The stories surrounding Moses' death, as told in Jewish tradition, are nothing short of extraordinary.
Imagine this: God, seeing that Moses was ready to depart from this world, turns to the angel Gabriel and says, "Go, fetch Me Moses' soul." Seems straightforward, right? But Gabriel, one of the mightiest angels, recoils! "How can I presume," he asks, "to approach and take the soul of him that outweighs sixty myriads of mortals!" That’s sixty followed by five zeros – six million people! Gabriel is essentially saying, "Moses is too important, too powerful. I can't do it."
Next, God commissions Michael, another archangel, to undertake the task. But Michael, too, refuses, echoing Gabriel’s sentiments, and perhaps even with tears. The reverence for Moses is palpable.
Then comes Zagzagel. According to some traditions, Zagzagel is an angel associated with wisdom and instruction. He says, "Lord of the world! I was his teacher, and he my disciple. How, then, should I take his soul!" The bond between teacher and student, especially in the realm of spiritual guidance, creates a barrier even for an angel.
But then, a different voice enters the scene. Samael, often identified as the angel of death, steps forward. "Lord of the world!" he declares, "Is Moses, Israel's teacher, indeed greater than Adam, whom Thou didst create in Thine image? Is Moses greater than Abraham, who willingly entered the fiery furnace to glorify Thy name? Is he greater than Isaac, who allowed himself to be bound as a sacrifice? Or greater than Jacob or his twelve sons?" Samael is essentially arguing, "I’ve dealt with the best before. Let me handle this."
According to Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, Samael continues, "Not one of them escaped me, give me therefore permission to fetch Moses' soul."
God's response? "Not one of all these equals him." Think about that for a moment. Not Abraham, the patriarch; not Isaac, the willing sacrifice; not Jacob, the father of the twelve tribes. Moses stands alone.
And then God poses a series of rhetorical questions to Samael. "How wouldst thou take his soul? From his face? How couldst thou approach his face that had looked upon My Face! From his hands? Those hands received the Torah, the divine law, how then shouldst thou be able to approach them! From his feet? His feet touched My clouds, how then shouldst thou be able to approach them! Nay, thou canst not approach him at all."
These aren't just physical descriptions; they are testaments to Moses' profound connection with the divine. His face reflected God's presence, his hands held the Torah, his feet walked in God's realm. How could death, even in the form of Samael, dare to touch such holiness?
Yet, Samael persists. "However it be, I pray Thee, permit me to fetch his soul!" And finally, God concedes, "Thou hast My consent."
What does this all mean? Why this elaborate dance of angels? Perhaps it highlights the immense value placed on human life, especially a life dedicated to serving God. Maybe it shows the struggle between the divine will and the forces of mortality. Or perhaps, it's a reminder that even in death, the legacy of a truly righteous individual shines so brightly that it challenges the very nature of existence.