The Ten Tribes Feasted While the Exile Was Already Sealed
Three sentences were sealed in heaven on the same day -- the fall of the ten tribes, Sennacherib's ruin, and a king struck with leprosy.
Table of Contents
The Feast of the Foremost of the Nations
Each tribe of the northern kingdom kept its own wine cellar. When the tribal chiefs gathered for a feast, they did not share a common cup. Each man drank from his own vintage, from the wine his own territory had produced, and the feast stretched until midnight, and from midnight until dawn. By the time one cup was finished, another was being pressed.
This is the scene Midrash Tanchuma Buber on Shmini reconstructs from the prophet Amos, who addressed the northern kingdom of Israel in the mid-eighth century BCE during the reign of Jeroboam II, when the kingdom was at the peak of its prosperity. Amos did not speak softly about this prosperity. He called its beneficiaries the "notable men of the foremost of the nations" and described them as lying on beds of ivory, drinking wine by the bowlful, anointing themselves with the finest oils. Everything about their ease was an accusation. They were the foremost of the nations. Their greatness was so absolute that they had stopped being afraid of losing it.
The Table Game
At these feasts, the tribes compared their great men to the great men of the nations. The game had a rhythm. Who was mightiest among the nations? Goliath, whose height was six cubits and a span. Who was mightiest in Israel? Samson, who tore the lion with his bare hands and killed a thousand Philistines with a jawbone. Samson was greater. Who was wealthiest among the nations? Hadrian. Who was wealthiest in Israel? Solomon, who made silver as common in Jerusalem as stone. Solomon was greater. Who was wisest? Bilam among the nations. Ahitofel in Israel. Israel won every comparison.
The game was not pride exactly. It was something more dangerous. Pride at least carries awareness of what it could lose. This was ease -- the settled certainty of a people who had compared themselves to every other nation and found themselves superior, and had begun to act as if superiority were permanent.
Three Decrees Sealed in One Day
Yalkut Shimoni on Torah, the medieval midrashic anthology drawing on older sources, carries the tradition that three sentences were sealed in heaven on the same day. The first: the exile of the ten tribes. The second: the destruction of Sennacherib's army. The third: Uzziah, king of Judah, struck with leprosy for entering the Temple with a censer in an act of priestly usurpation.
The three decrees do not obviously belong together. Two are disasters for Israel and its enemies. One is a personal punishment for a king. But the tradition held them in the same sealed moment because they shared a cause. Pride. The tribes had it. Sennacherib had it. Uzziah had it. The ten tribes lounged on ivory couches. Sennacherib sent his messengers to mock the God of Jerusalem the way they had mocked the gods of every other nation they had conquered. Uzziah walked into the Temple with fire in a pan because he had been so successful as a king that no authority felt binding anymore.
Wine and the Lesson of Noah
Yalkut Shimoni connects the exile of the tribes to an older story: Noah. The Torah says Noah was uncovered, passively, not that he uncovered himself. He did not choose his shame. The wine chose it for him. His drinking caused exile -- first to himself, then to whole generations. The northern tribes repeated the pattern. The wine that flowed from separate tribal cups was the same wine that Noah drank on the day he planted the vineyard, the same day he pressed the first fruit, the same day he was shamed.
The rabbis counted fourteen words in the flood narrative that begin with the Hebrew letter for "and" -- a string of small grammatical hooks -- and read them as fourteen warnings against wine. Each verb in the story marked another step downward. The ten tribes were not a special case. They were the latest instance of a pattern that was old before Abraham was born.
Josephus and the Plain Fact of Erasure
Josephus, writing his Antiquities of the Jews in the first century CE, describes the fall of the northern kingdom without midrashic interpretation. Nine hundred and forty-seven years after the Exodus, Shalmaneser king of Assyria discovered that Hoshea, the last king of Israel, had been secretly negotiating with Egypt. The Assyrian response was total. Three years of siege. Samaria fell. The entire population was deported to Media and Persia. Ten tribes. Gone. Eight hundred years after Joshua had led them into the land, two hundred and forty years after they had split from the House of David -- they vanished.
The Talmud Bavli in tractate Sanhedrin records a different kind of absence: the ten tribes were carried beyond the river Sambatyon, a mythical river that runs with stones and gravel all six days of the week and rests only on the Sabbath, making it impassable at the only time the tribes would be willing to cross it. They remained beyond it, waiting, concealed behind clouds and darkness, unable to communicate with their fellow Jews for centuries. The exile was not only geographic. It was cosmic. The Sambatyon sealed them inside a kind of permanent Sabbath that no one could cross.
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