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The Five Angels Moses Bargained Down to Two

After the Golden Calf, five angels descended to destroy Israel. Moses sent three away, kept Fury for himself, and let God handle Wrath.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Five names came down the mountain
  2. God refused the patriarchs as collateral
  3. Moses kept the worst one for himself
  4. The verse that survived everything

Five names came down the mountain

Moses had been on the mountain forty days. When he came down and saw the calf and the dancing, he smashed the tablets at the foot of the mountain and then climbed back up with nothing in his hands. He had no leverage. He had no argument. He had only the memory of what the people had been before this and a refusal to accept that this was now the end of them.

No answer came from the cloud. Instead, five angels descended on the camp.

Their names were Anger. Destruction. Annihilation. Wrath. Fury. Five distinct beings, each a verdict, each sent to execute what the people had earned. The rabbis behind Kohelet Rabbah, the midrashic commentary on Ecclesiastes assembled in eighth-century Palestine, read the verse "Better than both of them is the one who has not yet been born, who has not seen the evil actions done under the sun" as pointing directly at this moment. The unborn is better off. The unborn never had to watch this.

Moses looked at five angels of destruction standing between him and his people and started to argue.

God refused the patriarchs as collateral

The first move Moses made was the obvious one. He reached for the names that mattered most. "Remember Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, Your servants."

God refused.

The answer came back sharp. What claims do they have on Me? I have claims against them too. Abraham questioned Me at Sodom. Isaac dug wells the Philistines destroyed without complaint. Jacob, when I appeared to him in the night and said I am the God of your fathers, went back to sleep and did not respond with a single prayer or a single word of thanks.

Moses had just been told that the three great names of the covenant were not acceptable collateral for a people who had just built a golden calf. He had to find another argument.

Moses kept the worst one for himself

What happened next, preserved in Kohelet Rabbah alongside its parallel traditions in other midrashim, is the most startling negotiation in Moses's life. He could not dismiss all five angels. He did not have that authority. But he could claim some of them, and he did.

Anger, he took on himself. If the people needed to face someone's anger, it would be his. He pointed at his own shattered tablets at the foot of the mountain. He had already expressed that anger. It was spent. Destruction and Annihilation he argued away through the logic of the Name. God had made promises. Breaking them would undermine the Name in the world. He sent those two back.

That left Wrath and Fury.

Fury, Moses took on himself. He would absorb it. That left Wrath standing alone, and Wrath he left for God to handle, because there was nothing Moses could do about divine wrath except hope that divine mercy outweighed it.

He bargained five down to one, and then he stopped bargaining.

The verse that survived everything

The rabbis set this scene inside a commentary on Ecclesiastes because they were working through Solomon's claim that time and chance happen to everyone. Even Moses. Even the man who argued angels down from five to one. The verse from Kohelet that anchors the third part of the midrash is Ecclesiastes 9:11: time and chance happen to them all. Moses did not receive a law of physics exemption. He received a forty-day window on a mountain, a broken set of tablets, five hostile beings, and a speech.

He used the speech.

The tradition does not say the people deserved to survive. It says Moses was willing to absorb what they did not deserve to face. Anger. Fury. He put himself between his people and two of the five worst names in creation, and he stood there, and eventually the mountain stopped roaring.

Midrash RabbahKoheletMosesTime
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Kohelet Rabbah 3:1Kohelet Rabbah

(Ecclesiastes 4:3) dances with it: "Better than both of them is one who has not yet been, who has not seen the evil actions that are done under the sun."

Kohelet Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on Ecclesiastes, takes that verse and runs with it in some truly fascinating directions. It asks: Who is this "one who has not yet been"?

One answer, surprisingly, involves a whole lot of potential people who didn't make it into existence. According to Rabbi Yoḥanan, quoting Rabbi Eliezer son of Rabbi Yosei HaGelili, these are the 974 generations God considered creating before settling on the world as we know it! The verse "He commanded the matter for one thousand generations" (Psalms 105:8) hints at this, suggesting God had plans for a thousand generations, but ultimately only brought twenty-six into being before giving the Torah. What happened to the other 974? They were, in a sense, "better off" not seeing the evil that would unfold. Heavy stuff.

The Kohelet Rabbah doesn't stop there. It digs into moments where the past, specifically the merit of past generations, seemed to outweigh the present.

Think about the Golden Calf. When the Israelites went astray, Moses pleaded with God for mercy. Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) tells us he left no corner of Mount Sinai untouched by his prayers. Yet, he wasn't answered. Five angels of destruction – Anger, Destruction, Annihilation, Wrath, and Fury – descended. Desperate, Moses invoked the patriarchs: "Remember Abraham, Isaac, and Israel Your servants" (Exodus 32:13).

And here's where it gets really interesting. God, in a stunning moment of vulnerability, essentially says, "What claim do they have on me? I have claims against them too!" He questions Abraham's doubt ("How will I know that I will inherit it?" Genesis 15:8), Isaac's favoritism towards Esau ("Isaac loved Esau," (Genesis 25:2)8), and Jacob's despair ("My way is hidden from the Lord," (Isaiah 40:2)7).

It wasn't until Moses appealed to God's self-oath ("To whom You took an oath by Yourself," (Exodus 32:1)3) that divine mercy was stirred. Three angels departed, leaving only Wrath and Fury. Moses, incredibly, bargains with God, taking on Fury himself while God confronts Wrath. As it says in (Psalms 106:23), Moses "stood before Him in the breach to turn back His fury." It was a moment where the merit of the past – the covenant God made – outweighed the present sin. That's when King Solomon proclaims, "I praise the dead…more than the living" (Ecclesiastes 4:2).

The text goes on to illustrate this point further. Solomon himself, when dedicating the Temple, couldn't get fire to descend from heaven until he invoked "the good deeds of David your servant" (II (Chronicles 6:4)2). Only then did the fire come, as we read in II (Chronicles 7:1). Some say David even came back to life in that moment! Or, at the very least, his coffin was present, his legacy speaking louder than Solomon's current prayers.

And then there's Ezekiel in the valley of dry bones (Ezekiel 37). He commands the bones to heed God's word, and they miraculously reassemble. The prophet notes that, unlike the living generation who ignored God, these dead bones finally listened. Again, the past – even in death – held more weight than the present.

So, what’s the takeaway? Is it that being dead is better than being alive? Not exactly. It’s more nuanced than that. It’s about the enduring power of legacy, the weight of past actions, and the idea that even those who came before us – even those who didn't even come to be – can still profoundly shape our present. It is a lesson about the importance of earning a good name in this world, one that will have bargaining power even after one leaves it. It’s a reminder that our choices ripple through time, long after we're gone. And maybe, just maybe, that’s a reason for hope, even in the face of all the evil under the sun.

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Kohelet Rabbah 11:3Kohelet Rabbah

The book of Kohelet, Ecclesiastes, wrestles with these very questions. And Kohelet Rabbah, the rabbinic commentary on Ecclesiastes, digs even deeper. a fascinating passage from it.

It starts with the verse: "He made everything beautiful in its time" (Ecclesiastes 3:11). Rabbi Berekhya, citing Rabbi Abbahu in the name of Rabbi Elazar, offers a striking example. Remember the division of the kingdom after King Solomon's reign? The split between Rehoboam and Jeroboam that led to the northern and southern kingdoms? The rabbis suggest this division could have happened earlier, during King David's time, with Sheva ben Bichri.

The Holy One, blessed be He, reasoned: Would it be right to cause a schism in the House of David before the Temple was even built? Better to wait, to allow the Temple to be established, and then let happen what will happen. It makes you think about the grand sweep of history, doesn't it?

Then Rabbi Binyamin, quoting Rabbi Levi, expands on the verse "The world, too, He has placed in their heart" (Ecclesiastes 3:11). He says this refers to the love of the world that God instilled in us. Rabbi Yonatan takes it a step further: It's also the fear of the Angel of Death. A sobering thought – love of life intertwined with the awareness of its end.

Next, Nehemya, son of Rabbi Shmuel bar Nahman, offers an interpretation based on (Genesis 1:31): “And behold it was very good." He connects the two instances of "good" to the yetzer hatov, the good inclination, and the "very" to the yetzer hara, the evil inclination. Wait, the evil inclination is "very good"? How does that work?

Well, it teaches us that without the yetzer hara, we wouldn't build houses, marry, or have children! As Solomon says in (Ecclesiastes 4:4), "[I saw all toil and all skilled action;] that it is man’s envy of his neighbor." That competitive drive, that ambition – it all stems from the yetzer hara. It's a powerful force, this "evil inclination."

Rabbi Berekhya and Rabbi Abbahu, again citing Rabbi Yochanan, say that God placed within us both love of the world and love of young children. They illustrate this with a parable: A king has two sons, one older and one younger. The older one cleans, the younger one makes a mess. Yet, the king loves the younger one more. It’s a reminder that love isn't always logical or based on merit.

Now, Rabbi Ahva son of Rabbi Zeira dives into the word "ha’olam" – "the world." He points out that the word is written without a vav, which allows it to be read as "ho’olam" – meaning "the ineffable name was concealed from them." It’s a play on words, a hidden meaning within the text.

He tells a story of a king who throws a feast and invites guests. After they’ve eaten and drunk, they ask for swords and spears to play with. Instead, the king gives them myrtle branches. But even with these harmless branches, they end up striking and wounding each other! The king laments that if they behave this way with myrtle branches, imagine what they'd do with real weapons.

Similarly, God says, "If, at a time when I concealed the ineffable name from them, they killed with appellations," – that is, invoked God's names to curse each other – "had I given and revealed to them the ineffable name, all the more so!" It's a cautionary tale about the power of knowledge and the responsibility that comes with it.

The text goes on to tell stories about the Shem Hameforash, the Explicit Name of God. We hear of a Persian woman who cursed her son using part of the Ineffable Name, and Shmuel immediately knew the boy was doomed. Rabbi Hanina, who knew the Name, refused to share it on his deathbed because the potential recipients were deemed unworthy. A doctor in Tzippori wouldn't entrust it to someone who had taken first tithe, fearing he might misuse the Name for personal gain.

There were strict rules about who could receive the Name: someone who had lived most of their life, in a place of purity, near water, and only while standing. Initially, they entrusted it to just anyone, but as sinners became more prevalent, they limited it to the most modest of priests, who would obscure it in the priestly melody. Rabbi Tarfon even recounts how he once overheard the High Priest using the Name and fell on his face in awe.

Those who heard the Name would prostrate themselves and recite, "Blessed be the name of His glorious kingdom for ever and ever." And they wouldn't move until the Name was forgotten from them – "shenitalem." The passage references (Exodus 3:15), "This is My name forever [le’olam]," noting that it's written without a vav, so it can be read "le’elem" – "for concealment."

Why all this secrecy? The passage concludes by quoting (Ecclesiastes 3:11): "But so that man will not discover the work that God has performed from beginning to end." The concealment of the Name, the mystery surrounding creation – it's all designed to prevent us from fully grasping the divine plan.

So, what does this all mean? Perhaps it's a reminder that some things are meant to remain hidden. That knowledge, especially knowledge of immense power, must be handled with care and reverence. And that sometimes, the beauty lies not in understanding everything, but in appreciating the mystery itself. We are left to ponder the delicate balance between revealing and concealing, between knowledge and wisdom, and the profound implications for how we live our lives.

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Kohelet Rabbah 11:2Kohelet Rabbah

It’s a feeling as old as time, and the ancient rabbis grappled with it too.

Kohelet Rabbah, a rabbinic commentary on the Book of Ecclesiastes, dives deep into this very idea, using the figure of Moses, our great leader and teacher, as a prime example. It starts with the verse from (Ecclesiastes 9:11): "that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favor to men of skill; but time and chance happeneth to them all."

How can that be? Surely, the best person should win. The text meticulously dismantles our assumptions, applying each clause of that verse to Moses himself. "That the race is not to the swift – this is Moses," it declares. one day, Moses ascends to God, "flying to the sky like a bird," as (Exodus 19:3) describes. The next? God tells him, "You will not cross this Jordan" (Deuteronomy 3:27). He, the man who spoke directly to God, is denied entry into the Promised Land, a mere fifty cubits away!

"the war is not to the valiant – this is Moses." Remember the giving of the Torah? (Psalm 68:13) says, "The kings of hosts flee again and again." Kohelet Rabbah interprets this to mean the angels themselves, even the highest-ranking ones like Mikhael and Gavriel, were afraid of Moses! Rabbi Yudan, in the name of Rabbi Aivu, emphasizes that it doesn't say "ministering angels," but kings of hosts. Yet, later, as (Deuteronomy 9:19) recounts, Moses is terrified, unable to face even the weakest soldiers because of God's wrath. How the mighty have fallen!

The commentary doesn’t stop there. "Also bread is not to the wise – this is Moses." He was once a prince in Pharaoh’s court, his "greatness was to bring in and to take out," meaning he was in charge, a leader. As (Exodus 2:10) states, he was responsible for providing food for Pharaoh’s entire household. But later? He's reduced to being summoned, as in (Exodus 2:20) "call him and let him eat bread."

Then there's wealth. "And also wealth is not to the clever – this is Moses." Rabbi Hanin tells us that God revealed a sapphire quarry to Moses, becoming his source of riches. The verse "Carve for yourself [pesol lekha]" (Exodus 34:1) is interpreted to mean "its residue [pesilatan] shall be for you." But ultimately, that wealth vanished.

Even favor wasn't guaranteed. "And also favor is not to the knowledgeable – this is Moses." One day, God says, "as you have found favor in my eyes" (Exodus 33:17). The next, He commands, "Do not continue to speak to Me anymore about this matter" (Deuteronomy 3:26).

So, what gives? What's the point of all this? The text points to "time and chance [vafega]" befalling them all. Vafega – it’s that unpredictable element, that twist of fate that can undo even the most deserving. The commentary suggests that time itself can harm and undermine a person.

So, what can we do? We should engage in prayer and supplication. But even that, it seems, isn't a guaranteed fix. Rav Huna asks Shmuel about this very verse, and Shmuel replies that sometimes prayer is answered, and sometimes it isn't. He points to Moses himself! No one prayed more fervently than Moses to enter the land of Israel, yet God ultimately said, "Behold, your days to die are approaching" (Deuteronomy 31:14).

It's a sobering thought. Even the most righteous, the most skilled, the most deserving among us can face disappointment. There’s no cosmic vending machine, where good deeds automatically dispense rewards. Sometimes, life just isn't fair. But perhaps the message isn’t one of despair. Maybe it’s about humility. Maybe it's about recognizing that we are not in control, and that even in the face of disappointment, we can still find meaning and purpose in our lives, just as Moses did, right up to his final breath.

It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? What truly matters in the end? Is it the victories we achieve, or the way we face the inevitable "time and chance" that befalls us all?

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