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Why God Tested the Righteous Before Creation

Coarse flax snaps when you beat it. Fine flax grows stronger. God knows the difference, and tests only the kind that can survive the pressure.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Fine Flax Could Survive Pressure
  2. What a Truly Happy Person Looks Like
  3. Blood Poured Like Water
  4. Adam's Unformed Body and the Generations Written From the Beginning

The Fine Flax Could Survive Pressure

The potter does not test cracked vessels. He tests the sound ones. If you strike a fragile pot, it shatters at the first blow. Nothing is learned except the obvious. But if you take a vessel that was properly fired, you can strike it and the ring tells you something true about what it is made of.

Rabbi Yosei bar Hanina gives the image of flax. Coarse flax cannot be beaten into better flax. Beat it and it breaks into something useless. Fine flax grows stronger under the comb, firmer under the mallet, more lustrous under pressure. A weaver who knows cloth does not beat the coarse. He knows which material the beating will improve.

God tests the righteous. Not because the righteous have done something wrong that needs to be exposed, but because the righteous are the only material strong enough to bear the test and come out different on the other side. The wicked are like the restless sea: strike them and they break into more chaos. The righteous absorb the blow and become what the blow was pressing toward.

What a Truly Happy Person Looks Like

Psalm 41 says happy is the one who considers the poor. The midrash presses on the word consider. Not the person who gives to the poor automatically, not the person who has arranged a convenient system of charity, but the person who considers, who thinks about what the poor person actually needs before acting.

The word also covers the soul in a day of trouble. The one who has considered the poor, who has looked carefully at vulnerability before acting on it, is the one who will be protected when their own day of trouble comes. The skill of seeing another person's weakness clearly, without flinching and without sentimentalizing, is the same skill that allows a person to see their own weakness clearly when the trial comes.

The happy person is not someone insulated from trouble. They are someone who has developed the practice of looking directly at difficulty, other people's and their own, without being destroyed by what they see. That practice is itself the protection. The tested person has learned to look at the bottom of things.

Blood Poured Like Water

The psalm cries: blood of the righteous was poured out like water around Jerusalem and there was no one to bury them. The image is terrible. The specific horror of unburied bodies is not a modern squeamishness. In ancient Jewish understanding, a body without burial was a body outside the dignity that even the dead deserved, exposed to animals and weather, its name disappearing faster than it should.

The midrash does not soften this. It holds the image and asks what can be said in the face of it. The answer is not that the suffering was deserved or that it is somehow symmetrical with a cosmic justice visible to human eyes. The answer is the cry itself: we became a disgrace to our neighbors, a scorn and mockery to those around us. The honesty of the naming is the beginning of whatever comes after.

The righteous who suffered these things were not weak. They were the fine flax, and they were beaten anyway. The test does not always end with the tested person standing unharmed. Sometimes the test is survived by the people who come after, who are stronger because they know what was paid.

Adam's Unformed Body and the Generations Written From the Beginning

Psalm 139 says God's eyes saw my unformed substance, and in Your book were written all the days that were formed, when as yet there were none of them. The midrash reads this as a window into what God saw before the first human being had a complete body.

Adam's form was taking shape. The days of every person who would ever descend from him were already in the book. Not fixed in the sense of being without any choice, but written in the sense of being known. God looking at Adam's unformed body saw the full record of what Adam's descendants would live and suffer and survive and build.

That includes the martyrs whose blood ran like water. That includes the tested righteous who were beaten like fine flax and came out stronger. That includes the people who will not be tested at all and the people who will be tested past what seems survivable. All of it was present in the vision of Adam's not-yet-completed form, in the book that was being filled before the first human breath was drawn.

God tests the righteous not without knowing what the test will cost. The book was already written. The fine flax was already identified. The blow that improves rather than shatters is aimed with the knowledge of what it can bear and what it will become.

Midrash TehillimDavidProphecySoulSufferingJudgmentCreation
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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 11:5Midrash Tehillim

We see suffering all around us, and it often seems the most righteous among us bear the heaviest burdens. So, what's going on?

Midrash Tehillim, a collection of rabbinic teachings on the Book of Psalms, wrestles with this very issue. Specifically, (Psalm 11:5), "His eyes see, his eyelids test the sons of man." The verse suggests a divine testing, a scrutiny. But whom does God test?

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) poses the question directly: For whom does He test? The answer, surprisingly, is the righteous! As the verse continues, "The Lord tests the righteous." But why? Why not the wicked? Wouldn't they be the ones who need the testing, the correction?

The Midrash explains that the wicked simply cannot withstand it. They're too brittle, too unstable. "But the wicked are like the tossing sea, which cannot rest," as we find in (Isaiah 57:20). image for a moment: a chaotic, churning ocean, unable to find peace. Such a state couldn’t endure divine testing.

Rabbi Yosei bar Hanina offers a powerful analogy: a flax plant. Imagine a raw, coarse flax plant. If you apply too much pressure, it snaps. It breaks under the strain. But a fine, processed flax? You can exert considerable pressure, mold it, shape it to your will, and it will hold.

So too, says Rabbi Yosei, God doesn’t test the wicked because they're like that coarse flax. They're too fragile, too easily broken. But the righteous? They're like the refined flax, capable of withstanding the pressure, of being molded and shaped by the divine hand.

This idea also appears in the Talmud Bavli, Berachot 5a, further emphasizing its importance in Jewish thought. It emphasizes the idea that trials aren’t necessarily punishments.

It’s a tough concept, isn't it? It suggests that our challenges, our struggles, aren't necessarily signs of divine displeasure, but rather, indications of our capacity for growth. It implies that God sees something in us, a strength, a resilience, that allows us to endure and even thrive through hardship.

But what about the wicked? If they aren't tested, what becomes of them? The Midrash doesn't leave us hanging. It concludes the verse: "But the wicked and one who loves violence His soul hates." This isn't a test, but a statement of divine opposition. Their path leads to separation, not refinement.

It's a comforting, if challenging, thought. When we face trials, we can remember that it may be because God sees our potential, our capacity to be shaped and strengthened. We are the fine flax, capable of withstanding the pressure, and ultimately, emerging stronger and more refined on the other side.

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Midrash Tehillim 41:3Midrash Tehillim

The Midrash Tehillim, a collection of rabbinic commentaries on the Book of Psalms, offers a fascinating perspective. Rabbi Yonah suggests that a truly intelligent person is one who is "intelligent about his own pleasures." This doesn't mean indulging in hedonism. Instead, it's about understanding how to act with compassion and foresight, even when facing difficult circumstances.

A wealthy person who falls on hard times. According to Rabbi Yonah, an intelligent friend wouldn't just offer empty platitudes. Instead, they might approach the person and say, "I heard that so-and-so owes you an inheritance, and you owe me money. When you receive your inheritance, pay me back." It’s a subtle way of offering support without diminishing the person's dignity. It’s about being proactive and resourceful in helping others navigate their challenges.

What's the reward for such intelligence? "On a day of trouble, the Lord will save him." But what exactly is this "day of trouble"? The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) clarifies: it's the day of death, the moment the soul departs. A sobering thought, isn't it? The text suggests that our acts of kindness and compassion in this life directly impact our fate in the next. God, in turn, promises to save those who have shown such intelligence.

The Midrash then explores the fiery imagery of (Malachi 3:19), which speaks of a "day burning like an oven." It’s a stark image of judgment. But (Malachi 3:20) offers hope: "And for you who fear My Name, a sun of righteousness will shine." What is this "sun of righteousness"? It's the righteousness we've cultivated through our actions, standing as a evidence of our character on that fateful day. It echoes the sentiment found in (Isaiah 58:10): "And if you offer your soul to the hungry, and satisfy the afflicted soul, then shall your light rise in darkness."

The Midrash then asks, what does it truly mean to "satisfy the afflicted soul"? It's not merely about providing fleeting pleasures. As the text points out, even if you feed a soul with all the delicacies in the world, its desires will soon shift. True satisfaction comes from something deeper, something that nourishes the spirit.

And what about illness? The Midrash references (Psalms 41:4), "May God sustain us on a bed of illness." The text playfully explores the concept of a "bed of illness". If someone falls ill on Sunday, what should they do? Pray. The same goes for Monday and Tuesday. By Wednesday, the text suggests, it's time for vidui, confession. At that moment, the Holy One, blessed be He, says, "I will make confession before Me like a man who is ill; I will sustain and establish him now." There's a profound connection here between spiritual and physical well-being.

The Midrash interprets "you turn all his beds in his illness" (Psalms 41:4) to mean that all the sins a person committed in their life are transformed into illness. It's a powerful image of reckoning. David, however, proclaims that this isn't the case for him, stating, "Lord, be gracious to me; my foes speak evil of me" (Psalms 41:6). But who were David's enemies? The text points out that "All Israel and Judah loved David" (Samuel I 18:16), and "David did what was just and right for all his people" (Samuel II 8:15). So, who were these foes? According to the Midrash, they were those who sought to oppress and exploit others, and David stood in their way. His enemies were those who opposed justice.

So, what does this all mean for us? The Midrash Tehillim challenges us to reconsider our understanding of intelligence. It's not just about intellectual prowess, but about the wisdom to act with compassion, foresight, and a deep sense of justice. It's about recognizing that our actions have consequences, not only in this life but also in the world to come. Are we living intelligently? Are we using our abilities to uplift others and create a more just world? These are questions worth pondering.

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Midrash Tehillim 79:3Midrash Tehillim

The Midrash Tehillim, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Psalms, really digs into the raw pain and frustration expressed in that particular psalm. It’s a powerful, unflinching look at suffering and the questions it raises about divine justice.

The verse that really kicks things off is, "They have poured out their blood like water on the land" (Psalms 79:3). The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) uses this as a jumping-off point to explore the depths of despair when the righteous suffer. It goes on to say, "Let the flesh of your pious ones be food for the beasts of the earth, to make known that even their bones would not be left unburied.” It's a brutal picture of desecration, of utter disregard for human dignity, even in death.

The Midrash does something fascinating here. It contrasts human limitations with what we expect from the Divine. Imagine someone owes their friend money and can't pay it back. We understand; they've done all they can. But, says the Midrash, God doesn't operate under those same constraints. As it is written in (Isaiah 10:18), "From soul to flesh He will destroy." God can take the soul, even if it means taking it from the flesh.

What about the bones? The Midrash Tehillim emphasizes that even the bones aren't safe from desecration. "The soul and flesh cannot be taken from the bones. As it is written (Jeremiah 8:1), 'At that time, says the Lord, they shall bring out the bones of the kings of Judah.'" This image of bones being unearthed and scattered is deeply disturbing. It speaks to a complete and utter lack of respect, not just for the living, but for the dead, for history itself.

And the pain doesn't stop there. The Midrash highlights the added sting of humiliation. "Not only that, but they shame us, as it is said (Psalms 79:4), 'We have become a taunt to our neighbors.'" It’s not enough to suffer; you have to endure the mocking and scorn of those around you. Talk about adding insult to injury!

But perhaps the most infuriating part is the denial of guilt. The Midrash points out, "And not only that, but they deny their guilt, as it is written (Jeremiah 50:7), 'They say, "We are not guilty."' And it is written (Zechariah 11:5), 'And their buyers say, "Blessed be the Lord, for I am rich."'" Not only do the oppressors inflict pain, but they justify their actions, even thanking God for their ill-gotten gains. The audacity!

What does this all mean? The Midrash Tehillim isn’t offering easy answers. It's wrestling with the age-old question of why bad things happen to good people. It's acknowledging the profound sense of injustice that arises when we see suffering, desecration, and the denial of responsibility.

Perhaps the point isn’t to find a neat and tidy explanation, but to acknowledge the pain, to give voice to the anguish, and to remember that even in the darkest of times, we are not alone in our suffering. The very act of confronting these questions, of refusing to ignore the cries of the oppressed, is itself a form of resistance, a evidence of the enduring power of the human spirit. And maybe, just maybe, that's enough to keep us going, even when the world seems to be crumbling around us.

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Midrash Tehillim 139:5Midrash Tehillim

The midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) asks us to consider something profound: that the creation we see around us, this world in all its complexity, isn't just a one-time event. It reflects a continuous, ongoing process of creation that extends into the world to come. It suggests that when the time comes for the resurrection of the dead, there won't be a need for a brand new creation. Why? Because, the midrash asserts, two creations have already been prepared.

Think of it this way. God, in His infinite wisdom, envisioned humanity, from beginning to end, as a single, unified whole. According to this midrash, the Almighty "thought and formed Adam and Eve," the first man and woman, shaping them almost like a formless mass before Him. This idea echoes the verse from (Psalm 139:16), "Your eyes saw my unformed substance." The Hebrew word for "unformed substance" here is golmi, sometimes translated as "embryo" or "my unformed matter." It speaks to the potential, the raw material, from which everything else would spring.

The midrash continues: "From the day that the Almighty created the first man, He wrote in His book what He will produce from him until the dead are resurrected." Imagine a cosmic ledger, meticulously recording every generation, every individual, every seeker, provider, wise person, prophet, scribe, and disciple who would ever come into existence.

It’s a powerful image, isn't it? Every life, every action, every thought, already accounted for in the grand design. And this idea isn't isolated. We find it echoed in other texts. The midrash points us to (Genesis 5:1), "This is the book of the generations of Adam," suggesting a lineage not just of blood, but of destiny. The prophet Isaiah (49:1) proclaims, "The Lord called me from the womb, from the body of my mother He mentioned my name," hinting at a pre-ordained purpose. And again in Isaiah (41:4), “Who has performed and accomplished it, calling forth the generations from the beginning?”

Ginzberg, in his monumental work Legends of the Jews, explores similar themes, highlighting the rabbinic belief in a pre-existent plan for creation. He notes how various midrashic sources emphasize God's foreknowledge and the predetermined nature of certain events. This idea of a divine blueprint isn't meant to diminish our free will, but rather to emphasize the profound interconnectedness of all things.

So, what does it all mean? Is our fate sealed? Are we merely puppets in a cosmic play? Perhaps not. Maybe the point isn't about rigid determinism, but about the incredible value and significance of each individual life. If every person, every generation, is already known and accounted for, then surely every action, every choice, carries immense weight. Maybe our task isn't to undo the grand plan, but to live our lives in a way that honors the potential that was seen in us from the very beginning.

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Yalkut Shimoni on Torah 95:8Yalkut Shimoni on Torah

"The LORD tests the righteous, but the wicked and the lover of violence His soul hates" (Psalms 11:5). This potter does not test cracked jugs, because he does not manage to knock upon them before they shatter; rather, what does he test? The fine jugs, which even if he knocks upon them many times do not break. So too the Holy One, blessed be He, tests only the righteous, as it is said, "The LORD tests the righteous." This flax-worker, when he knows that his flax is fine, the more he pounds it the better it becomes, and the more he beats it the more it glistens. So too the Holy One, blessed be He, tests only the righteous. A parable of a householder who had two cows, one of strong power and one of weak power. Upon which does he place the yoke? Is it not upon the one whose power is strong? So too the Holy One, blessed be He, tests only the righteous. "Inasmuch as the word of a king is authoritative, who may say to him, What are you doing?" (Ecclesiastes 8:4). [Scripture says,] "You shall not test the LORD your God" (Deuteronomy 6:16), yet "God tested Abraham." This is like a teacher who would command his student, "Do not lend at interest," while he himself lent at interest. The student said to him, "My teacher, you told me, Do not lend at interest, yet here you are lending at interest." He said to him, "I am telling you not to lend at interest to an Israelite, but you may lend at interest to a foreigner, as it is said, 'To the foreigner you may lend at interest' (Deuteronomy 23:21)."

So too Israel said to the Holy One, blessed be He: You wrote in Your Torah, "You shall not take vengeance nor bear a grudge," yet You take vengeance and bear a grudge, as it is said, "The LORD is avenging and full of wrath" (Nahum 1:2). The Holy One, blessed be He, said to them: I wrote in My Torah, "You shall not take vengeance nor bear a grudge against the children of your people" (Leviticus 19:18), but I take vengeance and bear a grudge against the nations of the world, as it is said, "Avenge the vengeance of the children of Israel" (Numbers 31:2).

"After these things": there were stirrings of words there. Who stirred them? Abraham stirred them. He said: Isaac my son was born; I rejoiced and made everyone rejoice, yet I did not set aside for the Holy One, blessed be He, even one bull or one ram. The Holy One, blessed be He, said to him: It was on the condition that I would tell you to offer up your son, and you would not hold back. According to the opinion of Rabbi Eliezer, who said "and the LORD" means He and His court, and "and God" means He and His court: the ministering angels said, Abraham rejoiced and made everyone rejoice, yet he did not set aside for the Holy One, blessed be He, even one bull or one ram. The Holy One, blessed be He, said to them: It was on the condition that He would tell him to offer up his son, and he would not hold back. The nations of the world said: This Abraham rejoiced and made others rejoice, and so forth.

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