What Happened in Migdal Eder?

A new understanding of what happened in Migdal Eder and its impact until today based on the teachings of my father, Rabbi Yaacov Haber.

Dec 01, 2023

After the untimely passing of Rachel, Yaacov erected a gravestone in Beis Lechem. He then journeyed a short distance and set up his tent in Migdel Eder. Its there that the Torah recounts Reuven's involvement with the sleeping arrangements of Bilhah. Following Rachel's death, Yaacov’s bed, which had been in Rachel’s tent where he resided, was moved into Bilhah’s tent. Subsequently, Reuven relocated Yaacov’s bed into Leah’s tent. This act was never forgiven by Yaacov, and it was perceived as though Reuven had been intimate with Bilhah.

This particular incident, sandwiched in between numerous significant events in our parsha, often goes unnoticed as it seems to be trivial information. Intriguingly, Yonason ben Uziel adds a mysterious note here, commenting that Migdal Eder is the designated location for the revelation of Mashiach at the end of days. Despite its potential significance, this does not seen to be widely discussed. Interestingly, Christians have leveraged this to assert that Jesus, born in the nearby Beis Lechem, is the Mashiach. We know this is incorrect, but it raises the question: what is the true meaning behind this?

I would like to share an explanation from my father, Rav Yaacov Haber, based on many shiurim I have heard and had the privilege to learn together.

In the wake of Rachel's passing, Yaacov Avinu, decided to leave Beis Lechem and proceed to Migdal Eder. This decision stemmed from his belief that Migdal Eder would be the origin point for the arrival of Mashiach. This transition also marked a significant shift in his identity, from Yaacov to Yisrael. The name Yaacov symbolizes his individual persona, while Yisrael represents Klal Yisrael, or his role as the father of the Jewish people. As a general principle, when the Torah refers to him as Yaacov, it speaks of his personal journey; conversely, when referred to as Yisrael, it signifies matters concerning the collective. These are the secrets of Chazal. It was at this place, Migdal Eder that Reuven intervened, altering the arrangement of the beds.

Migdal HaEder, situated near Beis Lechem to the south of Yerushalayim, is no longer known by its ancient name. In 1920, settlers, drawn by its biblical significance, established a community in this area, striving to revive historical landmarks. However, during the Arab Riots of 1928, this nascent community was destroyed. Located just outside the modern area of Gilo, Migdal HaEder is home to a dried-up stream where archaeologists have discovered an underground lake. Notably, among the various Jewish settlements of that era, the community of Chevron and Migdal HaEder were specifically targeted for destruction by the Arabs. This selective destruction suggests a deeper historical significance that perhaps influenced these actions.

Let’s turn to the Gemara to learn more about this.

The Gemara in Taanis1 teaches a crucial lesson regarding personality traits: one should aspire to be as flexible as a reed, rather than rigid and inflexible like a cedar. A reed, while not particularly strong, possesses the flexibility to sway with the wind without breaking. In contrast, a cedar, despite its strength, can crack under severe winds. One has a choice in life: to be like the unyielding cedar, strong yet vulnerable to breaking completely, or to emulate the reed, which may be weaker but is more adaptable. Here, the Gemara tells us that one should rather be soft and flexible like a reed as opposed to hard and inflexible like a cedar.

But how do we understand this principle? The Gemara tells a fascinating and somewhat peculiar tale:

Rav Eliezer ben Shimon, the son of Rav Shimon bar Yochai, was traveling from Migdal Gedor, having visited the home of his Rebbe, Rebbe Meir.

My father clarifies that Migdal Gedor, a yishuv from Talmudic times, was also referred to as Migdal HaEder. Furthermore, following the tragic passing of his wife, Beruriah, Rebbe Meir withdrew from public life. Only his closest students could reach him, and they would travel to his secluded location, situated somewhere north of the Golan.

Rebbe Eliezer, journeying back from the secret hideout of Rebbe Meir, was riding a donkey and following a river's path. He felt an intense joy and, for a moment, became somewhat prideful, his mind clouded by the vast amount of Torah he had recently studied. As he traveled, an exceedingly ugly man approached and greeted him with "שלום עליך רבי". However, Rebbe Eliezer did not reciprocate with "עליכם שלום". This led to an awkward moment.
Finally, Rebbe Eliezer, addressing the man, remarked, "You empty person, you are so ugly. Is everyone in your city as ugly as you?" The man, taken aback, replied, "I don't know why I am so ugly. But you should perhaps take this issue to the craftsman who made me, to G-d, and tell Him: 'How ugly is the vessel You have created.'"
Upon realizing the grave error of his ways, Rebbe Eliezer was immediately filled with remorse for offending the man. He dismounted his donkey, bowed before the man, and earnestly pleaded, "I have hurt you, please forgive me!"
The ugly person, however, was firm in his response: "I will not forgive you until you go before God and declare: 'How ugly is the vessel that You have created!'"
The situation had escalated to a palpable tension.
Here was Rebbe Eliezer, previously basking in the afterglow of a spiritually enriching visit with his Rebbe, now experiencing a profound low. Having unintentionally insulted a stranger and recognized his mistake, he found himself humbly crawling on his hands and knees2, following the man back to his city, desperately seeking forgiveness.
Upon their arrival in the city, the townspeople emerged to greet Rebbe Eliezer with considerable respect and honor. This prompted the ugly man to inquire, "Who are you honoring so greatly?" They informed him that the honor was for the individual crawling behind him. The man, surprised, commented, "If he is a Rebbe, may there be no others like him in Israel."
Curious, the townspeople asked what grievance he held against the Rebbe. After hearing the story, they implored the man to forgive Rebbe Eliezer, citing his stature as a great rabbi. The man eventually agreed to forgive, but only on the condition that Rebbe Eliezer firmly resolved never to repeat such an offense.
In response, Rebbe Eliezer immediately began to teach a lesson: "A person should always be as flexible as a reed and not rigid like a cedar."

Beyond the mysterious nature of this story, which hints at deeper layers, one can't help but wonder why Rebbe Eliezer's encounter with his Rebbe led to such arrogance, causing him to look down upon others. It's puzzling, especially given the spiritual depth of his visit. Moreover, there seems to be a mismatch in the lesson drawn from the incident. The issue here wasn't a lack of flexibility, as the story's conclusion suggests, but rather an absence of humility. Why, then, did Rebbe Eliezer focus his teaching on flexibility instead of humility?

Learning this story, we must consider the significance of each detail mentioned in the Gemara, including the location, the donkey, and the river, as they are likely to hold importance.

Rebbe Eliezer's journey to learn from his Rebbe took place in the same Migdal Eder where Yaacov Avinu had set up his tent. His departure, marked by his ride on a donkey, was filled with simcha. This joy stemmed not only from the extensive Torah he had just learned but also from the realization that he was departing from the very place prophesied to be the origin of Mashiach's arrival.

Who exactly was this 'ugly man'? Tosafos3 identifies him as Eliyahu HaNavi, noting that his refusal to forgive was intentional, aimed at teaching a lesson. This encounter is particularly intriguing given its setting: Rebbe Eliezer was at Migdal Eder, the prophesied site of Mashiach's emergence, and he was riding a donkey. According to Tosafos, it was here that Eliyahu HaNavi, the herald of Mashiach, approached him.

This story underscores a crucial lesson about judgement based on external appearances. Rebbe Eliezer initially judged the man solely on his physical appearance, deeming him ugly, only to swiftly realize the folly of such superficial judgment.

In his quintessential manner, my father further explains another aspect of the story, focusing on Rebbe Meir.

Rebbe Meir was renowned for embodying a philosophy diametrically opposed to superficial judgment. The Gemara tells how he would hold a Sheretz, typically regarded as the epitome of ugliness and impurity, and intellectually argue 150 reasons for its purity. Although Rebbe Meir never consumed the Sheretz, this exercise illustrated his belief in finding purity in what is conventionally seen as impure. The Gemara acknowledges Rebbe Meir as the preeminent mind and rabbi of his generation. However, Halacha could not be established according to his views because the Chachamim often found his interpretations too profound to comprehend. Rebbe Meir perceived things on a deeper level, where everything holds an intrinsic goodness and holiness.

In the process of creation, as described in Kabbalistic terms, an entity transitions from the world of Hashem to our world through the stages of אבי”ע – beginning in אצילות (Emanation), moving through בריאה (Creation) and יצירה (Formation), and culminating in עשייה (Action). While a superficial interpretation likens this process to an elevator, a more accurate analogy is an assembly line. Most of us operate primarily within the world of עשייה, with only a few able to tap into the higher world of בריאה. It's essential to understand that creation is an act of separation and organization, as indicated by the recurring use of the word ויבדל (and He separated) in the first perek of בראשית.

In the highest world, אצילות, there is no separation; everything is unified as expressed in שמע ישראל ה' אלהינו ה' אחד. This spiritual world doesn't necessitate divisions or distinctions. Conversely, the world of science thrives on such distinctions and separations. This dichotomy leads to the classification of good and evil, light and darkness. Yet, if one were to elevate these concepts to a higher world, they would find their origins converging. Ascend further, and these origins merge even more closely. At the level of אצילות, all is one and the same. Understanding this concept allows us to grasp that כל דעביד רחמנא לטב עביד , meaning everything created by Hashem inherently serves a good purpose.

My father elaborates; the concept of unity often prompts discussions about its desirability and feasibility. However, if unity implies uniformity or the uncritical acceptance of all opinions, its practicality comes into question.

Differences among us, whether in gender, religion, or other aspects, exist within this world of distinction. It's crucial to recognize that while these differences may seem vast in our current world, ascending to a higher level brings us much closer together. True unity is achieved not at the physical level, but on a spiritual or נשמה (soul) level. On a נשמה level, the נשמות get along fine with each other, however, it is the גוף, the body, that divides us. Physically, our souls don't occupy space; it's our bodies that create separation. Thus, the essence of unity lies in ascending a step higher and achieving peace at that level. This is echoed in the conclusion of the Shemoneh Esrei: עושה שלום במרומיו הוא יעשה שלום עלינו The idea is that if you start from a higher world, the peace can permeate our world as well.

The arrival of Mashiach symbolizes the revelation of the world just above ours, a glimpse into a higher realm. Those who immerse themselves in Torah study can also perceive this higher world. In contrast, those preoccupied solely with material concerns see only division. Discussions about good and evil, about distinctions and divisions, pertain to our current, divided world.

Rebbe Meir lived in a world distinct from the ordinary, where even a Sheretz, typically viewed as repugnant and impure, possessed redeeming qualities. The Chachamim acknowledged Rebbe Meir's unparalleled greatness yet decided that Halacha, the Jewish legal system, couldn't be set according to his views. This was because Halacha is grounded in the realities of this world, whereas Rebbe Meir's perspective belonged to a more ethereal, higher plane. He wasn't merely discussing Halacha; he was exploring a realm where profound unity is possible.4

It's indeed ironic that Rebbe Eliezer’s initial error was to label someone as ugly. This mistake reflects our tendency to confine ourselves within rigid stereotypes and opinions, leading to judgments that can be narrow-minded and even prejudiced. We often make quick assessments about a person's piety or יראי שמים based solely on their appearance, overlooking the fact that true spiritual stature is not something easily discerned from the outside. This was the essential teaching of Rebbe Meir, highlighting the importance of looking beyond superficial traits—a lesson that Rebbe Eliezer momentarily overlooked, resulting in his misjudgment.

My father elaborates: "When Mashiach finally arrives, many will be in disbelief, questioning his authenticity based on his appearance. What if he dresses differently, like a Chassid, a Sephardi Chacham, or even dons a Kipa Sruga? The uncertainty of Mashiach's appearance challenges our preconceptions about the 'real Jew.' We all have our notions of what Mashiach will look like, convinced of our understanding of the ideal Jew. Yet, the reality may be startlingly different. Mashiach, as a Melech (king), represents and embodies the Jewish people, serving as a model for emulation and as Hashem’s prophet. His actual appearance might defy all our expectations.

In the very place foretold for the revelation of Mashiach, Rebbe Eliezer failed by dismissing someone based on outward appearance, declaring, 'it cannot be, because your outside is not right.' It was only after experiencing remorse, seeking forgiveness, and being forgiven under the condition of not repeating his mistake, that Rebbe Eliezer understood his error.

Why did Rebbe Eliezer focus on flexibility in his subsequent teaching, instead of humility or another related theme? Flexibility signifies the willingness to look beyond initial perceptions, to delve deeper rather than being rigidly 'stuck.' This quality of not being confined to first impressions or surface judgments is essential.

The essence of his teaching was about being flexible, embodying the core lesson from Rebbe Meir: to look beyond the superficial. This approach aligns with understanding the higher unity of ה' אחד, recognizing that on a spiritual level, everything is interconnected. This is the essence of שמע ישראל ה' אלהינו ה' אחד - the unity of דין and רחמים as one.

Rebbe Meir's teachings focused on this higher level of understanding, and Rebbe Eliezer, in his message of flexibility, conveyed this profound concept. Inflexibility, akin to the rigidity of a cedar, blinds one to alternative perspectives, missing the depth of Rebbe Meir's teachings. Life is not merely black and white; embracing flexibility allows us to explore deeper connections and understandings, fostering a true sense of unity."

This teaching occurred in Migdal HaEder, a place deeply connected with the concept of Mashiach. The entire story, in essence, revolves around the idea of Mashiach. As the Rambam notes, the key to recognizing Mashiach lies in his success at fostering peace in the world. This notion of peace symbolizes transcending from a world rife with division to a world of unity. When people unite and achieve peace, it's a sign of moving towards a higher level of existence. Hence, the ability to bring about such peace becomes the defining characteristic of Mashiach.

Yeshaya HaNavi refers to Mashiach as the Prince of Peace. He describes an unexpected image: ויבא איש מבצרה חמוץ בגדים רוכב על החמור – "a man will come from Basra, with dirty clothing, riding on a donkey." This imagery suggests that Mashiach might appear from the most unexpected of places, challenging our preconceived notions of holiness and leadership. The holiest individual, the Mashiach, may not possess any outward signs of greatness or royal demeanor, prompting us all to look beyond the surface.

It's precisely this lack of external trappings that will compel us to look deeper, to discern the true essence that lies within the soul. In this, lies the realization of true peace. It’s not about the external appearance; it's about the deeper, spiritual reality within, and that's where the true essence of Mashiach and his mission of peace can be found.

My father elaborates on this concept in relation to the incident with Reuven, drawing insights from the Tomer Devorah.5

A brief introduction: everything that happens in the spiritual worlds takes place through the medium of the Sefiros. when things are starting to actualize they need to go through a process from Chesed through malchus, from abstract to reality. the seven sefiros are Chessed, Gevurah, Tiferet, Netzach, Hod, Yesod, and Malchut. 6

The process of creation, as described in Kabbala, begins from a higher world and descends to a lower one. Hashem's creation of the world is an act from a place of netzach (eternity and infinity), and it involves a process of tzimzum (contraction or condensation), where the Infinite condenses to form the finite world.

In this process, we are to emulate water, which naturally flows from high places to low. Contrary to our intuition, which might suggest ascending from low to high, in this context, the flow is reversed. As the Ramchal points out, all beings, Jews and non-Jews alike, are created with a specific purpose. Hashem, in the world of 'atzilut', is served by malachim and in our world, the world of 'asiyah', humans serve a similar purpose. The crucial difference is that humans possess free will.

Our task is to contribute to the furtherance of Hashem's malchus. One way to achieving this goal is through the study of Torah, which can lead to attaining Tiferes (glory or beauty). From Tiferes, one can bring down to netzach and hod, eventually reaching yesod, which culminates in malchus.

The patriarchs of the Jewish people each represented a step in this spiritual process. Avraham's role was not sufficient by itself; he needed Yitzchok, and together they combined in the form of tiferes in Yaacov. Yaacov then transmitted these qualities to the twelve tribes through Rachel and Leah. Yosef embodied the attribute of yesod, while Yehuda represented malchus, and from him descends Melech HaMashiach. Mashiach is symbolized as coming from the lowest level, depicted as 'a pauper riding on a donkey', signifying the most humble state. This imagery underscores that malchus, in its truest form, is not about personal grandeur. Instead, it's about total devotion and submission to Hashem's will, embodying His sovereignty on earth.

The incident with the "ugly man" took place in Migdal HaEder, the same location destined for the revelation of Mashiach. This scenario symbolizes the journey of taking the tiferes, which Rebbe Eliezer learned from R'Meir, and integrating it into the sefiros of netzach, hod, yesod, and ultimately, malchus.

Reuven's interference with Yaacov’s bed is a critical moment. Yonason ben Uziel interprets this as if Reuven had slept with Bilhah. This upset Yaacov, who saw a potential flaw in his lineage, a 'pesul,' similar to Avraham with Yishmael and Yitzchok with Eisav. Despite being on high spiritual levels, Avraham and Yitzchok each had a preference toward the evil aspect in their respective 'pesulim.' This was in essence a manifestation of the sefiros going from a high place to a low place. Sara and Rivka, however, saw the dangers in this approach.

Yaacov, after Rachel's death, thought his lineage was complete ('mitasi shleima'), but Reuven's act made him question if he also had a 'pesul.' This led to a disruption in the downward transmission of the spiritual attributes. Yaacov’s intent was to continue the lineage through Bilhah, transitioning from tiferes to netzach and hod (Bilha and Zilpa) to finally get to yesod. However, Reuven's misunderstanding led to a different outcome. The story of Yosef (Yesod) and the subsequent slavery in Egypt represents this downward trajectory, as unexpected as it may have been. Yaacov was trying to avoid bringing about this shleimus though Yosef and Mitzrayim.

At the end of his life, Yaacov, while blessing his children, wanted to talk about Mashaich and he lost his Ruach Hakodesh. Yaacov thought perhaps one of his children was on a lower level, which could impede the coming of Mashiach. Fortunately, they were all on the same level, ('mitasi shleima'). This entire saga underscores the importance of guiding the sefiros downward appropriately.

This event at Migdal Ha'Eder, a site linked to the revelation of Mashiach, echoes the notion that Yaacov might have anticipated the arrival of Mashiach during his time. In the same location, Rebbe Eliezer ben R' Shimon missed a crucial opportunity in his encounter with the "ugly man." He had all the ingredients; the donkey, the Torah, and tiferes yet he didn’t action the learning. This hindered the arrival of Mashiach, despite all other conditions being ripe for his coming.

Our lesson is to exercise our flexibility, embody the ideals and make sure to action those ideals at the critical moments. We must look beyond the superficial, feel beyond our current state and react to each other with purity. May we merit mastering that process and greeting Mashiach with the proper respect ASAP.

Discussion about this post

Ready for more?