Parshat Shemot5 min read

Who Was the Angel at the Burning Bush

Exodus names a nameless angel in the flame. The Targum Pseudo-Jonathan gave him a name, Zagnugael, and split the Burning Bush into two voices.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Messenger With No Name
  2. The Targum Supplies a Name
  3. The Memra and the Stage Light
  4. Why a Named Angel Changed Everything
  5. Moses at the Holy Ground

The Messenger With No Name

Exodus 3:2 is spare: And the angel of the Lord appeared unto him in a flame of fire out of the midst of a bush. No name. No face. Just malakh YHWH, the messenger of the Name, standing inside a shrub that will not stop burning.

Three verses later, Exodus 3:6, it is God himself who speaks from the midst of the bush. Something has shifted in those three verses without explanation. The angel appeared. God spoke. Who was in there?

The Targum Supplies a Name

The Aramaic paraphrase of the Torah known as Targum Pseudo-Jonathan, composed in the Land of Israel roughly in the seventh or eighth century CE, was not content to leave that angel anonymous. In its expansion of Exodus 3:2, the angel is named: Zagnugael, the angel of divine flame. He has a nature that fits his appearance. He is not a generic messenger but a being constitutively associated with sacred fire, which is why he can stand inside a burning bush without being consumed and without consuming it.

The moment Zagnugael has a name, the theology of the Burning Bush becomes a problem that requires a solution. If the named angel appeared in the flame, who spoke in Exodus 3:6?

The Memra and the Stage Light

The Targum resolves this with precision. Zagnugael is the visual phenomenon, the stage light that draws Moses' attention. The voice that follows belongs to the Memra of the Lord, the Aramaic term for the Word of God, a technical expression the Targumim use in more than three hundred places in scripture where the original Hebrew attributes a direct action or speech to God in a way that might suggest physical limitation or overly direct divine presence. The Memra is God acting in the world while remaining transcendent above it.

This is a serious theological move. The Targum is saying that Moses did not see God, not because God was absent, but because what Moses saw was the angel and what Moses heard was the Word. Vision and voice had different sources. The fire with its named angel served as the interface. The communication came from beyond the interface.

Why a Named Angel Changed Everything

The name Zagnugael had consequences beyond the Targum's own explanation. Once an angel has a name, he becomes a figure who can be addressed, invoked, placed in relation to other named angels, and assigned a position in the hierarchy of heaven. The later mystical traditions, particularly the Hekhalot and Merkavah literature from roughly the third to seventh centuries CE, developed elaborate catalogs of named angels with specific functions. An angel of divine flame at the site of the Burning Bush was exactly the kind of figure these traditions would develop.

One tradition connects Zagnugael to the name Zagzagel, the angel who appears in Hekhalot and Merkavah texts as the heavenly Torah teacher, the angel stationed in the highest heavens as the master of wisdom. If these figures are the same, then Moses met his heavenly teacher before he ever received the Torah. The Burning Bush was not merely a commission. It was an introduction.

Moses at the Holy Ground

Before the voice speaks, God tells Moses to remove his sandals because the ground on which he stands is holy (Exodus 3:5). The tradition connected this to the site's future significance: this was the mountain where Israel would receive the Torah, the place already consecrated for its purpose before Moses arrived. Zagnugael, the angel of divine flame, had been present there before Moses came, maintaining the sacred intensity of the site.

Moses hid his face. He took off his sandals. He heard the voice that named itself as the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. The angel who drew him there did his job and stepped back. The Targum's theology is tidy: the supernatural gets your attention, the divine speaks to you, and the gap between those two things is where Moses stood on holy ground.

MosesAngelsBurning BushMemraRevelationExodus
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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.

Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Exodus 3:2Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Exodus

The Hebrew text says "the angel of the Lord appeared." The Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Exodus (3:2) gives that angel a name.

"And Zagnugael, the angel of the Lord, appeared to him in a flame of fire in the midst of the bush. And he gazed, and, behold, the bush burned with fire, yet the bush was neither burned nor consumed with fire."

Zagnugael. The name is unusual, a blend of Aramaic and esoteric angelology. And the Targum is one of the few texts to preserve it. In the tradition, Zagnugael is the angel of divine flame, a herald whose role is to clear the ground for the voice of the Holy One Himself. He is a kind of usher. He burns brightly, but he is not the speaker of the words that will follow.

This is an important Jewish theological point. The fire in the bush is angelic. The words that come out of the fire are God's. The angel precedes the voice but does not replace it. Zagnugael is the stage light; the speaker is the Memra of the Lord.

And the bush itself, ha-seneh. A thornbush. The smallest, spiniest plant in the Sinai wilderness. The Holy One could have chosen a cedar, an oak, a flaming mountain. He chose a shrub. The sages of our Midrash Aggadah collection taught that God descended to a thorn to show that no place is too low for His Presence. In slavery, He dwells among the slaves. In a thornbush, He speaks from within the thorns.

Beloved, where you feel smallest, burning, and uncared-for, stand closer. The Memra may be speaking from exactly that bush.

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Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Exodus 3:5Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Exodus

"And He said, Approach not hither, take the shoe from thy feet, for the place on which thou standest is a holy place; and upon it thou art to receive the Law, to teach it to the sons of Israel."

The Hebrew says only that the ground is holy. The Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Exodus (3:5) tells us why. This is not merely the spot of a burning bush. This is the spot where, one day, the Torah itself will descend. The Holy One is announcing, at the first meeting, in the first sentence, that the same mountain now hosting the bush will later host Sinai.

This compresses forty years into a single verse. Everything that will happen, the ten plagues, the splitting of the sea, the manna, the water from the rock, the fire on the mountain, is already implicit in the ground under Moses's feet. God is not merely commissioning a liberator. He is commissioning a teacher. "Upon it thou art to receive the Law, to teach it to the sons of Israel."

This is the Jewish understanding of Moses in a sentence. He is not primarily a revolutionary. He is not primarily a lawgiver. He is rabbenu, our teacher. The exodus is a prerequisite to the classroom. You cannot teach a people inside chains; first you must unchain them. But the goal was never simply freedom. The goal was Torah.

And why remove the shoes? Because a teacher at holy ground should feel the earth beneath him, the thorns, the warmth, the dust. A prophet insulated from the ground he stands on will not teach Torah. He will only recite it.

Beloved, take off your shoes. Let the ground burn your soles a little. That is what teaching is for.

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Legends of the Jews, IV. Moses In Egypt, The Burning Thorn-bushLegends of the Jews

Moses, tending his flock near Mount Horeb, a place already imbued with a sense of holiness – even the birds seemed to know to avoid landing there – experiences something extraordinary. As Ginzberg recounts in Legends of the Jews, the mountain itself almost moves to greet Moses, settling only when he steps onto it. And then, there it is: the burning bush.

This isn't just any fire. This is a fire that blazes without consuming. It's a celestial fire, described as black in color, that miraculously produces blossoms even as it burns. The Zohar tells us that such celestial fire has three unique qualities: producing blossoms, not consuming what it touches, and being black in color. What could this possibly mean?

In some traditions, the fire was actually the angel Michael, acting as a herald for the Shekinah – the Divine Presence – which was about to descend. God, wanting to speak with Moses, uses this incredible sight to capture his attention, to pull him away from his shepherding duties. It works. Moses stops. And God speaks.

Why a thorn-bush? Why this seemingly insignificant plant?

There are many interpretations, each offering a different facet of understanding. First, the thorn-bush was considered "clean," unsuitable for idol-making by the heathens. This signifies its purity, its connection to the Divine.

More profoundly, God's choice to dwell in this humble bush is meant to convey that He suffers alongside Israel. As we find in Midrash Rabbah, the thorn-bush symbolizes the suffering of the Israelites in exile.

And there's more. The thorn-bush reminds us that nothing in existence, not even the lowliest plant, can exist without the presence of the Shekinah. Everything is touched by the Divine.

But the symbolism doesn't stop there. The thorn-bush can also be seen as a metaphor for Israel itself. Just as the thorn-bush is the most humble of trees, so too was Israel in exile, compared to other nations. Yet, just as the thorn-bush snags and lacerates any bird that lands on it, so too will those nations that oppress Israel face punishment.

The thorn-bush, thorny and protective, is like a hedge around God's garden – the world. Without Israel, the world cannot endure. It’s a powerful image of Israel's role in the cosmic order. Just as the thorn-bush produces both thorns and roses, so too does Israel contain both righteous and impious members. And, mirroring the thorn-bush’s need for ample water to thrive, Israel needs the Torah – the celestial water – to prosper.

According to tradition, the five leaflets on the thorn-bush also symbolize the five pious men – Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Aaron, and Moses – for whose sake God was resolving to redeem Israel.

Even the numerical value of the Hebrew word for thorn-bush, Seneh (סנה), which equals one hundred and twenty, is significant. It hints at Moses' lifespan of one hundred and twenty years, and the length of time the Shekinah would rest on Mount Horeb.

God's choice to speak from a lowly thorn-bush, rather than a towering mountain or majestic cedar, is a profound lesson in humility. It’s a reminder that the Divine can be found in the most unexpected places, in the most humble of forms.

So, the next time you encounter something seemingly insignificant, a weed pushing through the pavement, or a small act of kindness, remember the burning bush. Remember that even in the lowliest of things, there can be a spark of the Divine, a message waiting to be heard. What is the "burning bush" in your life, the unexpected source of wisdom and revelation?

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Legends of the Jews, IV. Moses In Egypt, Moses Declines The MissionLegends of the Jews

Legends of the Jews (Ginzberg) turns to Moses Declines The Mission.

The familiar story is this: Moses encounters the burning bush. But there's so much more to it than just a fiery spectacle. According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, that initial "Draw not nigh hither" wasn't just about physical proximity. It was a message about the very nature of the mission God was entrusting to him. It was for Moses, and Moses alone.

The voice warned him, Ginzberg continues, not to take on honors meant for others – the priesthood for Aaron, royalty for David. Then comes the command to remove his shoes, a symbolic act of severing ties with earthly concerns. That meant everything, even his marriage!

Can you imagine being told to give up your conjugal life? Apparently, the angel Michael had the same thought! He questioned God, "Can it be Thy purpose to destroy mankind? Blessing can prevail only if male and female are united." God's response, as recorded in Legends of the Jews, was that Moses had already fulfilled his duty in that regard. Now, God desired him to unite with the Shekinah, the Divine Presence, so that it might descend upon the earth for his sake. Heavy stuff.

But here's where it gets really interesting: God reveals to Moses not just the near future – Israel receiving the Torah on Mount Sinai – but also the far future, their eventual worship of the golden calf. As we find in Midrash Rabbah, even knowing their future failings, God chose to redeem them based on their present actions, upholding the promise to Jacob: "I will go down with thee into Egypt, and I will also surely bring thee up again."

God then commanded Moses to go to Pharaoh and demand the release of His people. But Moses, understandably, balked. "Thou didst undertake to do it Thyself," he argued, "and now it is Thy purpose to send me thither?" He had legitimate concerns, practical ones. How could he possibly feed and care for such a massive population, especially the vulnerable – pregnant women, newborns, children? How could he face the dangers of Egypt? And, most importantly, did Israel even deserve redemption?

He even argued with God about the timeline, pointing out that the appointed time of oppression, according to his calculations from the covenant with Abraham, wasn't yet complete!

But God, in His infinite wisdom, had answers for everything. "I will be with thee," He reassured Moses. "Whatever thou desirest I will do." He promised to provide for the people and assuaged Moses' fears about Israel's worthiness, saying they would be redeemed on account of the merits they would acquire at Mount Sinai. And as for the timeline? God clarified that the four hundred years of bondage began with the birth of Isaac, not Jacob's descent into Egypt.

Finally convinced of God's unwavering resolve, Moses made one last plea: to know God's Great Name. He didn't want to be stumped when the Israelites inevitably asked. God's answer, as recounted in Legends of the Jews, is profound: "My Name is according to My acts." Elohim when judging, Lord Zebaot when battling, El Shaddai in patience, Adonai in mercy. But for the Israelites, he was to say, "I am He that was, that is, and that ever will be." the verse says, Moses' reaction to learning about God's name seems reluctant, with Moses saying “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof."

And get this: God even revealed the future was only for Moses' ears, not for the people. A little too much to handle at once.

But the story doesn't end there. Moses, still hesitant, questions why God first identified Himself as the God of his father but now only as the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. God, in a moment of striking honesty, admits that the initial flattery was just that – flattery. The true relationship was with the patriarchs themselves.

God agreed to reveal His Great and Holy Name to Moses, a secret so powerful that the celestials themselves cried out in praise. And, knowing Pharaoh's stubbornness, God forewarned Moses of the challenges ahead, lest he later accuse God of deception.

It's a powerful story, isn't it? It reminds us that even the greatest leaders confront doubt, fear, and a sense of inadequacy. Moses' initial refusal, his questioning, his bargaining… it all makes him so relatable, so human. And it highlights the immense responsibility that comes with being chosen, with being called to a purpose larger than oneself. What would we do if we were in Moses' sandals?

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3 Enoch 16:1-53 Enoch

Four sages entered Paradise, and only Rabbi Akiva came out whole.

One of the most famous of these accounts involves four prominent sages who, according to the Talmud (Hagigah 14b), "entered Paradise" – a term that has come to mean engaging in mystical ascent. Of these four, only one, Rabbi Akiva, entered and left in peace. Others were scarred by the experience.

One of those others was Elisha ben Abuyah.

Elisha was no ordinary man. He was a renowned scholar, a brilliant mind. But his journey took a dark turn. The Talmud hints at his eventual heresy, calling him "Aher" – "the Other One." What went wrong?

Well, the story goes that Elisha ascended on high, seeking to gaze upon the Merkavah – the Divine Chariot, the very throne-chariot of God described in the Book of Ezekiel. Imagine the audacity, the sheer spiritual hunger it must have taken to attempt such a feat!

He made it far, too. According to the account in Tree of Souls (Howard Schwartz), he reached the door of the seventh palace – the highest level of Heaven. And there, he saw something that shattered his faith.

He came into the presence of the angel Metatron.

Now, Metatron is a fascinating figure in Jewish mysticism. Often described as the "lesser YHWH," he is one of the highest-ranking angels, the celestial scribe, the very voice of God. He's a powerful, awe-inspiring being.

But here's the thing: Elisha saw Metatron seated upon a high and lofty throne, wearing a crown. All the princes of the kingdom – the other angels – stood beside him, to his right and to his left. And from his throne, Metatron ruled over all the other heavenly beings.

This is where it all fell apart for Elisha. Why? Because in his eyes, this looked like two powers in Heaven! It smacked of duality, of a second divine being alongside God. This was a complete violation of the core Jewish principle of monotheism – the absolute oneness and uniqueness of God.

As we find in Legends of the Jews (Ginzberg), this vision led Elisha to declare, "There are two powers in Heaven!" This blasphemous thought, born of his mystical experience, led to his downfall, his becoming Aher, the heretic. He could not reconcile what he saw with his understanding of God.

Think about the weight of that moment. Imagine the internal struggle, the cognitive dissonance tearing him apart. He sought to understand the Divine, and the vision he received instead destroyed his belief.

It's a cautionary tale, isn't it? A reminder that even the most learned and devout can be led astray by their own interpretations, by their inability to reconcile the mysteries of the universe with the foundations of their faith. The journey to understand God is fraught with peril, and perhaps, some questions are best left unasked.

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Targum Jonathan on Exodus 3Targum Jonathan

The standard book of Exodus says an angel appeared to Moses in the burning bush. The Targum Jonathan, an ancient Aramaic translation composed in the land of Israel, names that angel: Zagnugael. This is a detail found nowhere else in the Hebrew Bible, a specific heavenly being assigned to the most pivotal encounter in Israelite history.

The Targum's additions do not stop there. When God tells Moses to remove his sandals because he stands on holy ground, the standard text leaves it at that. The Targum adds a stunning reason: this is the place where Moses will receive the Torah. The burning bush is not just a one-time miracle. It is a preview of Sinai itself.

When Moses asks God's name, the Hebrew Bible delivers the famously enigmatic "I Am That I Am" (Exodus 3:14). The Targum expands this into a theological declaration: "He who spake, and the world was; who spake, and all things were." Then comes a phrase that bridges past, present, and future, "I AM HE WHO IS, AND WHO WILL BE." The Aramaic translators refused to leave God's self-revelation as a riddle. They turned it into a creed about divine creation and eternal existence.

The Targum also reframes how God perceives Israel's suffering. Where Exodus says God "saw" and "heard," the Targum uses the passive: their oppression "is manifest before Me," their cry "is heard before Me." This subtle shift protects God's transcendence, the Aramaic translators consistently avoided any language that might make God seem too human, replacing direct perception with a formula of divine awareness. Even the promised land is described not just as flowing with milk and honey, but as an "unclean land" that Israel must leave, a moral judgment the Hebrew text does not make about Egypt.

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