudge in the right direction. What do you think? What does this story mean to you?

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Legends of the Jews 1:23Legends of the Jews

Take the story of the Exodus, the moment when the Israelites were fleeing Egypt. They’re trapped between Pharaoh’s army and the raging sea. A miracle is needed. But according to Legends of the Jews, as retold by Rabbi Louis Ginzberg, there was another threat at play: Samael (the angel of death).

Samael isn't exactly an independent rebel. Think of him more like a celestial prosecutor, an adversary. According to tradition, he's been lodging accusations against Israel ever since they left Egypt. He's constantly pointing out their flaws, their past idolatry. "Look at them, God," he's saying, "are these really the people worthy of your miracles?"

Ginzberg paints a vivid picture: God, facing Samael's relentless accusations, acts like a seasoned shepherd. Imagine the scene: a flock needs to cross a rushing stream, but a hungry wolf is eyeing them, ready to strike. What does the shepherd do? He throws the wolf a strong ram – a distraction. While the wolf is busy with the ram, the rest of the flock crosses to safety. Then, the shepherd returns and rescues the ram.

That’s what God does, metaphorically. Samael, ever the critic, challenges God: "These Israelites? You’re going to split the sea for them? They were just worshipping idols!"

So, what does God do? He offers up… Job. "While he busies himself with Job," God says, "Israel will pass through the sea unscathed, and as soon as they are in safety, I will rescue Job from the hands of Samael." Job, the epitome of righteousness, becomes the distraction, the "ram" in this divine strategy. While Samael is busy tormenting Job, questioning his faith, putting him through unimaginable trials… the Israelites are making their escape.

It’s a stunning example of divine chess. A cosmic balancing act where one person's suffering, however unjust, becomes the means for another's salvation. It raises so many questions, doesn’t it? About justice, about sacrifice, about the unseen forces at play in our lives.

We might never fully understand the reasons behind suffering, but this story from Legends of the Jews offers a glimpse into a world where even hardship can be part of a larger, ultimately redemptive plan. It challenges us to consider the unseen battles being fought on our behalf, and perhaps, to find meaning even in the midst of our own trials.

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Zohar 1:122aZohar

One powerful answer lies in the concept of the Shekhinah (שְׁכִינָה). The Shekhinah, often described as the divine feminine presence, the immanent glory of God, has a fascinating and evolving relationship with our earthly realm.

The tradition says right from the get-go, at the very beginning of Creation, the Shekhinah made Her home right here in this lower world. Her original address? The Garden of Eden. There, She resided on a cherub, one of those powerful, winged angelic beings, under the Tree of Life. In fact, the primal root of the Shekhinah, Her very essence, was planted there. And it wasn't a lonely existence; bands of angels descended from heaven to serve the will of the Shekhinah in every way imaginable.

Think of the sheer radiance. When God Himself would come and go from the Garden, everyone in the world could gaze upon the splendor of the Shekhinah. It's a breathtaking image, isn’t it? Even after Adam and Eve were expelled from Eden, they lingered at the Gates, desperate to catch a glimpse of that radiant appearance. In Her presence, they experienced no illness, suffered no pain. No demons could touch them, no harm could befall them. The Shekhinah was their protection, their comfort, their direct connection to the divine.

Of course, paradise doesn't last forever. So what happened? Did the Shekhinah stay on Earth? This is where the stories diverge. Some say the Shekhinah remained on earth until Adam sinned, and only then was She removed, ascending to the first heaven. Others, according to Legends of the Jews by Ginzberg, say that as soon as Adam broke the commandment, the Shekhinah fled on Her own from the Garden of Eden, unable to bear the stain of disobedience.

And then there's yet another tradition, a more complex and perhaps more poignant one. This one says the Shekhinah remained on earth until the rise of idolatry in the generation of Enosh. We find this idea reflected in Schwartz's Tree of Souls. Apparently, this wicked generation, using magic taught to them by the Watcher Azazel, brought down the sun, the moon, and the stars and stationed them before their idols, demanding that they serve them. Can you imagine the audacity? The angels, witnessing this sacrilege, brought a complaint before God. And God, witnessing the corruption, immediately removed the Shekhinah from their midst.

And what a departure it was! As the Shekhinah ascended on high, the angels surrounded Her with psalms and songs, with the resounding blasts of the shofar (שׁוֹפָר, ram's horn) and trumpets. As it says in (Psalm 47:6), "God went up with a fanfare of trumpets." Some even say that the angels themselves helped raise up the Shekhinah on high. This is described in detail in Midrash Rabbah. The glory of the Shekhinah rose, level by level: from the heavenly firmament to the chambers of the palace, from the chambers of the palace to the palace of majesty, then to the fiery citadel, and from there to the flaming castle, and finally to the ranks of the angels, to the wheels of the chariot, and ultimately to the Throne of Glory itself.

The heavens, according to the Zohar, rejoiced, clothed in joyful garments and wrapped in glory. The sun and the moon and all the stars danced before the Throne of Glory and before God. But while the heavens celebrated, the Prince of the World and all the orders of creation put on mourning, clothed themselves with grief and sighing. As it is said in (Hosea 4:3), "Therefore the land will mourn."

So, what does it all mean? This shifting narrative of the Shekhinah’s earthly dwelling tells us something profound about our relationship with the Divine. It suggests that God’s presence isn’t static. It’s responsive to our actions, our choices, and our devotion. And it begs the question: how can we create a world where the Shekhinah feels at home once again? How can we bring that divine presence back down to earth?

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Legends of the Jews 7:20Legends of the Jews

Legends of the Jews turns to Samael Comes for Moses's Soul but Loses Courage.

Moses is nearing the end. He's bargaining with God, trying to stave off the inevitable decree. But as Legends of the Jews tells us, based on various Midrashic (rabbinic interpretive commentary) sources, another hour has slipped by. A heavenly voice echoes: "How long wilt thou endeavor in vain to avert the sentence? Thou has not only two hours more of life." (Ginzberg, Legends of the Jews, vol. 3)

Who’s been impatiently waiting in the wings? None other than Samael, the head of all evil spirits. He's been counting down the seconds until Moses’ death, eager to snatch his soul, just like any other mortal. He’s practically gloating, "When will the moment be at hand when Michael shall weep and I shall triumph?" (Ibid.)

It's not just about death; it’s a cosmic showdown.

With only two hours left, Michael, Israel’s guardian angel, starts to weep. Can you imagine the scene? The protector of the Jewish people, overcome with grief. For Samael, this is the moment he’s been craving. His victory seems assured.

But Michael, ever the champion, isn’t giving up without a fight. He retorts to Samael: "'Rejoice not against me, mine enemy: when I fall, I shall arise; when I sit in darkness, the Lord shall be a light unto me.'" (Ibid.) It's a powerful declaration of faith and resilience. Even in the face of Moses’ death, even if it feels like a defeat, Michael knows that hope remains. He will rise again through Joshua, who will lead the Israelites to conquer the land.

And there's more! Even if darkness descends with the destruction of the First and Second Temples, Michael asserts, God will be a light on the day of the Messiah.

It's a breathtaking moment, isn't it? This isn't just about the death of a man; it’s about the eternal struggle between good and evil, hope and despair, and the unwavering belief in ultimate redemption. It's a reminder that even in our darkest hours, the light of faith can guide us forward. The story of Moses' final hours, as embellished by these traditions, offers a powerful message of hope and resilience. It reminds us that even in the face of death, the spirit of the Jewish people, and the promise of redemption, endures.

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