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The Lost Tribes and Isaiah's Promise That Banishment Is Not Final

Ten tribes taken by Assyria in 722 BCE never came back. The rabbis found one Hebrew word in Psalm 147 promising that even the most expelled can be gathered.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Disappearance That History Could Not Explain Away
  2. The Weight of One Word
  3. What Isaiah Promised Would Come Out of the Desert
  4. Passover Night and the Promise's Timing
  5. The First and Last Who Hold the Boundaries

The Disappearance That History Could Not Explain Away

In 722 BCE the Assyrian empire carried away the ten northern tribes of Israel. The Assyrians were thorough. They replaced the deported population with peoples from other parts of their empire and mixed the remnant with foreigners until the tribal identity dissolved. The ten tribes went east and did not return. No other people scattered in this way has ever been definitively accounted for. The rabbis who assembled Midrash Tehillim, working in the land of Israel between the fifth and ninth centuries CE, refused to treat this as a closed case. They found in Psalm 147 a Hebrew word that reopened it.

The Weight of One Word

Psalm 147:2 says that God gathers the nidchei Yisrael, the rejected of Israel. The root of nidchei carries a specific force: not merely lost or wandered away, but actively pushed, expelled, driven beyond the recognizable boundaries of the world. Deuteronomy 29:27 uses the same root when it describes Israel being cast into another land as the consequence of breaking the covenant. It is the word for something that has been forcibly removed from its place.

When the Midrash reads that God gathers the nidchei Yisrael, it hears this as a promise directed specifically at the ten tribes, because they are the ones who were most completely nidchah, most thoroughly expelled. The verse is not speaking abstractly about the spiritually distant or the culturally assimilated. It is speaking about the ones who were physically driven beyond any map that Israel could read.

What Isaiah Promised Would Come Out of the Desert

Midrash Tehillim 147:4 sets this reading in conversation with Isaiah 43:18-21. Isaiah says: do not remember the former things, do not consider the things of old. Behold, I am doing a new thing. It springs up, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert. The wild animals will honor me because I give water in the wilderness and rivers in the desert to give drink to my chosen people.

The wilderness in Isaiah is not a general image of difficulty. It is the specific terrain between Assyria and the land of Israel, the geography of the exile. The way in the wilderness is the road home for the nidchei Yisrael, the expelled ones who are gathered from the east. Isaiah says this new thing is something you will not recognize immediately because you are still looking for the pattern of the old thing, the Exodus from Egypt that has defined what redemption looks like. The new thing will come differently, through different terrain, by a different route. But the destination is the same.

Passover Night and the Promise's Timing

Legends of the Jews transmits a tradition from Midrash Rabbah about the timing of the final redemption. Moses declared that just as God protected Israel against the angels of destruction on the night of the fifteenth of Nisan, so too would the final redemption come on that same night. The cosmic anniversary of freedom. The night on which the pattern was first established becomes the night toward which all subsequent redemptions are oriented.

The ten tribes went east. The promise of Psalm 147 runs west. The night of Passover is the hinge on which both the first redemption from Egypt and the final ingathering turn. God gathers the nidchei Yisrael: the word is a present tense, the psalm tells us, which the rabbis heard as ongoing. Not gathered once and done. Gathering continuously, across centuries, through deserts that have not yet produced their rivers.

The First and Last Who Hold the Boundaries

Kalach Pitchei Chokhmah, a kabbalistic text in the tradition of the Zohar, takes the verse from Isaiah 44:6, I am first and I am last, as a description of the Eyn Sof, the boundless divine essence that encompasses everything. The first and the last means there is no outside. There is no exile that falls beyond God's reach because there is no beyond. The ten tribes went to the uttermost east. The promise of Psalm 147 says God is already there, already gathering, because the gathering was written at the same time as the expulsion, and the word first and the word last are both God's.


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Midrash Tehillim 147:4Midrash Tehillim

Jewish tradition recognizes this feeling – the ache of exile, the pain of loss – and offers a powerful promise of healing and return.

One particularly beautiful passage in Midrash Tehillim, a collection of homiletic interpretations of the Book of Psalms, explores this very idea. It focuses on the verse, "נדחי ישראל יכנס" (nidchei Yisrael yichanes), which translates to "Rejected Israel will enter" (Psalm 147:2). But who are these "rejected" ones?

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) suggests it's a reference to the lost tribes of Israel, scattered after the Assyrian conquest. As (Deuteronomy 29:27) says, "He has cast them into another land." This idea of being lost, of being exiled, echoes throughout our history. And yet, even in that state of being lost, (Isaiah 27:13) offers hope: "and those who were lost will come."

The Midrash Tehillim goes on to say that in that moment of return, of redemption, Israel will know no pain until they are healed. That's a powerful statement! It’s like saying the healing will be so complete, so profound, that the memory of the pain will fade. The text then quotes, "The doctor for broken hearts." (Psalm 147:3)

But what breaks the heart of Israel? According to the Midrash, it's the destruction of Jerusalem. (Lamentations 5:17) poignantly captures this sentiment: "For this our heart has become faint." Can you feel the weight of that grief? The Midrash imagines God responding to this heartbreak, saying, "Behold, I weep and heal you," again referencing, "The doctor for broken hearts."

There’s a profound connection here between suffering and healing. The Midrash even suggests that the broken heart of Israel somehow amplifies God's healing power. It's as if the depth of the wound creates space for an even greater outpouring of divine love.

(Isaiah 30:26) speaks of a future day "that the Lord binds up the wound of His people," specifically referring to the devastation caused by the destruction of Jerusalem. But the promise doesn't end there. Just as the one who destroyed it will rebuild it, the Midrash asserts, quoting (Isaiah 51:11): "Joy and gladness will overtake them, and sorrow and sighing will flee away." And they will rejoice forever.

What a powerful vision! From brokenness to wholeness, from despair to eternal joy. The Midrash Tehillim offers a message of unwavering hope, reminding us that even in the darkest of times, the promise of healing and redemption remains. It’s a promise whispered across generations, a evidence of the enduring strength and resilience of the Jewish people. It suggests that even our deepest wounds can be healed, and that joy, ultimately, will prevail. Can we dare to believe it?

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Legends of the Jews 4:350Legends of the Jews

It all revolves around Pesach (Passover), Passover, the holiday celebrating our liberation from slavery in Egypt.

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), in Midrash Rabbah, suggests something truly profound: that the final redemption of Israel will occur on the fifteenth of Nisan – the very same night as our original redemption from Egypt!

Moses himself, according to tradition, declared, "In this night God protected Israel against the Angels of Destruction, and in this night He will also redeem the generations of the future." It’s like the universe has a favorite date, a cosmic anniversary of freedom.

It gets even more interesting. We know the actual deliverance from Egypt happened at night, but the Israelites didn't actually leave until the next day. What's the significance of this delay? It suggests that redemption isn’t just a moment; it’s a process, a journey from darkness into light, from bondage to freedom, that unfolds over time.

And what about the Egyptians? According to the Legends of the Jews, that same night wasn't just about Israel's salvation. It was also the night God repaid the Egyptians for their cruelty. Ginzberg tells us that the night was as bright as day, like the summer solstice, allowing everyone to witness the divine retribution. No one could escape, because, by divine decree, everyone was at home, ensuring they witnessed the consequences of their actions.

Think about the symbolism here: a night of both liberation and retribution, of new beginnings and just endings. It paints a complex picture of redemption, one where justice and mercy intertwine. It’s not just about escaping suffering; it's about witnessing the world being rebalanced, wrongs being righted.

So, as we celebrate Passover each year, we're not just remembering the past. We're also looking forward to the future, to that ultimate night of redemption. A night foretold, a night of liberation, a night of justice… all converging on the fifteenth of Nisan. It makes you wonder, doesn't it? What role will we play when that night finally arrives?

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Kalach Pitchei Chokhmah 16:12Kalach Pitchei Chokhmah

It suggests that the beginning and the end aren't so different after all, that they're both reflections of something far greater.

Consider the words of the prophet Isaiah (44:6): “I am first and I am last.” Simple enough. But in the Kabbalistic tradition, this verse explodes with meaning. It speaks to the Eyn Sof (אין סוף), the Infinite, the boundless divine essence that encompasses everything. According to the ancient text, Kalach Pitchei Chokhmah (Wisdom), this "first and last" idea reveals that God encompasses everything, above and below. He is everything. This isn't just a nice sentiment; it's a cosmic blueprint.

So how do we even begin to wrap our heads around this? Think about the "government of the worlds," the way everything operates, the divine plan unfolding. To understand it, we need to see the whole picture.

Initially, there was utter, absolute perfection. As the Etz Chayim (עץ חיים), the Tree of Life, explains, "Everything was filled with the simple light of Eyn Sof." Imagine a universe saturated with pure, unadulterated divine light. No shadows, no imperfections, just… everything. This state of perfect unity is key.

But (and this is a big "but"), this perfection couldn't remain static. For creation to occur, for anything other than the Eyn Sof to exist, there needed to be a shift. This is where the concept of Tzimtzum (צמצום), or "contraction," comes in. The Tzimtzum describes a withdrawal, a concealment of the divine light, making space for the created world. It’s the ultimate act of divine self-limitation.

Following the Tzimtzum, the "governmental order" emerges. This is often symbolized by the Kav (קו), the "Line," a ray of divine light that pierces the void created by the Tzimtzum, initiating the process of creation and structuring the cosmos. This Kav sets in motion the intricate system of Sefirot (סְפִירוֹת), the emanations of divine energy that shape our reality.

Now, here's the mind-bending part: the end goal of this entire cosmic drama, this intricate dance of creation and manifestation, is a return to that initial state of complete perfection. The ultimate aim is the full revelation of God's unity, just as it was in the beginning. The universe is on a journey back to its source.

So, what does all this mean for us? Perhaps it suggests that even amidst the chaos and imperfections of our lives, there's a deeper current flowing towards wholeness. That the challenges and setbacks we face are part of a larger process of refinement, a journey back to our own divine source. Maybe, just maybe, the beginning and the end are not so far apart after all.

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