This particular midrash, let's call it Midrash of Philo 5, offers what we might call a "noble panegyric" – high praise, really – for the just person. What makes someone truly just in the eyes of God? Well, according to Philo, it’s not just doing some of what's commanded, but wholeheartedly embracing all of God's commands, acting with a pure mind and deep love.

But here’s where it gets really interesting. The midrash suggests that God doesn’t so much "command" the just, as "order" them. Now, what’s the difference? Masters command slaves, right? But friends… friends order friends, especially when one is older and wiser. It’s a relationship of respect and mutual affection, not just blind obedience.

Isn’t that a profound idea? To be considered a friend of the “most glorious Uncreated Essence.” It's portrayed as an incredible gift, a rare find even amongst those who dedicate themselves to serving God. It's an "excess of kindness," to be so close to the Divine.

The Midrash of Philo also delves into the significance of the names we use for God: Adonai (Lord) and Elohim (God). As we find here, these aren't just interchangeable labels. The text highlights the specific order in which they appear and what they signify. It tells us that "Lord" signifies power, the ability to both destroy and benefit, while "God" emphasizes beneficence, kindness, and mercy.

The midrash points out that when dealing with judgment, the name "Lord" comes first, indicating God's power to bring about destruction. But even in judgment, God leaves behind "seminal elements," remnants for renewal. This is why, the midrash argues, the initial creation was an act of beneficence, not extermination.

Think about it. At the very beginning, we don't see annihilation, but the life-affirming words, "Let there be."

The midrash continues, explaining that during creation, the appellations of God and their use changed. Because the name Elohim, "God," indicates beneficent power, it's used more frequently during the account of creation. But once creation is perfected, God is then called Adonai, "Lord," emphasizing royal power and the ability to destroy. The point is that "when the act of generation is spoken of God is used first in order, but when punishment is spoken of the name Lord is placed before the name God."

So, what does all of this mean for us? Perhaps it's an invitation to think about our own relationship with the Divine. Are we simply servants, following commands out of duty? Or can we strive for something more, a friendship built on love, respect, and a wholehearted commitment to justice?

It's a powerful notion – that we can be more than just subjects, but beloved friends of the Creator. And maybe, just maybe, that's the ultimate panegyric, the highest praise we can hope to achieve.