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The Three Angels Who Refused to Take Moses

God sent Gabriel, then Michael, then Zagzagel to collect Moses's soul. All three refused. Then Samael volunteered and lost his courage at the door.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Gabriel Said He Could Not Approach
  2. Three Angels Who Said No
  3. When Samael Volunteered
  4. What Happened at the End

Gabriel Said He Could Not Approach

God sent the strongest angel first. Gabriel, the angel of fire and annunciation, the one who had carried urgent messages between heaven and earth for the length of human history, stood before God and gave his reason plainly. He could not approach Moses. Not would not. Could not. "How can I go to him? He outweighs sixty myriads of mortals." Six hundred thousand human beings on one side of the scale and one man on the other, and Gabriel found himself physically unable to cross the distance between them.

The tradition does not read this as cowardice. Gabriel had faced Pharaoh and armies and the darkness at the edge of creation. What he was describing was something more like a law of nature: the accumulated holiness of Moses's life had built a field around him that was not hostility but gravity, and Gabriel could not penetrate it. He came back without the soul.

Three Angels Who Said No

God sent Michael next. Michael, the defender of Israel, the angel who had stood between the people and the armies of heaven on multiple occasions, returned in tears. He had known Moses longer than almost any heavenly being. He had watched Moses receive the Torah, had been present at Sinai, had participated in every crisis of the forty-year wilderness. He could not be the one to end it. He came back weeping and empty-handed.

Then God sent Zagzagel, the angel of sacred wisdom, whose specific domain was the transmission of divine knowledge. Of all the angels, Zagzagel had reason to be the closest to Moses. He had been Moses's teacher during the forty days on Sinai, sitting with him through the full transmission of the Torah, reviewing what Moses knew and confirming what Moses had received. They had studied together. Zagzagel also refused. He returned without the soul and did not explain himself beyond the refusal.

When Samael Volunteered

Samael, the angel of death, had not been asked. He volunteered. He had been waiting throughout the entire sequence, watching the other angels fail, and when the moment came he took it with what the tradition describes as visible pleasure. He picked up his sword and descended toward Moses on Mount Nebo.

He got close enough to see Moses's face.

Moses was sitting, writing the last letters of the Torah. The light that had been shining from his face since Sinai was still there, the radiance that had forced Israel to shield their eyes when Moses spoke to them, the light that had never faded in the forty years since the mountain. Samael stopped. The sword went still in his hand. The tradition records that he lost his courage entirely at the sight of it, that the same quality that had stopped Gabriel and Michael stopped Samael too, but from a different direction. Gabriel and Michael could not bring themselves to take someone they loved. Samael could not bring himself to take someone he feared.

What Happened at the End

God took Moses's soul directly. The tradition says God kissed Moses and drew his soul out with the kiss, that the death was gentler than any angel could have managed, that the one death in all of history which required God's personal intervention was the death of the man who had spoken with God face to face. The angels had been sent as a formality, and they had recognized it before God did. Every one of them had known, from the moment they received the assignment, that this was not a task for an intermediary.

MosesDeath Of MosesGabrielMichaelSamaelAngelsSoul
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From the tradition

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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 7:54Legends of the Jews

The stories surrounding Moses' death, as told in Jewish tradition, are nothing short of extraordinary.

God, seeing that Moses was ready to depart from this world, turns to the angel Gabriel and says, "Go, fetch Me Moses' soul." Seems straightforward. But Gabriel, one of the mightiest angels, recoils! "How can I presume," he asks, "to approach and take the soul of him that outweighs sixty myriads of mortals!" That’s sixty followed by five zeros – six million people! Gabriel is essentially saying, "Moses is too important, too powerful. I can't do it."

Next, God commissions Michael, another archangel, to undertake the task. But Michael, too, refuses, echoing Gabriel’s sentiments, and perhaps even with tears. The reverence for Moses is palpable.

Then comes Zagzagel. According to some traditions, Zagzagel is an angel associated with wisdom and instruction. He says, "Lord of the world! I was his teacher, and he my disciple. How, then, should I take his soul!" The bond between teacher and student, especially in the realm of spiritual guidance, creates a barrier even for an angel.

But then, a different voice enters the scene. Samael (the angel of death), often identified as the angel of death, steps forward. "Lord of the world!" he declares, "Is Moses, Israel's teacher, indeed greater than Adam, whom Thou didst create in Thine image? Is Moses greater than Abraham, who willingly entered the fiery furnace to glorify Thy name? Is he greater than Isaac, who allowed himself to be bound as a sacrifice? Or greater than Jacob or his twelve sons?" Samael is essentially arguing, "I’ve dealt with the best before. Let me handle this."

According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, Samael continues, "Not one of them escaped me, give me therefore permission to fetch Moses' soul."

God's response? "Not one of all these equals him." Not Abraham, the patriarch; not Isaac, the willing sacrifice; not Jacob, the father of the twelve tribes. Moses stands alone.

And then God poses a series of rhetorical questions to Samael. "How wouldst thou take his soul? From his face? How couldst thou approach his face that had looked upon My Face! From his hands? Those hands received the Torah, the divine law, how then shouldst thou be able to approach them! From his feet? His feet touched My clouds, how then shouldst thou be able to approach them! Nay, thou canst not approach him at all."

These aren't just physical descriptions; they are testaments to Moses' profound connection with the divine. His face reflected God's presence, his hands held the Torah, his feet walked in God's realm. How could death, even in the form of Samael, dare to touch such holiness?

Yet, Samael persists. "However it be, I pray Thee, permit me to fetch his soul!" And finally, God concedes, "Thou hast My consent."

What does this all mean? Why this elaborate dance of angels? Perhaps it highlights the immense value placed on human life, especially a life dedicated to serving God. Maybe it shows the struggle between the divine will and the forces of mortality. Or perhaps, it's a reminder that even in death, the legacy of a truly righteous individual shines so brightly that it challenges the very nature of existence.

Full source
Legends of the Jews 7:20Legends of the Jews

Legends of the Jews turns to Samael Comes for Moses's Soul but Loses Courage.

Moses is nearing the end. He's bargaining with God, trying to stave off the inevitable decree. But as Legends of the Jews tells us, based on various Midrashic (rabbinic interpretive commentary) sources, another hour has slipped by. A heavenly voice echoes: "How long wilt thou endeavor in vain to avert the sentence? Thou has not only two hours more of life." (Ginzberg, Legends of the Jews, vol. 3)

Who’s been impatiently waiting in the wings? None other than Samael, the head of all evil spirits. He's been counting down the seconds until Moses’ death, eager to snatch his soul, just like any other mortal. He’s practically gloating, "When will the moment be at hand when Michael shall weep and I shall triumph?" (Ibid.)

It's not just about death; it’s a cosmic showdown.

With only two hours left, Michael, Israel’s guardian angel, starts to weep. Can you imagine the scene? The protector of the Jewish people, overcome with grief. For Samael, this is the moment he’s been craving. His victory seems assured.

But Michael, ever the champion, isn’t giving up without a fight. He retorts to Samael: "'Rejoice not against me, mine enemy: when I fall, I shall arise; when I sit in darkness, the Lord shall be a light unto me.'" (Ibid.) It's a powerful declaration of faith and resilience. Even in the face of Moses’ death, even if it feels like a defeat, Michael knows that hope remains. He will rise again through Joshua, who will lead the Israelites to conquer the land.

And there's more! Even if darkness descends with the destruction of the First and Second Temples, Michael asserts, God will be a light on the day of the Messiah.

It's a breathtaking moment, isn't it? This isn't just about the death of a man; it’s about the eternal struggle between good and evil, hope and despair, and the unwavering belief in ultimate redemption. It's a reminder that even in our darkest hours, the light of faith can guide us forward. The story of Moses' final hours, as embellished by these traditions, offers a powerful message of hope and resilience. It reminds us that even in the face of death, the spirit of the Jewish people, and the promise of redemption, endures.

Full source
Legends of the Jews 3:139-141Legends of the Jews

The Torah tells us about such a person: Moses. When he descended from Mount Sinai after those momentous forty days and nights, he was… different.

The text says his body was bathed in invisible light, a radiant aura emanated from his face, surpassing even the sun's brilliance. Imagine the sheer awe, maybe even terror, that would inspire. The text in (Exodus 34:29) tells us, "the skin of his face was radiant, since he had spoken with Him."

Where did this incredible radiance come from? The biblical commentators, as we find in Exodus Rabbah, have wrestled with this question for centuries.

Some say the radiance clung to Moses after his intimate conversation with God. Others suggest it emanated from the very cave where God shielded Moses with His hand, as it's written, "And I will shield you with My Hand" (Exod. 33:22). Rashi, citing Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) Tanhuma, explains that God covering Moses' face with His hand was the direct cause.

Then there's the mystical perspective. Some say this light was none other than the light of the first day of creation – a primordial light that God restored to Moses on Mount Sinai, and which sustained him for the rest of his life. The Zohar, that foundational text of Jewish mysticism, identifies it as the very light of the first day, a light said to exist in the World to Come. We explored this light in more detail earlier. The Zohar also says that this light actually shone from Moses' face during the first three months after his birth, only to be withdrawn when the infant Moses was taken to Pharaoh's palace. It was then returned to him when he stood on Mount Sinai.

And then there's a truly fascinating, almost whimsical explanation found in Exodus Rabbah 47:6. Rabbi Yehudah bar Nachman suggests that after Moses finished writing down the Torah, a tiny drop of ink remained on his quill. He touched his forehead with it, and that's what caused his face to shine!

Whatever the source, the effect was undeniable. The light was so intense that the Israelites couldn't even approach him. Aaron and the others were afraid. So, Moses had to wear a veil. He only removed it when he met with God or taught the Torah.

Ibn Ezra notes that the light that shone from the face of Moses shone like the light of the firmament. Rabbi Hayim ben Attar, author of Or ha-Hayim, emphasizes that the light continued to shine, making Moses a permanent source of light. The fact that the veil was lifted when Moses taught Torah is particularly poignant. It suggests that in teaching Torah, he revealed unveiled truth, giving those who learned from him a glimpse of the Divine radiance.

So, what does this all mean for us? Is it just a fantastical story about a distant figure from the past? Or is there something deeper here? Perhaps the story of Moses' radiant face reminds us that encounters with the Divine – however we experience them – can transform us, leaving a lasting mark on our very being. Maybe, just maybe, by studying Torah, we too can come face to face with that divine radiance, even today.

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