5 min read

Enoch Saw the Tree of Life and Wept for the Righteous

In the third heaven, Enoch found the Garden of Eden as it was before Adam's expulsion -- the Tree of Life at center, three hundred angels always singing.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. He Looked Down and Recognized It
  2. The Tree at the Center
  3. Who It Was Prepared For
  4. What He Felt There
  5. The Measurement of the Garden

He Looked Down and Recognized It

When the angels brought Enoch to the third heaven, he looked down. Below him, below the level of clouds and the celestial sea and the darkness where the chained angels wept, he saw something he recognized but had never seen: the Garden of Eden, exactly as it had been before Adam was sent out of it.

The produce was unlike anything on earth, the text says, and then it reaches for language it acknowledges is insufficient. Sweet-flowering trees with sweet-smelling fruit. Foods bubbling with fragrant exhalation. Every tree in the garden bearing fruit at the same time. No tree unfruitful. Every place blessed. The garden was located between corruptibility and incorruptibility, not fully in the mortal world and not fully outside it, standing at the boundary between the two.

The Tree at the Center

At the center stood the Tree of Life. The text reaches for superlatives and then notes that the superlatives fall short: of ineffable goodness and fragrance, adorned more than every existing thing. Gold-colored, vermilion, fire-like, all at once. Its branches covered everything around it. Its root reached down to the end of the earth. This was the place where God rested when he entered paradise: the divine resting place below, as the throne room was above.

Three hundred shining angels managed the garden, tending it and singing without pause. Their voices did not stop. The garden was never quiet.

Who It Was Prepared For

Enoch asked his guides: for whom is this place? They told him: for the righteous who endure hardship in their lives, who turn away from wickedness, who judge fairly, who give bread to the hungry, who clothe the naked, who lift the fallen, who help the orphaned, who walk without fault before the face of the Lord. This is what they inherit: a garden between corruption and incorruption, three hundred angels singing, the Tree of Life at the center.

The guides showed him also what was on the northern side of the third heaven. Enoch looked and saw a place of suffering, darkness, and fire. The contrast was exact and deliberate. The garden of the righteous was on the south side, radiant and abundant. The place of those who did not walk without fault was on the north, and its darkness was the same absolute darkness he had passed through in the second heaven, but hotter.

What He Felt There

The text says that when Enoch saw the garden and heard the account of who it was for, he wept. Not from grief but from something harder to name, the feeling of a person looking at the destination of every act of mercy they have ever witnessed, seeing the specific form of its reward, understanding the economy of it all from a vantage point that living persons are not usually given.

He had come from the second heaven, where the chained angels had begged him to intercede and God had said there was no intercession available for beings who had turned away from their own nature. Now he was in the third heaven looking at the place prepared for humans who had not turned away. The contrast was not subtle. The garden was exactly as full of light as the second heaven had been full of dark.

The Measurement of the Garden

2 Enoch gives the garden specific physical properties: four rivers of honey and oil flowing out from it, groves of fruit trees in every variety, the fragrance reaching beyond the garden's boundaries into the levels of heaven above and below it. The precision serves a purpose. In the apocalyptic tradition, paradise is not a vague promise; it is a specific destination with a specific population and specific features that can be described in detail because they have been witnessed by someone who made the journey and came back. Enoch is that witness. His tears at the vision of the garden are the tears of a man who has been permitted to see the end of the accounting he has been watching since the second heaven's darkness, and who understands now that the two places, the darkness and the garden, are not accidents but the two poles of a moral structure that runs from the bottom of the third heaven to the top of it.


← All myths

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.

Vita Adae et Evae 25-29Life of Adam and Eve

One such story, preserved in Vita Adae et Evae (The Life of Adam and Eve), tells of a remarkable vision. It's a bit obscure, not as well-known as other heavenly journeys like Enoch's, but it's incredibly powerful.

As the story goes, Adam, nearing the end of his life, calls his son Seth to his side. “Hear these words, my son,” he says, imparting a profound truth. "One day, not long after your mother and I had been expelled from Paradise, as we finished our prayers, I had a vision..."

Adam, bowed in prayer, still reeling from the loss of Eden. Suddenly, a chariot appears "like the wind and its wheels were fiery." Before he can even grasp what's happening, he's swept up, transported back to… Paradise.

There, he beholds a sight both terrifying and awe-inspiring: the Lord seated on a mighty throne. The flames radiating from God's face are unbearable, and angels surround the chariot in countless numbers. Overwhelmed, Adam prostrates himself.

And then he hears the divine voice. "'Because you transgressed My commandment, the time has come for you to die.'" Can you imagine the weight of those words? After all this time, the consequence of his actions is finally catching up to him.

But Adam, ever the creation of God's own hands, pleads for mercy. "'Master of the Universe! Do not cast me out of your presence, I whom You shaped out of dust. Do not banish what You Yourself nourished.'" It's a raw, heartfelt plea for forgiveness and remembrance.

And God responds, offering a glimmer of hope: "'Fear not, because of your love of knowledge, your seed will always be with Me.'" This promise, that his descendants, his legacy, will endure, must have been a great comfort. The Zohar tells us of the importance of a righteous lineage, and here, it’s confirmed for Adam himself.

Prostrate once more, Adam offers a prayer of praise: "'You are the eternal and supreme God. You are the true Light shining above all lights. May it be Your will to bestow abundance on the race of men.'" It's a moment of profound humility and acceptance.

Then, as swiftly as it began, the vision changes. The angel Michael seizes Adam's hand and leads him out of Paradise. Michael touches the waters surrounding Paradise with his rod, and they freeze solid. Together, they cross this newly formed bridge, returning Adam to the world. "That is when the vision came to an end. Nor did I die on that day.”

What does it all mean? This story is a powerful example of a Merkavah (the Divine Chariot) myth. Merkavah, meaning "chariot" in Hebrew, refers to a mystical tradition centered on visions of the divine chariot. Like Ezekiel, Adam experiences a direct encounter with the divine presence, as explored in depth by scholars like Gershom Scholem.

According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, this narrative places Adam as the first to undertake such a heavenly journey. While Enoch's ascent is more widely known, this glimpse into Adam's experience reveals a similar yearning for connection with the divine. As we find in Midrash Rabbah, the desire to return to the source, to be close to God, is a recurring theme in Jewish thought.

This vision, occurring soon after the expulsion, suggests a longing for reconciliation, a desire to understand his place in the divine plan. God's reassurance, that Adam's lineage will be remembered, offers solace and reaffirms his importance in the grand scheme of creation.

So, the next time you think about Adam, remember this lesser-known story. Remember his journey back to Paradise, his plea for forgiveness, and the promise of his enduring legacy. It's a reminder that even after mistakes, there's always the possibility of connection, of hope, and of a place in the divine tapestry.

Full source
Shir HaShirim Rabbah 9:3Shir HaShirim Rabbah

Shir HaShirim Rabbah turns to Sixty Righteous Souls Under the Tree of Life in Eden.

What's truly astonishing is the sheer scale described. It's taught that the Tree of Life itself covers a walking distance of five hundred years! And not just the foliage, but, as Rabbi Yehuda ben Rabbi Ilai clarifies, even the trunk stretches that far. Can you even wrap your head around that?

The descriptions don't stop there. The text continues with increasingly vast measurements. Now, a kor is an ancient measure of land, big enough to be seeded with one kor of seed, roughly 75,000 square cubits. A tarkav is much smaller, one-sixtieth of a kor. It's a way of illustrating the incredible abundance and scale of Eden.

The passage then launches into a geographical comparison. The runoff of Kush irrigates Egypt. Egypt, we're told, is a forty-day walk, measuring 400 by 400 parasangs (an ancient Persian unit of distance). And get this: Egypt is only one-sixtieth the size of Kush! Kush itself is a seven-year walk and a mere one-sixtieth of the whole world.

Still with me? Good, because here's where it gets really wild. The world is described as a five-hundred-year walk in both length and width. And even that immense area is just one four-hundredth the size of Gehenna – often translated as Hell! Based on these measurements, the walking distance of Gehenna would be two hundred thousand years! We thus find that the whole world in its entirety is like a pot cover for Gehenna.

Then comes the kicker: the world is one-sixtieth the size of Eden, and, crucially, Eden is described as being "beyond measure." Some suggest the text should read that Gehenna is one-sixtieth the size of Eden, but either way, the emphasis on the infinite scale of Eden is clear.

So, what about the folks who aren't under the Tree of Life? The passage mentions "eighty concubines," interpreted as sixty groups of "middling" people. They, too, are studying Torah, but outside the immediate presence of the Tree. And then there are the "young women without number," representing the countless disciples of wisdom.

A natural question arises: are these different groups in conflict? Are they arguing with each other? Not at all! The verse continues: "One is my faultless dove." The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) emphasizes their unity, stating that they all draw from the same source, the same halakha (Jewish law), the same verbal analogies, the same a fortiori arguments. They might be in different locations, at different levels, but they are all connected to the same core truth.

What does all of this tell us? It's more than just a series of fantastical geographical measurements. It's a symbolic representation of the vastness of the spiritual realm. The endless scale of Eden, compared to even the immense size of the world and Gehenna, reminds us of the infinite potential for growth and connection with the Divine. And the image of countless souls, all studying Torah and drawing from a single source, speaks to the underlying unity of all spiritual seekers. So, next time you picture the Garden of Eden, remember: it's bigger than you think!

Full source