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God Stood at Every Marked Door in Egypt and Barred the Destroyer

Akilas the convert asked the rabbis what God actually promised a stranger. Bread and clothing, said the verse. The rabbi told him to read it again.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Destroyer Was Held at the Painted Lintel
  2. Sitting, Passing, and One Day Standing
  3. The Gate That Was Never Shut
  4. God Made Worlds and Sent Them Back
  5. Aaron Went In Wearing the King's Own Robe
God Stood at Every Marked Door in Egypt and Barred the Destroyer Click for full size

The Destroyer Was Held at the Painted Lintel

Two came to every doorway in Egypt that night, and only one of them was God.

The other had been sent out to do the killing and was not permitted everywhere. Blood went on the lintel and down both posts while the meat was still roasting inside, and the mark was not put there for God, who had no difficulty telling one house from another. It was put there for the one walking behind Him. The verse says it plainly. He will pass over the door and will not let the destroyer come into your houses to strike you. Somebody stood in that gap all night, house after house, barring the way, and the destroyer went past every marked doorway and did not turn in.

Sitting, Passing, and One Day Standing

The angel set over the world looked at what happened in Egypt and said a line out of Job. What will I do when God rises up? When He calls the account in, what am I going to answer?

Count the postures. Over the generation of the Flood, God judged sitting down. The psalm puts Him enthroned at the waters, and what came of that judgment was that He blotted out everything alive. Over Egypt He judged while moving, walking the streets, stopping at doors, marking which lintel carried what. He did not wipe out the country. He took the firstborn.

Sitting, He erased a world. Passing, He struck a nation. The prophet says that one day His feet will stand, and that is the posture nobody has seen yet. If judgment while seated did that, and judgment on the move did this, the angel asked, what happens when He stands? And the reason He is going to rise, according to the psalm the sages set beside it, is not idolatry or bloodshed. It is the groan of the poor. For the oppression of the poor, for the sighing of the needy, now I will arise.

The Gate That Was Never Shut

Akilas the convert came to the Rabbis with a verse he could not swallow. It says God loves the stranger, giving him bread to eat and a garment to wear. Bread and a coat. Is that the whole of what a man gets for walking away from everything he was?

One of them answered him without softening it. That is what Jacob asked for. Sleeping on stones at Bethel, with a ladder still burning in his head, he asked God for bread to eat and a garment to wear, and Jacob is the firstborn of the Holy One. It should be enough for you to be handed what he asked for.

Then the Rabbi turned the words over. Jacob was not asking for lunch. He wanted a sign that God was actually with him, and the sign he named was priesthood. Bread to eat is the showbread laid out in the sanctuary. A garment to wear is the vestments Aaron was dressed in. So the promise to the stranger is that his daughters will marry into the priesthood and his grandchildren will eat the showbread and wear the linen.

God pressed the same case Himself, according to the midrash, and picked an unflattering example to do it. Look at the Givonites. They came to Israel out of fear, lied about where they were from, and got a treaty by fraud, and when Saul went after them I gave seven of his descendants into their hands. If I did that for people who came crookedly, what will I not do for people who came in love. The gates stand open at every hour. Whoever wants in, comes in.

Rabbi Berekhya added the other half, so nobody in Israel got comfortable. A man who is circumcised and wicked will not slip past on the mark alone. An angel is sent to draw the foreskin back over him, and Gehenna, seeing it there, opens its mouth.

God Made Worlds and Sent Them Back

Rabbi Abahu found a switch buried in two spellings. When the Torah says these, it cancels what came before. When it says and these, it adds to what came before.

Then he applied it to the first one. These are the generations of the heavens and the earth. Cancelling what? Cancelling the other heavens and earths. He had been making them and looking them over and finding them not to His liking, and putting them back into formlessness, and making the next. When He came to this pair He kept them, and the verse says these, meaning these and not the ones before.

There is a second tell in the same word. Toledot is written short everywhere in the Bible except twice. It is written full at the creation of heaven and earth, because at that hour the angel of death had not yet been let in. It shrank the moment Adam and Eve ate. And it is written full again for Peretz, because the Messiah comes out of Peretz, and in those days death gets swallowed for good.

Elsewhere in the passage the Torah is a noblewoman walking a road, one armed man on her right, one on her left, justice before her and justice behind, and the commandments carried in the middle where nothing can reach them.

Aaron Went In Wearing the King's Own Robe

The last doorway had a curtain instead of a door, and one man a year went through it.

On what merit, the Rabbis asked. Rabbi Hanina son of Rabbi Yishmael said circumcision walked in with him. Rabbi Yitzhak said the tribes did, twelve stones on a breastplate, ruby for Reuben and topaz for Simeon and emerald for Levi and on down the line to chalcedony for Benjamin, so that God would see the names and remember whose brothers these were.

Rabbi Yehoshua of Sikhnin told it as a scene instead. A king's son had wronged his father. His tutor offered to go in and speak for the boy, and then stopped at the entrance, because the palace was full of the king's attendants and a man walking in to argue for a guilty prince tends not to come out. So the king took off his own purple and put it on the tutor and sent him in like that. They saw the robe coming and stood back.

The Holy of Holies was full of ministering angels. Aaron went in past them dressed in garments cut to a pattern God had specified, and the angels saw what he was wearing, and the doorway let him through.


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From the tradition

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The texts behind this telling. Some cards carry a translation of the source; others are our own retelling of it, and each card says which. Every card links out to the original.

Shemot Rabbah 17:5Shemot Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), specifically Shemot Rabbah, a compilation of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Exodus, asks a profound question about this verse. It quotes (Job 31:14): “What shall I do when God rises? When He reckons, what shall I answer Him?” The Midrash attributes this verse not just to Job, but also to the angel who oversees the world, and even to all of humankind. Why? Because it speaks to a universal anxiety about divine judgment.

The Midrash then draws a fascinating parallel between three different periods and modes of divine judgment: the time of the Flood, the Exodus from Egypt, and the Messianic future.

We find regarding the generation of the flood that God judged them while sitting, as it is stated: “The Lord sat enthroned at the flood” (Psalms 29:10). The judgment was absolute: “He blotted out all existence” (Genesis 7:23). A devastating, complete erasure.

But in Egypt, the Midrash tells us, God judged them while passing. As it is stated: “The Lord will pass to smite Egypt,” (Exodus 12:23) and “I will pass in the land of Egypt” (Exodus 12:12). A more targeted, yet still devastating, judgment.

Now, consider the future, the Messianic Age. The Midrash envisions a different kind of judgment. As it is stated: “And His feet will stand on that day” (Zechariah 14:4). And further, “Therefore wait for Me, said the Lord, until the day that I rise up forever… for all the earth will be devoured with the fire of My jealousy” (Zephaniah 3:8).

The implication is clear: if God judged the generation of the Flood while sitting, and the Egyptians while passing, what will happen when He stands to judge the world? Who will be able to withstand such a judgment? This is why, the Midrash says, mankind will echo Job’s question: “What shall I do when God rises?”

But there’s more to it than just fear. The Midrash offers a reason for this future "standing" judgment. It's "because of the outcry of the poor, for the sigh of the needy." As (Psalm 12:6) says: “For the oppression of the poor, for the sigh of the needy, now I will rise, says the Lord.”

So, the ultimate judgment isn't just about divine power or wrath. It's about justice. It's about God responding to the cries of those who suffer. It's a powerful reminder that our actions have consequences, and that God is ultimately concerned with how we treat the most vulnerable among us.

This Midrash from Shemot Rabbah isn't just a historical analysis of different periods of judgment. It's a call to action. It challenges us to consider our own role in creating a more just and compassionate world, so that when the time comes, we might have a better answer to that eternal question: “What shall I do when God rises?”

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Shemot Rabbah 19:4Shemot Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

It's a feeling that Judaism, in its wisdom, addresses head-on. We find a fascinating exploration of this theme in Shemot Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Exodus. Specifically, Shemot Rabbah 19 wrestles with the question of the "foreigner" – the ger (גר).

ger can mean both "foreigner" and "convert," and that double meaning is really at the heart of this whole discussion. The text starts with a seeming contradiction. On one hand, we have the verse about the Paschal offering: "No foreigner shall eat of it" (Exodus 12:43). But then, another verse opens the door: "When a stranger will reside with you, and will perform the paschal offering to the Lord, circumcise all his males..and he will be like a native of the land" (Exodus 12:48-49). So, what's going on here? Is the Torah welcoming or exclusionary?

They use the words of the prophets and the wisdom literature to paint a picture of a God who welcomes everyone. Job says, "The stranger shall not spend the night outside" (Job 31:32). And Shemot Rabbah connects this to the idea that God "does not reject any creature, but rather, He accepts everyone. The gates open at all times, and anyone who seeks to enter may enter." Beautiful. Rabbi Berekhya takes it a step further. He suggests that converts (gerim) are destined for greatness, even to serve as priests in the Temple! He bases this on the verse, "The stranger will join himself with them, and they will be appended to the house of Jacob" (Isaiah 14:1), linking the word "appended" (venispeḥu) to the priesthood, drawing a parallel from I (Samuel 2:36). They are even destined to partake of the showbread (lechem hapanim), the special bread offered in the Temple!

The text even brings in the story of Akilas, a proselyte, who asks a very pointed question: if God loves the stranger, promising food and clothing (Deuteronomy 10:18), is that all there is to it? The Rabbi answers by connecting this to Jacob's request for "food to eat, and clothing to wear" (Genesis 28:20). But it's not just about physical needs. Jacob, whose name became Israel, was asking for assurance that God would be with him, establishing the world through his descendants – sons who would be priests, partaking in the showbread and wearing priestly garments. In other words, Akilas. And all converts, are not merely tolerated but embraced as vital parts of the community.

And the text doesn't shy away from addressing potential objections. What about those who might feel disqualified because of their past? The Rabbis bring up the story of the Gibeonites, who deceived the Israelites but were ultimately protected by God, even when King Saul tried to harm them (II Samuel 21). If God could show mercy to the Gibeonites, who acted out of fear and deceit, how much more so will He accept and exalt converts who come in love and serve for the sake of His name?

However, Shemot Rabbah also offers a stark warning. While the door is open to all, there are still conditions. The text emphasizes the importance of circumcision as a sign of commitment to the covenant. It even suggests that those who scorn the statute (ḥok) of circumcision risk being cast into Gehenna (hell). But even here, there's a twist. Rabbi Berekhya suggests that even wicked, circumcised Israelites might have their foreskins restored by an angel before descending to Gehenna! It's a powerful image, emphasizing the idea that true belonging requires more than just outward symbols.

So, what does all of this mean for us today? I think it's a powerful reminder that Judaism, at its best, is a tradition of radical inclusion. It challenges us to look beyond superficial differences and to recognize the inherent worth and potential of every human being. And it also asks us to examine our own hearts, to ensure that our commitment is more than skin deep. Are we truly embracing the stranger, the convert, the outsider? Are we creating a community where everyone feels like they belong? That's the challenge, and the promise, of Shemot Rabbah.

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Shemot Rabbah 30:3Shemot Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

In Jewish tradition, even a single letter can unlock hidden depths." It's a difference that, according to some rabbinic interpretations, can tell us what's being included and what's being left out.

The Shemot Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic homilies on the Book of Exodus, explores this very question. Rabbi Abahu points out a fascinating pattern: whenever the word ve'eleh is used, it adds to what came before. But when it's just eleh, it excludes something. It's like a subtle code built into the very fabric of the Torah.

So, how does this work in practice? the story turns to some examples.

The creation story in Genesis says, "Eleh are the generations of the heavens and the earth" (Genesis 2:4). Rabbi Abahu asks, what is being rejected here? Well, the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) suggests that God experimented with different versions of heaven and earth, ones that didn't quite meet his standards, before settling on this one. Those earlier attempts? They're not part of the final, enduring legacy.

Similarly, "Eleh are the generations of Noah" (Genesis 6:9). This excludes, according to the Shemot Rabbah, the generations of Enosh, the generation of the Flood, and others deemed unworthy. The Torah then goes into great detail about Noah’s descendants, while the preceding generations receive far less attention. It's as if the Torah is drawing a line in the sand, saying, "These are the ones who matter, the ones whose story continues."

Now, contrast that with instances of ve'eleh. "Ve'eleh are the generations of Ishmael" (Genesis 25:12). This adds to what was previously mentioned. The text then refers back to the children born to Abraham by Keturah, implying a connection, even a similarity, between them and the descendants of Ishmael. The Shemot Rabbah even suggests they were wicked like them!

Another instance: "Ve'eleh are the generations of Isaac" (Genesis 25:19). This adds to what came before – the sons of Ishmael. So, does that mean Jacob, too, is lumped in with the not-so-righteous Esau? Here’s where it gets even more interesting.

The text notes that the word for "generations" – toledot – is usually written in a shortened, or "defective," form in the Torah. Except in two places: "toledot of the heavens and the earth" (Genesis 2:4) and "toledot of Peretz" ((uth 4:1)8). Why?

The Shemot Rabbah offers a powerful reason. The creation of the world was complete and perfect, without the presence of the Angel of Death. And the lineage of Peretz is significant because the Messiah will emerge from his line, and in the Messianic era, death will be swallowed up forever, as it says in Isaiah (25:8), "He will eliminate death forever." So, these two instances of toledot are written in full, symbolizing completeness and the ultimate triumph over death.

Back to Isaac. The fact that toledot is written defectively in "ve'eleh are the generations of Isaac" is interpreted to exclude Jacob from the negative association with Esau. The Messiah can be traced back to Jacob as well, but the text makes a point to separate him, at least in this context.

We see this pattern repeated. "Ve'eleh are the names of the children of Israel" (Exodus 1:1) adds to the previous narrative, linking these individuals to those listed earlier in Genesis (46:8-27) who went down to Egypt. Similarly, "Ve'eleh are the generations of Aaron" (Numbers 3:1) connects them to the righteous individuals counted by Moses and Aaron (Numbers 1:44).

And finally, we arrive at "Ve'eleh are the ordinances" (Exodus 21:1), the very verse that sparked this whole exploration. What does it add to? It adds to the statutes and ordinances established earlier (Exodus 15:25). The Shemot Rabbah beautifully illustrates this by comparing the Torah to a noblewoman walking with armed guards on either side. Justice precedes it, as seen in the earlier ordinances, and justice follows it, in the form of the laws that come after. It's a Torah framed by righteousness.

So, what do we take away from all this? It's more than just a grammatical exercise. That even seemingly small choices in language can reveal profound theological and moral insights. And it encourages us to look closely, to ask questions, and to appreciate the layers of meaning woven into the sacred texts we inherit. What else might we be missing, hidden in plain sight?

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Shemot Rabbah 38:8Shemot Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

What allowed him, a human, to step into the most sacred space?

Shemot Rabbah, a treasure trove of biblical interpretations, explores this very question. "This is the matter," it says, kicking off a fascinating discussion. On what merit could Aaron enter?

Rabbi Ḥanina son of Rabbi Yishmael suggests a powerful idea: the merit of circumcision! He finds a connection in the verse, "With this [bezot] shall Aaron come [into the Sanctuary]" (Leviticus 16:3). "This [zot]," he argues, echoes the phrase used to describe the covenant of circumcision: "This is [zot] My covenant that you shall observe" (Genesis 17:10). There's a beautiful symmetry here, suggesting that the very act of entering into the covenant with God paved the way for Aaron's entry into the divine presence. It's also written, "My covenant was with him, life and peace” (Malachi 2:5).

The exploration doesn't stop there. Rabbi Yitzḥak offers another perspective: the merit of the tribes of Israel. He draws our attention to the verse, "This is [vezeh] the matter that you shall do to them." (Exodus 29:1). Now, get this: the numerical value of the Hebrew word zeh, zayin (7) plus heh (5), equals twelve. Twelve, like the twelve tribes! Rabbi Yitzchak connects this to the twelve stones on Aaron's breastplate, each bearing the name of a tribe. According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, these stones were arranged in a specific order, each tribe associated with a particular gem: Reuben with ruby, Simeon with topaz, Levi with emerald, and so on.

Why this arrangement? The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) tells us that God would look upon these stones, these representations of the tribes, and be reminded of their merit as Aaron entered the Holy of Holies on Yom Kippur (the Day of Atonement). It’s a powerful image: the High Priest carrying the symbolic weight of the entire nation into the heart of the sanctuary. It is said that the High Priest would wear four garments of white linen when he entered the Holy of Holies on Yom Kippur. He would not be wearing the breastplate with the stones representing the tribes. Nonetheless, when the High Priest would enter the Holy of Holies in accordance with the Torah’s requirements, the merit of that observance and the merit of the priestly garments he would wear most of the time would arouse Divine mercy.

Rabbi Yehoshua of Sikhnin, quoting Rabbi Levi, brings a captivating parable to illustrate this point. The son's tutor wants to intercede, but fears the king's wrath. So, what does the king do? He clothes the tutor in royal purple, a sign of authority and protection, so that all will respect him.

Similarly, Aaron's entry into the Holy of Holies was fraught with potential danger. The ministering angels were there, powerful and awe-inspiring. So, God clothed Aaron, not in purple, but in the holy garments, endowing him with the merit and protection he needed. As it says: “You shall make tunics for the sons of Aaron” (Exodus 28:40) just as it is written: “And He donned righteousness like a coat of armor and a helmet of salvation on His head; He donned garments of vengeance [for clothing, and was clad with zeal as a cloak]” (Isaiah 59:17).

What does all this mean for us? Perhaps it’s a reminder that even the most sacred spaces and endeavors are approached through merit, through covenant, and through the collective strength of community.

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