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Ha-Satan Sang at the Garden Wall Before He Used the Serpent

Ha-Satan recruited the serpent by flattering it, then sang angelic praises from the wall of Paradise until Eve turned toward the music.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Recruitment
  2. The Song at the Wall
  3. The Serpent Takes Over
  4. The Argument That Worked

The Recruitment

Ha-Satan came to the serpent in private. He said: arise and come to me. The serpent had the run of the Garden, the most intelligent animal among all the creatures, the one whose mind worked like a human mind but without the constraints a human being's conscience placed on its reasoning. Ha-Satan needed a body for his plan, a physical presence that could speak directly to Eve and be touched and trusted in a way that Ha-Satan himself, operating as a spirit within God's permission, could not manage alone.

He told the serpent it was the wisest of all creatures, the most worthy of trust, the most capable of understanding the true nature of things. He said this was precisely why he had sought it out. The flattery was the instrument and the serpent was susceptible to it in exactly the way the most intelligent creatures are susceptible to flattery: through the part of them that knows how good they are and wants that knowledge acknowledged. The serpent agreed to be his vehicle. Ha-Satan said: you will be a lyre for me, and I will pronounce words through your mouth. The image was precise. A lyre does not compose. It transmits. The words would belong to Ha-Satan, but they would come from the serpent's body.

The Song at the Wall

Before using the serpent at all, Ha-Satan staged a performance. He climbed the outer wall of Paradise and suspended himself from it and began to sing. He sang in the language the seraphim use before the divine throne, the language of the burning ones who stand in the highest heaven and call holy, holy, holy without stopping. The songs were praises of God, perfectly formed, indistinguishable from what the most faithful beings in creation would sing. Ha-Satan had been created among the angels. He knew the music. He could produce it accurately without believing any of it.

Eve heard the music from inside the Garden. She turned toward it. She saw a figure at the wall, or seemed to see one, and the figure appeared to be an angel, a being of holiness and light engaged in the worship of God. She moved toward it. This was the approach: not a direct confrontation, not an argument presented cold, but the seduction of music and apparent devotion, drawing her to the wall before a word had been spoken about the tree.

The Serpent Takes Over

Then the serpent spoke, with Ha-Satan's intentions behind the words. It began not with the tree but with God's commands in general: had God truly said you may not eat from every tree in the garden? The question was designed to sound like simple curiosity. Eve corrected it: God said we may eat from the trees of the garden, only from the tree in the middle we must not eat or touch it, or we will die. She had added the prohibition against touching, a fence she built around the commandment herself. The serpent had its entry point.

It pressed against her against the tree and said: see, you have touched it, and you did not die. The prohibition she had invented was demonstrably false. If God had meant what she said God meant, she should have died on contact. She had not died. Perhaps God did not mean what she thought. Perhaps the other prohibition was similarly overstated. Perhaps God did not want them to be like God.

The Argument That Worked

Eve looked at the fruit. It was good for food. It was pleasing to the eye. It was desirable for acquiring wisdom. She took it and she ate it, and she gave it to Adam, who was with her, and he ate it too. The Shekhinah departed from the Garden at the moment of the eating. The celestial clothing Adam wore began to fade. The world was still there, the trees and the animals and the river, but something that had filled the space between God and the human beings was gone, and the empty space it left was called by the tradition death, or knowledge, or exile, and none of those names quite covered it.

Ha-Satan had arranged the whole thing and remained invisible throughout. The serpent spoke the words. Eve ate. Adam ate. Ha-Satan's instrument was the serpent and the serpent's instrument was the fence Eve had built around the commandment, her own extra protection becoming the first rung of the ladder down.

Ha SatanSerpentEdenEveAdamDeceptionAngels
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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 2:102Legends of the Jews

Sounds pretty safe. But what happens when those angels leave for a moment, called away on heavenly business, to supplicate, to earnestly plead, before the Lord?

That's exactly what happened to Eve, as recounted in Legends of the Jews. And that's when things got interesting.

The serpent, that wily creature, saw his opportunity. He didn't just slither up and start chatting. Oh no, he went for dramatic effect. He suspended himself from the wall surrounding Paradise. He was outside, looking in.

Why the theatrics? Because he knew he needed to be convincing.

And here's the kicker: Satan himself was working through the serpent. As Ginzberg tells us in Legends of the Jews, Satan took on the appearance of an angel, leaning over the wall of Paradise. Can you picture it? A deceptive figure, seemingly divine, serenading Eve with "seraphic songs of praise." Beautiful, alluring… and utterly false.

Eve, alone and unguarded, was deceived. She thought she was talking to an angel.

What choice did she have? The deceiver looked like an angel, sang like an angel. How could she tell the difference? The conversation began, with Satan speaking through the serpent's mouth. A puppet master pulling strings, weaving a web of temptation.

It’s a powerful image, isn’t it? The vulnerability of being alone, the allure of the forbidden, and the deceptive power of disguise.

It makes you think about our own lives. How often are we truly alone, without our "guardian angels," so to speak? And how often do we encounter things that seem good on the surface, but might actually be something else entirely?

Maybe the story of Eve and the serpent isn't just an ancient myth. Maybe it's a timeless reminder to be vigilant, to question appearances, and to trust our instincts, even when the songs sound heavenly. Because sometimes, the most beautiful melodies can lead us astray.

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Legends of the Jews 2:55Legends of the Jews

In Ginzberg's retelling in, Legends of the Jews, this serpent was no ordinary animal. It was, in fact, the most remarkable of all creatures. Imagine this: standing upright like a human, as tall as a camel, and possessing incredible intelligence. Had things gone differently, had the "Adam's transgression" not occurred, a pair of these serpents could have taken over humanity's workload, providing us with silver, gold, gems, and pearls! Sounds like a pretty sweet deal. So, what went wrong?

Well, it was precisely the serpent's exceptional intellect that led to his downfall – and ours. His superior mental gifts caused him to become an infidel, leading to envy, particularly of Adam's relationship with Eve. This envy fueled his plot to bring about Adam's demise. But the serpent knew Adam too well to try any tricks of persuasion directly. Instead, he targeted Eve, believing women were more easily deceived.

The conversation with Eve was meticulously planned, a calculated trap. The serpent starts with a question: "Is it true that God hath said, Ye shall not eat of every tree in the garden?" Eve responds, explaining that they can eat from any tree except the one in the center, which they can't even touch, "lest we be stricken with death."

Here's where it gets interesting. Eve's response isn't exactly what God commanded. God only forbade eating the fruit, not touching the tree. in the story, Adam, in his zeal to protect Eve from disobeying God, had added the prohibition against touching. As the proverb says, "Better a wall ten hands high that stands, than a wall a hundred ells high that cannot stand." It was Adam's exaggeration that gave the serpent an opening.

The serpent, seizing the opportunity, pushes Eve against the tree and says, "See? Touching the tree hasn't killed you. Eating the fruit won't hurt you either. God is just being malicious, because as soon as you eat it, you'll become like Him."

The serpent goes on, "As He creates and destroys worlds, so will you. As He doth slay and revive, so will you. He Himself ate first of the fruit of the tree, and then He created the world. Therefore doth He forbid you to eat thereof, lest you create other worlds. Everyone knows that 'artisans of the same guild hate one another.'"

The serpent continues his twisted logic, arguing that every creature has dominion over the one created before it. "The heavens were made on the first day, and they are kept in place by the firmament made on the second day. The firmament, in turn, is ruled by the plants. The sun and the other celestial bodies. have power over the world of plants. The creation of the fifth day, the animal world, rules over the celestial spheres." He even mentions the ziz, a giant bird whose wings can darken the sun!

Then comes the final, tempting offer: "But ye are masters of the whole of creation, because ye were the last to be created. Hasten now and eat of the fruit of the tree in the midst of the garden, and become independent of God, lest He bring forth still other creatures to bear rule over you."

The serpent's argument isn't just about eating a piece of fruit. It's about power, independence, and a fear of being surpassed. It’s a challenge to the established order, a promise of godlike abilities. It's an incredibly compelling narrative, even if it is based on deception.

So, what does this all mean? Is the serpent simply a villain, or a symbol of something deeper? Perhaps the serpent represents the allure of forbidden knowledge, the temptation to question authority, or the inherent human desire to become something more than we are. Maybe the story isn't just about a snake, an apple, and a garden, but about the very nature of choice, ambition, and the consequences of our actions.

Full source
Legends of the Jews 1:67Legends of the Jews

Because according to some fascinating corners of Jewish tradition, even the animals weren't always as they are now.

Take the serpent. The familiar version gives us the serpent. The smooth-talking tempter in the Garden of Eden. But according to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, this wasn't just any snake. Oh no. Before the fall, this serpent was the cleverest of all creatures.

Get this: it looked remarkably like a human being!

That for a moment. A creature of immense intelligence, standing upright, perhaps even… handsome? It’s a far cry from the slithering, legless reptile we picture today. The implications are. What kind of conversations could Adam and Eve have had with such a being?

But, of course, after the fall, everything changed. The serpent, as punishment, lost its superior intellect. It also suffered a dramatic physical transformation. It was stripped of its legs, forced to crawl on its belly, unable to hunt and kill with ease. As Legends of the Jews tells it, the serpent’s downfall was as complete as humanity's.

It makes you think, doesn't it? About the cost of disobedience, the ripple effects of choices, and how profoundly things can be altered.

And the serpent wasn't alone in its pre-Fall perfection. The tradition paints a picture of a world where power had to be carefully balanced.

Think about the mole. Can you imagine a mole with eyes? According to this tradition, it would be an unstoppable force! So, the mole was made blind, to prevent it from wreaking havoc.

And the frog? We see it as pretty harmless. But picture a frog with teeth! Legends of the Jews suggests that if frogs had teeth, no creature in the water would be safe. So, they were rendered toothless, ensuring a more peaceful aquatic ecosystem.

These details, found in Ginzberg's Legends of the Jews, based on earlier midrashic (rabbinic interpretive commentary) sources, offer a glimpse into a world where even the physical attributes of animals were carefully considered, divinely regulated to maintain a delicate balance.

It's a powerful reminder that everything is interconnected. That even the smallest creature plays a part in the grand scheme of things. And that sometimes, limitations are necessary to prevent chaos.

So, the next time you see a snake, a mole, or a frog, remember this story. Remember the potential they once held, the roles they might have played in a world before the fall. It's a world that, in some ways, still echoes within our own.

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