There's a story, a rather incredible one, about a rabbi who supposedly did just that.
It all revolves around Rabbi Judah Loew, also known as the Maharal of Prague. This was a truly remarkable figure, a master of the kabbalah – that is, the Jewish mystical tradition. We're talking about a time when Emperor Rudolf II ruled, and Prague was a hub of both imperial power and intense Jewish life. Now, the Emperor, having heard of Rabbi Loew's wisdom and mystical abilities, summoned him with a very unusual request.
He wanted Rabbi Loew to summon the patriarchs – Abraham, Isaac, Jacob – and even the twelve sons of Jacob from their graves. Can you imagine such a thing? Rabbi Loew, understandably, was horrified. But the Emperor, well, he wasn't taking "no" for an answer. He threatened the safety of the entire Jewish community of Prague if the rabbi didn't comply. So, with a heavy heart, Rabbi Loew agreed to try.
He warned the Emperor, though. He said, "No matter what you see, you cannot laugh." The Emperor promised he wouldn't.
So, a day and place were set. In a secluded room of the castle, just Rabbi Loew and the Emperor present, the rabbi began the incantation. He pronounced the spell to summon the patriarchs and the sons of Jacob. And then, according to the tale, they appeared. One after the other, in their true form. The Emperor was astounded. He was amazed by their size, their power, which far exceeded that of any men he knew. But here's where things went wrong.
When Naphtali, son of Jacob, appeared, he leaped with incredible ease over ears of corn and stalks of flax. It was a spectacular display, but the Emperor couldn't contain himself. He burst out laughing!
Instantly, the apparitions vanished. And something even stranger began to happen: the ceiling of the room started to descend, threatening to crush the Emperor! Thankfully, Rabbi Loew, with another spell, managed to halt the ceiling just in time. The story goes that the fallen ceiling can still be seen today in that locked room.
This story, as found in Tree of Souls (Schwartz), is just one of many surrounding Rabbi Judah Loew. Most famously, he's known for creating the golem – a man made of clay – to protect the Jewish community from false accusations. But this tale of summoning the patriarchs is particularly fascinating.
What does it all mean? Well, the collapsing room echoes a famous Talmudic story about Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus, where even the walls start to lean when the rabbis disagree (see "The Rabbis Overrule God," p. 67). It also reflects the idea that the past is always present. As we find in Midrash Rabbah, all generations exist at the same time. The magic of summoning the patriarchs demonstrates this midrashic principle.
There's another, perhaps earlier, version of this story in Ma'aseh Nissim, where Rabbi Lezer invokes King David's general Joab. But Joab is so massive that his every step shakes the house. The young men observing the invocation are terrified and beg the rabbi to make him disappear.
These stories serve as a cautionary tale. Only the most pious and prepared sages were considered capable of engaging in kabbalistic studies. Many tales are told of those who lost their sanity or even their lives by undertaking such studies without the proper background or preparation.
In the end, the Emperor's frivolous request, born out of disbelief, almost led to his demise. Only Rabbi Loew's piety and knowledge saved him. It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? What would we do if we had the power to summon the past? And would we be able to treat it with the respect it deserves?