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What God Has Been Doing Since the Sixth Day

A Roman noblewoman asks Rabbi Shimon what God does all day. He answers without hesitation: God builds ladders and moves people up and down them.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The question no one else dared to ask
  2. The psalm behind the image
  3. The ladder in motion
  4. The priesthood Aaron almost did not see

The question no one else dared to ask

The noblewoman came at Rabbi Shimon ben Halafta the way philosophers come at rabbis, with a question designed to expose a gap. "Your God finished everything in six days," she said. "What has He been doing since?"

The rabbi could have deflected. He could have answered with something about Providence being beyond human comprehension, or turned the question back on her with a question of his own. Instead he answered the way a man answers when he has been sitting with a thing for years and is glad someone finally asked.

"He sits and builds ladders," Rabbi Shimon said. "He raises one person up. He lowers another. That is what He has been doing."

The psalm behind the image

The rabbi was reading Psalm 75. The verse is stark: wealth comes not from east or west, not from the wilderness or the mountains, but from God the judge, who humbles this one and exalts that one. The psalm does not hedge. It does not say God oversees a process that produces wealth, or that God blesses the industrious. It says God is the one doing the raising and the lowering, personally, continuously, coin by coin.

Rabbi Abba of Rumanya read the Hebrew even more closely. The word translated as mountains, harim, could also be read as exaltedness, romemut. The image is not a geographical one. Wealth cannot be sailed to or climbed to. The source of elevation is elsewhere, and it is not impressed by the direction you face.

The ladder in motion

The image Rabbi Shimon gave the noblewoman is not a ladder standing still with rungs to climb. It is a ladder God is actively building, rung by rung, with a purpose that is not always visible to the people being moved on it. Someone wakes up wealthy and goes to bed ruined. Someone wakes up ruined and receives what they could not have predicted. The mechanism is not random and is not automatic. Someone is carrying the lumber and deciding where the next rung goes.

This was meant to unsettle anyone who thought the universe had shifted to autopilot after the sixth day. The work of creation ended. The work of distribution did not.

The priesthood Aaron almost did not see

The same collection that records the noblewoman's question also dwells on a genealogical puzzle from the Book of Numbers. When Moses counted the Levites, the Torah used a phrase that could mean either during Aaron's lifetime or after his death. Two rabbis disagreed about the grammar, and the disagreement was not trivial.

If the counting happened after Aaron's death, then the priestly duties fell to his grandsons, not just his sons. The structure of the entire priesthood hung on a preposition. Rabbi Yitzhak read the phrase in the present tense, anchored by Haran's death before Terah, and said Aaron was there. Rabbi Hiyya bar Abba read it as a moment after Aaron had gone, and said the grandsons held the line until a new arrangement was made.

The midrash sits with both possibilities, because the question was never which rabbi was right. The arrangement was never final. Not the priesthood, not the wealth, not the rank. God is still building ladders. The grandsons stand on a rung that could have been higher.

WealthWomenMidrash RabbahBamidbarAaron
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From the tradition

Sources

2 sources

The texts this telling draws on, in full. Open a card to read inline, or expand it for a wider, quieter read.

Bamidbar Rabbah 22:8Bamidbar Rabbah

We chase it, toil for it, sail across oceans for it... but is all that effort actually the thing that makes us rich?

Bamidbar Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic teachings on the Book of Numbers, dives into this very question, drawing inspiration from (Psalm 75:7-8): “For it is neither from the east nor from the west, nor from the wilderness or the mountains, but it is God who is the Judge; He humbles this one and exalts that one."

The text asks, what does it mean that wealth doesn't come from the east or west? It's not just about physical journeys, the text explains. A person can toil endlessly in commerce, traveling from one end of the earth to the other, sailing in ships, wandering through the wilderness and over mountains... and still not become wealthy. So, what does that verse about "nor from the wilderness or the mountains [harim]" mean?

Rabbi Abba of Rumanya offers a fascinating interpretation: He says that while harim usually means "mountains," in this verse, it signifies "exaltedness." In other words, a person isn't exalted – made truly wealthy – by those earthly pursuits alone.

So, what does make the difference? According to Bamidbar Rabbah, the Holy One, blessed be He, takes money [nekhasim] from one person and gives it to another. That's why wealth is called nekhasim, the text suggests, because it's concealed [nikhsim] from one and revealed to another. And why are coins called zuzin? Because they move [zazim] from one person to the next. It’s a divine redistribution, a cosmic game of give-and-take. Money, mamon, the text playfully asks: what are you counting [moneh]? It is nothing. Maot – what of the future time [ma le’et]?

Hannah's prayer in 1 Samuel echoes this sentiment: "The Lord puts to death and brings to life; He lowers to the netherworld and raises. The Lord impoverishes and makes rich; He humbles, also [af] elevates." And what is "af elevates?" With the wrath [af] that He brings against this one, He elevates that one.

There's a story about a noblewoman who asked Rabbi Shimon ben Ḥalafta a profound question: "In how many days did the Holy One, blessed be He, create the world?" Rabbi Shimon answered, "In six days, as it is stated: 'For in six days the Lord made the heavens and the earth' (Exodus 20:11)." The noblewoman pressed further: "From that time until now, what has He been doing?"

Rabbi Shimon's response is striking: "He sits and crafts ladders; He elevates this one and lowers that one." That's why it is stated: "But it is God who is the Judge; He humbles this one and exalts that one" (Psalms 75:8). God is constantly adjusting, rebalancing, shifting fortunes.

The text goes on to illustrate this with the story of the Reubenites and Gadites. When God wanted to enrich them, He delivered the Midianites into their hands. The Israelites captured the Midianite women, children, and livestock – leading to "much livestock" for the tribes of Reuben and Gad. God humbled the Midianites and exalted Israel, fulfilling the words: “For it is neither from the east nor from the west, nor from the wilderness or the mountains, but it is God who is the Judge; He humbles this one and exalts that one” (Psalms 75:7–8).

So, what does all this mean for us? It suggests that while hard work and ambition are important, they're not the only factors determining our success. There's a deeper, more mysterious force at play – a divine hand shaping our destinies, redistributing resources, and reminding us that true wealth isn't just about what we accumulate, but about something far greater. Perhaps it's a call to humility, to recognizing that our fortunes are intertwined, and to appreciating the blessings we have, knowing that they are ultimately a gift.

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Bamidbar Rabbah 2:26Bamidbar Rabbah

Bamidbar Rabbah turns to If Aaron's Grandsons Had Sons the Priesthood Would Differ.

The text gets a bit more complex, focusing on the phrase "al penei Aaron, their father," which literally means "in the presence of." The question is: does this mean "during Aaron's lifetime" or "after his death?" Rabbi Yitzḥak argues it means during Aaron's life, while Rabbi Ḥiyya bar Abba contends it means after his death.

Each rabbi brings prooftexts to support his interpretation. Rabbi Yitzḥak draws a parallel to (Genesis 11:28), where it says Haran died "al penei Teraḥ his father." Since Haran clearly died while Teraḥ was still alive, Rabbi Yitzḥak argues that "al penei" implies "during his lifetime."

Rabbi Ḥiyya bar Abba, on the other hand, points to (Genesis 23:3), where it says Abraham rose "from al penei his dead" (meaning his deceased wife, Sarah). In this case, "al penei" clearly refers to a situation after death. Therefore, he argues, "al penei" in our passage could mean after Aaron's death.

So, what are the practical implications of these different interpretations? According to Rabbi Yitzḥak, if Aaron became ritually impure, Elazar would step in. And if Elazar became impure, Itamar would take over. It was a system of checks and balances, ensuring the priestly duties were always fulfilled.

The text then veers into an anecdote about Shimon ben Kimḥit, a High Priest who was temporarily disqualified due to a rather unfortunate (and messy!) encounter with the king of the Arabs. His brother, Yehuda, stepped in to take his place. The amazing part? Their mother, Kimḥit, had the unique honor of seeing both her sons serve as High Priest on the very same day! Talk about nachas, pride in one's children!

But the story doesn't end there. The Sages marvel at Kimḥit’s virtue, noting that she had seven sons, all of whom served as High Priests. They ask her what merit she had to achieve such a blessing. Her reply? She lived a life of utmost modesty. According to her, the beams of her house never saw her hair. The Sages praise her, saying "All kimḥa is flour, but Kimḥit’s kimḥa is fine flour." (Here, kimḥa means flour, and the sages are making a play on her name). They even associate her with the verse in (Psalms 45:14): "All the glory of the king's daughter is within."

Finally, the text returns to Rabbi Ḥiyya bar Abba's interpretation. According to him, after Aaron died, Elazar served. And after Elazar died, Itamar served. This, he says, is why the verse states that they served "al penei Aaron, their father", because their service was a direct continuation of his legacy, even after his passing.

What can we glean from all this? It’s more than just a dry discussion of priestly succession. It’s about the nature of leadership, the importance of continuity, and the profound impact of family, both in its presence and absence. It’s about how even seemingly small details, like the lack of children or the interpretation of a single phrase, can open up vast and complex understandings of our tradition. And isn’t that what makes studying these ancient texts so rewarding? It's not just about the past; it's about how the past informs our present and shapes our future.

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