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When God's Perfect Way Survived Jerusalem's Enemies

Sennacherib surrounds Jerusalem and the Midrash asks whether God's perfect way holds when nations close in like bees around the city walls.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Claim That Needed Testing
  2. Commandments Were Given to Refine
  3. Sennacherib Among the Fathers
  4. Perfection Tested by Fire

The Claim That Needed Testing

God's way is perfect. David sang that line at the end of his great song of deliverance, when his enemies had been scattered and the danger had passed. It is easy to say when the danger has passed.

The Midrash puts the claim under pressure.

What does it mean for God's way to be perfect when Sennacherib is surrounding Jerusalem? When the Assyrian king has taken forty-six fortified cities and shut Hezekiah in Jerusalem like a bird in a cage and the nations have closed in like bees around a hive? Perfection is not ornament. It has to survive contact with the worst that history can produce. The fire-tested path is still a path.

Commandments Were Given to Refine

The third-century Babylonian sage Rav gave the perfection of God's way a practical explanation. God did not give Israel the commandments because God needed anything from them. God does not need the slaughter of an animal or the abstention from certain foods or the careful procedure of priestly service. Israel needs these things. God gave them to refine the one who observes them.

The Midrash asks the uncomfortable question directly: does God care whether the animal is slaughtered from the front or from the back? The obvious answer is that God does not need the slaughter at all. The less obvious answer is that the person who practices careful attention, restraint, and obedience in small matters becomes a different kind of person. The commandments work on the one who performs them. The discipline changes the interiority.

God's perfect way is not only a road God walks. It is a road God has laid down for a people to walk, and the walking changes the walker.

Sennacherib Among the Fathers

The Midrash then makes a startling claim about the Assyrian king. Sennacherib is counted among those who gathered Israel's ancestors. He belongs to the record of the nations that shaped Jewish history through opposition, through conquest, through the fear they put into the people that drove them back toward their God.

Sennacherib came to Jerusalem at the height of his power. His army had not yet met a wall it could not breach. His messengers stood at the city gate and shouted at Hezekiah's people in their own language, telling them their God could not save them any more than the gods of the other nations he had destroyed. The nations around Jerusalem were not abstract pressure. They had faces, generals, siege works, and contempt.

That night, the angel of God struck the Assyrian camp and one hundred and eighty-five thousand soldiers were dead by morning. Sennacherib returned to Nineveh and was killed by his own sons. Jerusalem stood.

Perfection Tested by Fire

The silver that enters the crucible comes out refined. The commandments that seemed ornamental under peaceful conditions proved essential under siege. The people who had kept the fire burning on the altar and maintained the Temple service through Hezekiah's reformations were the people who had the capacity to pray honestly when the city was surrounded.

God's way is perfect, the Midrash says, in the same way that refined silver is perfect: not because it was always clean, but because it survived what lesser metals could not. The perfection is the result of pressure held and passed through, not the perfection of something that was never tested.

David sang about that perfection after the danger passed. The Midrash insists that the song was true even during the danger. Especially during the danger. A God whose way is only perfect when Jerusalem is safe is not a God whose way is actually perfect.

DavidJerusalemMessiahCommandmentsNations
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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.

Midrash Tehillim 18:24Midrash Tehillim

" Okay, sounds good. But what does that mean?

Rav, a prominent Babylonian Amora (sage) of the early 3rd century, offers a rather provocative idea. He suggests that God didn't give the commandments to Israel because God needed something from us. Instead, Rav says, God gave the commandments to Israel "except to refine them." To refine us. As it says in (Psalms 12:7), "The words of the Lord are pure words." The commandments, in this view, are a tool for our own spiritual growth, a way to polish our souls. It’s not about God needing us to jump through hoops. It’s about us becoming better through the act of engaging with these divine instructions.

Then the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) throws us a curveball: "Does God care whether He slaughters an animal from the front or from the back?" It's a jarring question, isn't it? It forces us to confront the seemingly trivial aspects of ritual law. Does God really care about the minutiae?

Rabbi Berechiah, quoting Rabbi Jacob, offers a surprising response, drawing on (Leviticus 7:24): "And the fat of a carcass and the fat of a torn animal…" In other words, things that are forbidden.

Here’s the kicker: Rabbi Berechiah suggests that because you haven't eaten these forbidden things in this world, your reward in the World to Come will be greater! It’s a fascinating twist. The deprivation, the self-restraint, actually enriches your future experience. As it says in (Joel 2:26), "And you shall eat and be satisfied." The implication is that the satisfaction will be all the sweeter because of what you abstained from.

So, what are we to make of all this? It seems that the commandments, even the ones that appear arbitrary, aren't about blind obedience. They're about the choices we make, the discipline we cultivate, and the refinement of our very selves. They are not about God's needs, but about our potential.

The point isn't necessarily about the act of slaughtering an animal a certain way, or avoiding certain fats. The point, as the Midrash so beautifully illustrates, is about the process of engaging with the divine will, of choosing the higher path, and of refining ourselves in the process.

It's a powerful reminder that even in the smallest details, there's an opportunity for growth, for meaning, and for a deeper connection to something far greater than ourselves. What seemingly small detail in your life could be an opportunity for profound growth?

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Midrash Tehillim 118:12Midrash Tehillim

That feeling, that image, is something the ancient rabbis explored deeply in their interpretations of the Psalms. to one particularly vivid passage from Midrash Tehillim, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Psalms, specifically Psalm 118.

This passage paints a dramatic picture of a future where all nations converge on Jerusalem, not once, not twice, but three times. It’s a vision interwoven with echoes of past conflicts, drawing parallels with historical figures like Sennacherib, the Assyrian king who besieged Jerusalem, and Nebuchadnezzar, the Babylonian ruler who destroyed the First Temple. These weren't just historical events; they were prototypes, glimpses of what could come again.

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) tells us that each of these three times, Gog and Magog, figures often associated with apocalyptic battles, are destined to come to Jerusalem. The first time, the verse "All nations surround me" (Psalm 118:10) comes to life as the entire world gathers, drawn to Jerusalem. It's not necessarily a hostile gathering at first. As the prophet Micah (4:2) says, "And many nations shall come and say, Come, and let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, and to the house of the God of Jacob." There’s an initial sense of seeking, of yearning. But then, the mood shifts.

The passage concludes with the image of "curtains," implying vulnerability. But God reassures, "For I will be to them a wall of fire round about" (Zechariah 2:9). A protective barrier, a divine shield.

The second time, the intensity escalates. "Surround me, they surround me" (Psalm 118:11). Now, all the nations feel the pressure, the internal conflict, and are drawn to Jerusalem. This time it’s more deliberate, more adversarial. (Psalm 2:1-2) rings out: "Why do the nations rage, and the peoples imagine a vain thing? The kings of the earth set themselves, and the rulers take counsel together, against the Lord, and against his anointed." This is active opposition, a direct challenge to divine authority. But again, the promise echoes, "For I will be to them a wall of fire round about."

And then, the third and final time. "Surround me like bees" (Psalm 118:12). The Midrash elaborates: the nations spread models, blueprints, throughout the lands, preparing for war. It's a coordinated, global effort. As (Joel 4:9) declares, "Proclaim ye this among the nations: Prepare for war." This is no longer a pilgrimage or a political standoff. This is outright war. But even here, the promise holds: "For I will be to them a wall of fire round about."

What does it all mean? Why these three attempts? Why this repeated image of being surrounded? Perhaps it speaks to the cyclical nature of conflict, the persistent human tendency towards division and aggression. Perhaps it's a reminder that even in the face of overwhelming odds, divine protection is possible.

This passage from Midrash Tehillim offers a powerful meditation on vulnerability, resilience, and the enduring promise of divine protection amidst the storms of history. It invites us to consider: what walls of fire do we need in our own lives, and where do we find the strength to face being surrounded?

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