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God Told Israel Their Righteousness Had Become Too Much to Bear

God told Israel to avert their eyes from their own spiritual power. When a nation grows too certain of its own righteousness, even God looks away first.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. God Looked Away First
  2. A Nation That Mistook Favor for Permanence
  3. The Wall That Sin Built
  4. The Smell That Changed Their Minds

God Looked Away First

The verse being interpreted is (Song of Songs 6:5): "Avert your eyes from me, as they excite my arrogance." Most readings take this as a love poem, an intimate dialogue between God and Israel. Shir HaShirim Rabbah, the rabbinic commentary on the Song of Songs compiled around the sixth century CE, read it as something more uncomfortable: God telling Israel that their spiritual intensity had become too much to bear. Look away. You are overwhelming me. Your own righteousness is making you dangerous.

Rabbi Azarya, quoting Rabbi Yehuda ben Rabbi Simon in this text, offered the image of a king who had banished his queen in anger. She stood just outside the palace gates, ashamed, hiding her face behind a pillar. When the king passed and saw her suffering, he could not bear it. "Remove her from before me," he cried, "as I am unable to look at her pain." The love had not disappeared. The looking-away was itself a form of love, a love overwhelmed by what it saw.

A Nation That Mistook Favor for Permanence

Israel had been given everything. Egypt behind them. The sea split. Manna from heaven. Water from a rock. The Torah from Sinai. The cloud by day and the pillar of fire by night. The accumulated evidence of divine favor was so vast that the nation began, in the rabbinic reading, to mistake the favor for the condition. As if the miracles were the natural state and the desert was the aberration, and nothing could really go wrong.

Then they built the golden calves.

Not one. Legends of the Jews, Ginzberg's synthesis of rabbinic tradition, records thirteen golden calves: one for each of the twelve tribes, and one for all of Israel together. The people who had been fed manna, who had crossed the sea on dry ground, used the manna itself as an offering to the calf. The very sustenance of their survival was redirected toward an idol. The tradition found this detail necessary because it said something about the mechanism of the failure. It was not that Israel forgot what God had done. It was that they were so embedded in God's provision that they thought the provision would continue regardless of what they did with it. The arrogance the Song of Songs verse described was the arrogance of people who had been loved so completely they thought the love was unconditional in a different sense than it was.

The Wall That Sin Built

Bamidbar Rabbah, the midrash on Numbers from the fifth through seventh centuries CE, preserves God's complaint against Israel after Egypt. "Have I been a wilderness for Israel, or a land of deep darkness?" The question from Jeremiah 2:31 is rhetorical and anguished. God had not been a wilderness. God had been manna and water and shade and fire. And still Israel had complained, still Israel had asked why they had been brought out to die, still Israel had built calves and offered them the bread God was providing.

The rabbis of Bamidbar Rabbah connected Israel's complaints and failures to the language of exile embedded in the census instructions of Numbers. "They shall send out from the camp," the verse says. The Midrash read this as a reference to the exile that would eventually come. Three specific transgressions had made that exile inevitable. The tradition was not vague about causes. Wrongdoing had consequences that accumulated, and when the accumulation crossed a threshold, what had been a protected community became a community that was sent out.

The Smell That Changed Their Minds

Legends of the Jews preserves a detail about the night before the exodus that is almost too human to believe. Moses was having difficulty convincing all the Israelites to be circumcised before they left. The requirement was real but the timing was objectively terrible: a long journey beginning the next day, a surgical procedure, the uncertainty of what Egypt might do if it caught them moving. People were hesitating.

God sent a wind carrying the scent of Paradise. The most intoxicating aroma anyone had ever encountered. And the Israelites, standing in the darkness of their last night in Egypt, smelling something that belonged to a world entirely different from the one they had been living in, agreed. The smell of what lay ahead changed what they were willing to do to get there. They did not smell righteousness. They smelled the destination. That was enough.

IsraelExileGratitudeGolden CalfHumility
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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.

Shir HaShirim Rabbah 5:1Shir HaShirim Rabbah

It’s a powerful human experience, and surprisingly, it's one that Jewish tradition ascribes to God.

We find this idea explored in Shir HaShirim Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Song of Songs. The verse in question is (Song of Songs 6:5): “Avert your eyes from me, as they excite my arrogance. Your hair is like a flock of goats that streams down from Gilad.” Now, The first reading, this sounds like a somewhat..odd compliment.

Rabbi Azarya, quoting Rabbi Yehuda ben Rabbi Simon, offers a striking analogy. Imagine a king, furious with his queen, banishes her from the palace. Overcome with shame, she hides her face behind a pillar just outside the gates. When the king passes and sees her suffering, he can’t bear it. He cries out, "Remove her from before me, as I am unable to bear [her suffering]!"

This, the midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) suggests, is how God feels when the Jewish people are in distress. When a rabbinical court convenes, declares fasts, and the people earnestly participate, the Holy One, Blessed be He, says, "I am unable to bear it." God can't stand to see our suffering, and so, in His mercy, He alleviates it, perhaps ending the drought or hardship that prompted the fast in the first place.

But what about the phrase, "As they excite my arrogance?" It sounds...harsh. But here, "arrogance" isn't about pride in a negative sense. Rather, it speaks to God's power and dominion. The midrash explains that it was the merit of the righteous that caused God to extend His hand and redeem Israel from Egypt. They "excited His arrogance" by prompting Him to display His might.

There’s more. According to the midrash, when the rabbinical court decrees fasts and the children fast, God again says, "I am unable to bear it." But this time, "As they excite my arrogance" means that they crowned Me as king over them and proclaimed, "The Lord will reign for ever and ever" (Exodus 15:18). Through their devotion, they reaffirm God's sovereignty.

And when the elderly fast, God again feels their pain too keenly. "As they excite my arrogance [hirhivuni]," means they accepted God's kingdom at Sinai, declaring, "Everything that the Lord says we will perform and we will heed" (Exodus 24:7). It's a powerful moment of collective commitment. The midrash then connects this to (Psalm 87:4), "To those of my acquaintance, I mention Rahav and Babylon…". Here, Rahav, like hirhivuni, is understood as a term for exaltedness or kingship.

Rabbi Pinḥas, in the name of Rabbi Ḥama bar Ḥanina bar Pappa, takes it even further. He cites (Psalm 68:19): "Even the rebellious You captured to dwell over, Lord God." Even among those who stray, God rests His Divine presence. Why? Because of that foundational promise: "Everything that the Lord says we will perform and we will heed."

Finally, the midrash addresses the curious line, "Your hair is like a flock of goats." Now, goats weren't exactly symbols of beauty. The midrash suggests that "just as the goat is contemptible...so, too, Israel was contemptible in Shittim," referring to the episode in (Numbers 25:1) where "Israel was living in Shittim, [and the people began to engage in licentiousness with the daughters of Moav]." Even in moments of weakness and transgression, the connection remains.

So, what does all this tell us? It paints a picture of a God who is deeply invested in our lives, who feels our pain, and who responds to our devotion. It's a reminder that even when we falter, the covenant endures. And perhaps most profoundly, it suggests that our actions – our fasts, our prayers, our commitment to living ethically – have a real and tangible impact on the Divine. It's a powerful and humbling thought, isn’t it?

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Legends of the Jews 2:100Legends of the Jews

The familiar story is this: Moses goes up Mount Sinai, gets the Ten Commandments, and the Israelites, left to their own devices, panic. But the story, as we find it in Legends of the Jews by Rabbi Louis Ginzberg, is even more… intense than it first appears.

It wasn't just one golden calf. Oh no. According to Ginzberg's retelling, they made thirteen. One for each of the twelve tribes, and one representing all of Israel. Can you imagine the scene? The sheer scale of the idolatry?

It gets worse. Remember the manna, that miraculous food God provided daily in the desert? Well, the Israelites, in their misguided devotion, used it as an offering to these idols. The very thing sustaining them, a direct gift from God, they offered to a… calf. A golden one, yes, but still.

Why were they so fixated on a bull, an ox? Here's where it gets really interesting. Ginzberg suggests a peculiar explanation: during the crossing of the Red Sea, the Israelites had a vision. They beheld the Celestial Throne – Kisei Hakavod – and the four creatures surrounding it. Of those four, they most distinctly saw the ox.

Now, this is crucial. In Jewish mysticism, particularly in traditions related to the prophet Ezekiel's vision (Ezekiel 1), the Merkabah (chariot) has angelic beings with different faces, including that of an ox.

So, the Israelites, witnessing this vision at the Red Sea, jumped to a rather… unfortunate conclusion. They believed the ox played a vital role in their deliverance from Egypt. That the ox had helped GOD in the exodus. And thus, they reasoned, it deserved worship alongside God. They weren't necessarily rejecting God outright, but adding a partner, an intermediary, in the form of the ox. It’s a fascinating – and ultimately tragic – example of how even a divine revelation can be misinterpreted. How easily we can project our own limited understanding onto the infinite.

It makes you wonder, doesn't it? How often do we see what we want to see, rather than what's actually there? And what golden calves are we, perhaps unknowingly, worshipping today?

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Bamidbar Rabbah 1:2Bamidbar Rabbah

This week, It all starts with a verse: “The Lord spoke to Moses in the wilderness of Sinai."

The core of this teaching is a rebuke, almost a lament, from God to the Israelites. He says, "You, the generation, see the word of the Lord: Have I been a wilderness for Israel, or a land of deep darkness?" (Jeremiah 2:31). It's a rhetorical question, dripping with disappointment. God is essentially saying, "After all I've done, do you really see me as a barren wasteland?" The Israelites were constantly complaining in the desert. Remember the story? “Why did you take us up from Egypt to die in the wilderness?” (Numbers 21:5). God's response, according to the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), is essentially: "Was I really like a wilderness to you? Did I treat you as if you were in some desolate, uncaring place?"

The Midrash then beautifully contrasts God’s care with the actions of an earthly king. A human king who ventures into the wilderness certainly wouldn't find the comforts of his palace there. But God? He transformed the wilderness for the Israelites.

He says, "You were slaves in Egypt, and I took you out of there; I laid you down on fine beds." This is a fascinating interpretation of (Exodus 13:18), "God led the people roundabout [vayasev] via the wilderness." The Midrash cleverly interprets vayasev not just as "led around," but as "caused them to recline," picturing God laying them down like kings, resting comfortably.

And it didn't stop there. Didn’t God provide them with three incredible caretakers: Moses, Aaron, and Miriam?

Each one brought a unique blessing. The Midrash emphasizes the merits of each leader. Thanks to Moses, they ate the manna, a miraculous food "that you did not know, and your fathers did not know" (Deuteronomy 8:3). Thanks to Aaron, they were surrounded by the Clouds of Glory. How many clouds? Well, Rabbi Hoshaya said seven – protecting them from all sides, above, and below, and even clearing the path ahead. Rabbi Yoshiya, on the other hand, said five.

And Miriam? She brought the well, a source of life-giving water that followed them throughout their journey. As it says, "Miriam called to them: Sing to the Lord" (Exodus 15:21), and regarding the water of the well: "Then Israel sang this song” (Numbers 21:17).

Rabbi Berekhya HaKohen (a priest), quoting Rabbi Levi, offers a powerful analogy. If a king sends officials to a province, the locals are expected to provide for them. But God flipped the script. He sent Moses, Aaron, and Miriam – "I sent before you Moses, Aaron, and Miriam" (Micah 6:4) – and it was through their merit that the people were sustained.

The Midrash then connects the dots. When Moses died, the manna ceased (Joshua 5:12). When Aaron died, "the spirit of the people became restive on the way" (Numbers 21:4), as the protective clouds vanished. And when Miriam died, "There was no water for the congregation" (Numbers 20:2). The well, the Midrash elaborates, was no ordinary well. It was a miraculous boulder that traveled with them, settling in the courtyard of the Tent of Meeting.

And let's not forget the quails! God asks, "Have I been a wilderness for Israel?" (Jeremiah 2:31). Did I act with you like a wilderness? Or was I "a land of deep darkness?" (Jeremiah 2:31). No! God illuminated their path, literally, as it is stated: "The Lord was going before them by day…[to illuminate for them]" (Exodus 13:21).

The Midrash even tackles the idea of delay. God asks, using a play on words with the Hebrew word mapelya, “Did I, perhaps, say to you that I am bringing good for you and I delayed it?” Mapelya suggests delay, connecting it to the verse in (Exodus 9:32) about crops that ripen late. The point is, God delivered on His promises. As Joshua later declared, "Nothing of all the good things that the Lord spoke to the house of Israel was lacking; everything came about" (Joshua 21:43).

But the Israelites persisted in their complaints. "Why did My people say: We separated from You [radnu]; [we will not come to You any longer]?" (Jeremiah 2:31). The Midrash offers several interpretations of radnu. One likens it to removing hot bread from an oven – once it's out, it can't be put back in. The Israelites felt exiled, disconnected from God. Another interpretation connects radnu to the idea of dominion, as in "For he ruled [rodeh] the entire region beyond the river" (I Kings 5:4). They accused God of smashing the Temple and removing His Divine Presence.

God's response is heartbreaking. "Would that I would be in the wilderness, in a wayfarers’ lodge, and I would leave my people…" (Jeremiah 9:11). He longs for the simple gratitude of the wilderness, where He was lauded.

The Midrash concludes with a powerful parable: A prince enters a province, and the residents flee. He enters another, and they flee again. Finally, he enters a city in ruins, and the people greet him with praise. The prince declares, "This city is better than all the provinces. Here I will build a fine throne; here I will reside."

So too, when God came to the sea, it fled. But the desolate wilderness welcomed Him. "Let the wilderness and its cities raise their voice," as it is stated in (Isaiah 42:11). God says, "This city is better for Me than all the provinces. In it, I will build an inn and reside within it."

The wilderness, despite its barrenness, offered something the settled lands did not: unadulterated gratitude.

What does this all mean for us today? It’s a call to appreciate the blessings in our lives, even when we're facing challenges. Are we, like the Israelites, focusing on what we lack, or are we recognizing the "manna," the "clouds of glory," and the "well" that sustain us? Are we offering gratitude, or are we pushing away the very source of our blessings? It's a question worth pondering.

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Bamidbar Rabbah 7:10Bamidbar Rabbah

It's a powerful and surprisingly relevant text for our times.

" But the Rabbis, in their insightful way, interpret this verse as a reference to exile. Why? Because, they argue, the Israelites violated the mitzvot, the commandments, and thus became liable to banishment. This banishment, this exile, is what the verse is really talking about.

The text goes on to say: “They shall send out from the camp.” The phrase "they shall send out" is equated with exile, just as we see in (Jeremiah 15:1): "Send them out from My Presence, and let them go." And “from the camp” – this, they say, refers to the Land of Israel, because the Divine Presence dwells there. To be exiled from the camp is to be exiled from God's presence.

What caused this exile? The Midrash pinpoints three specific transgressions. "Every leper and every zav, and every one impure by means of a corpse" (Numbers 5:2) – these, the Rabbis say, are symbolic. They represent the sins of idol worship, illicit sexual relations, and bloodshed. If Israel commits these three sins, they incur liability to be exiled. A "leper" represents idol worship. Just as a leper causes impurity through physical contact, so too does idol worship "impurify through entry." The Hullin 13b even makes this connection explicit, noting that just as a leper in a house makes everything impure, so does something offered to an idol under a roof.

Next, a "zav" – someone who has a seminal emission – represents illicit sexual relations. The text emphasizes that these acts "impurify the land." Think of (Leviticus 18:24)–28, which warns against the land becoming defiled by such actions. Arayot, or illicit sexual relations, defile the land.

Finally, "impure by means of a corpse" represents murderers. They not only defile themselves but also defile the land with bloodshed. The Midrash draws on Mishna Avot 5:12, which states that exile comes to the world because of idol worship, illicit sexual relations, bloodshed, and the failure to observe the Sabbatical Year, the shmita, where the land lies fallow every seventh year.

The passage then elaborates on each transgression. Idol worship leads to destruction of altars and scattering among the nations, as (Leviticus 26:30) and 26:33 describe. The Omnipresent essentially says, "Since you desire idol worship, I will exile you to a place where there is idol worship."

Rabbi Yishmael ben Rabbi Yosei adds that when Israel is steeped in illicit sexual relations, the Divine Presence departs, citing (Deuteronomy 23:15): "And He will not see a shameful matter [ervat davar] in your midst, and turn from behind you."

And bloodshed? (Numbers 35:33)–34 makes it clear: "You shall not pollute the land...as the blood will pollute the land." Bloodshed, the Midrash argues, is the reason the Temple was destroyed and Israel was exiled.

The Midrash then connects these transgressions to the destruction of the First Temple. Rabbi Yochanan ben Toreta said the First Temple was destroyed specifically because of idol worship, illicit sexual relations, and bloodshed. The passage weaves in verses from Isaiah and Kings to illustrate these points, showing how these sins led to the calamities that befell Jerusalem.

The text doesn't stop there. It goes on to connect the different exiles – Babylonian, Median, Edomite (Roman), and Greek – to specific aspects of these transgressions. Each exile is linked to a particular form of impurity or punishment. The exile of Edom, which refers to the Roman Empire, is particularly poignant, as it's juxtaposed with the exile of Babylon, highlighting their shared role in destroying the Temple and exiling Israel.

But amidst all this talk of sin and punishment, there's a glimmer of hope. Rabbi Natan teaches that Israel is beloved because in every place they are exiled, the Divine Presence is with them. Whether in Egypt, Babylon, Elam, or Edom, God is always present. This idea echoes throughout Jewish tradition, offering comfort and reassurance during times of hardship.

The passage concludes with a message of repentance and redemption. Just as a leper, a zav, and someone impure due to a corpse need pure water to be purified, so too will God sprinkle pure water upon Israel and purify them, as (Ezekiel 36:25) promises. It will be when all these matters will come upon you, the blessing and the curse that I have placed before you, you shall restore to your heart among all the nations that the Lord your God has banished you there. And you will return to the Lord your God... (Deuteronomy 30:1-2, 5-6)

So, what are we to make of all this? This passage from Bamidbar Rabbah offers a powerful, if sobering, explanation for the exile of the Jewish people. It reminds us that our actions have consequences, and that sin can lead to collective suffering. But it also offers a message of hope, reminding us that God is always with us, even in our darkest moments, and that repentance and purification are always possible. It's a reminder that even in exile, the possibility of return, of teshuva, is ever-present. What does this all mean for us today? Perhaps it's a call to examine our own lives, both individually and collectively, and to strive to create a world that is worthy of God's presence.

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Legends of the Jews 4:328Legends of the Jews

The familiar story centers on Moses, the plagues, and the ultimate escape from slavery. But there's a fascinating little detail, almost a backstage scene, that often gets overlooked. It involves a sacrifice, a powerful smell, and a life-changing decision.

See, according to Legends of the Jews, that incredible compilation of rabbinic stories and folklore, Moses was having a bit of a hard time convincing all the Israelites to get circumcised. Can you imagine trying to convince thousands of people to undergo surgery right before a long journey? It was a tough sell! But God, as the stories tell us, has a way of working things out.

So, how did God change their minds?

God sent a wind. But not just any wind. This wind carried the most intoxicating, irresistible aroma – the sweet scents of Paradise itself! The Zohar, that foundational text of Jewish mysticism, often speaks of the sensory experiences that accompany spiritual awakening. This was something like that. According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, the fragrance wafted across Egypt, reaching as far as a forty days' journey. Think of the most amazing smell you've ever experienced, and multiply it by a thousand.

People were drawn to Moses' paschal lamb, the one prepared for the special Passover sacrifice, like moths to a flame. They wanted a taste! But Moses, ever the faithful messenger, stood firm. "This is the command of God," he declared, "'No uncircumcised person shall eat thereof.'"

Talk about a dilemma!

Faced with the choice between missing out on a taste of Paradise and fulfilling this important mitzvah, this commandment, the people made a collective decision: they all chose to undergo circumcision. Every single one of them!

Now, isn't that remarkable?

The story doesn't end there. As we find in Midrash Rabbah, when God passed through the land of Egypt during the final plague, God didn't just "pass over" the Israelite homes. God blessed every Israelite for fulfilling both the command of the paschal sacrifice and the command regarding circumcision. Two acts of faith, two steps toward freedom.

What's the takeaway here? This story, tucked away within the larger narrative of the Exodus, reminds us that sometimes, the path to doing what's right isn't always easy. Sometimes, it takes a little nudge, a little enticement, a little taste of something truly extraordinary to help us make the right choice. And sometimes, it's the combination of faith and action that truly earns us God's blessing. Maybe it's not always about grand miracles, but about the small, personal commitments we make along the way.

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