The Builders Who Shot Arrows at Heaven

Legends of the Jews turns to The Builders Who Shot Arrows at Heaven.

Fueled by this horrifying spectacle, they cried out, "We have slain all who are in heaven!" Imagine the arrogance, the sheer audacity of that claim. They truly believed they could wage war against the divine. What could possibly happen next?

Well, God, witnessing this brazen act, turned to the seventy angels surrounding His throne. As the Torah in (Genesis 11:7) says, "Go to, let us go down, and there confound their language, that they may not understand one another's speech."

Suddenly, communication crumbled. One worker would ask for ḥomer (חוֹמֶר), mortar, and another would hand him levenah (לְבֵנָה), a brick. Frustration boiled over into rage. We’re told that in their fury, they began hurling bricks at each other, and many died. A tragic and violent end to their grand project.

But the punishments didn't stop there. The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), specifically Midrash Rabbah, elaborates on the fates of the builders. Those who declared their intention to raise idols in heaven were transformed into apes and phantoms – a grotesque mockery of their former selves. Those who sought to assault heaven with weapons were set against each other in battle, a chaotic free-for-all. And those who planned to wage war against God Himself were scattered across the face of the earth, becoming the seeds of diverse nations.

And what became of the tower itself? According to the legend, it suffered a threefold destruction: one part sank into the earth, another was consumed by fire, and only a third remained standing, a haunting reminder of their failed ambition.

The story doesn’t end there. The place where the tower stood is said to have retained a peculiar, unsettling quality. Whoever passes by it, as we learn from Ginzberg's retelling in Legends of the Jews, forgets everything they know. Can you imagine such a place? A spot on Earth where knowledge simply vanishes?

The story of the Tower of Babel is more than just a tale of linguistic diversity. It's a powerful parable about the limits of human ambition, the dangers of hubris, and the enduring power of communication. What does this tale tell us about our own aspirations? Are we building towers that reach for the heavens, or are we striving to connect with each other here on Earth?

They never slackened in their work, and from their dizzy height they constantly shot arrows toward heaven, which, returning, were seen to be covered with blood. They were thus fortified in their delusion, and they cried, "We have slain all who are in heaven." Thereupon God turned to the seventy angels who encompass His throne, and He spake: "Go to, let us go down, and there confound their language, that they may not understand one another's speech." Thus it happened. Thenceforth none knew what the other spoke. One would ask for the mortar, and the other handed him a brick; in a rage, he would throw the brick at his partner and kill him. Many perished in this manner, and the rest were punished according to the nature of their rebellious conduct. Those who had spoken, "Let us ascend into the heavens, set up our idols, and pay worship unto them there," God transformed into apes and phantoms; those who had proposed to assault the heavens with their arms, God set against each other so that they fell in the combat; and those who had resolved to carry on a combat with God in heaven were scattered broadcast over the earth. As for the unfinished tower, a part sank into the earth, and another part was consumed by fire; only one-third of it remained standing. The place of the tower has never lost its peculiar quality. Whoever passes it forgets all he knows.