The Beginning of Days
The Beginning of Days
There was evening and there was morning, one day. (Genesis I:5)
What will happen in the end times? Before trying to answer questions about the end of days, we need to learn about the beginning of days. And maybe a little bit about the concept of time itself.
The Torah begins by telling us that, in the beginning, God created everything, including the beginning of time. Time is something we don't really understand. Even our best scientists can't explain it. We can observe it, measure it, and even predict it, but no one can say what it is or why it behaves in the counter intuitive way that it does. General relativity insists that the passage of time is relative to both mass and motion. The bigger an object, the slower time moves. The greater the velocity, the slower time moves. Nevertheless, it's always moving. So, where is it going?
Like a well-written story, the Jewish view of time has a beginning, a middle, and an end. It begins "in the beginning" when God made the heavens and the earth, created light, and set in motion the sequence of night and day: day one, day two, day three, day four ... the beginning of days. The middle of days includes everything that occurs in history between the beginning and the end, including this present moment. The end of days is a future finale called "The Day of the LORD." Time moves toward that last day like a river flowing toward the irresistible summons of the sea.
It might seem obvious that time follows in a linear sequence, but it's not obvious to everyone. We take the linear progress of time for granted only because the Western world has adopted the Jewish view of history from the Bible. Back in the days of Moses, the Jewish view was not the normal way of thinking about time. Most ancient Near Eastern religions did not regard time as having a beginning or an ending. They viewed time as cyclical-a never-ending repetition of day and night, seedtime and harvest, summer and winter, birth and death, again and again, without beginning and without ending. In that world of cycle and repetition, both man and the gods were swept along at the mercy of impersonal fate. All were passive participants in the endlessly repeating revolutions of the great wheel. The wheel spun around, like the wheeling stars above, determining everyone's destiny. A scholar, sage, or astrologer might predict the future through careful study of the cycles of the wheel. He might be able to tell you the most fortuitous day on which to undertake a venture, such as wedding a spouse or building a house, but he could not help you escape fate. Under such a system of inevitability, human beings had no free agency to speak of, and what exactly would they do with it even if they did? Nothing was ever going to change. There was no ultimate purpose to any of it. Just the same thing, over and over. King Solomon cynically summarized this worldview as that which has been will be again-the idea that life is a closed loop of repetition without ultimate purpose or progress:
That which has been is that which will be, and that which has been done is that which will be done. So there is nothing new under the sun. Is there anything of which one might say, "See this, it is new"? Already it has existed for ages which were before us. (Ecclesiastes I:9-10)
If nothing is truly new, then human striving appears futile, swallowed up in endless recurrence. Yet, when placed alongside the Torah’s declaration of a beginning (“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth”), his observation takes on a sharper contrast. The Torah shatters the illusion of a perpetual cyclical repetition. It begins with the bold declaration, "In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth!" Wow! A beginning! This all started at some definite point in the past. That implies intention and purpose on the part of a Creator who must have existed before the beginning. A beginning imbues the whole universe with purpose.
What's more, if time has a definite starting point, we may infer that it probably isn't going to last forever. If there is a beginning, it's reasonable to assume there will also be an end. Everything else is just the middle. Let's just say, This all seems to be going somewhere.
References
This lesson is adapted from Daniel Lancaster's teachings in The End of Days, as presented by First Fruits of Zion for the Torah Club.
Competing Narratives
At the heart of the biblical worldview lies the radical idea that creation has a beginning and, therefore, that history has direction. Unlike the cyclical cosmologies of the ancient Near East, where time endlessly repeated itself, the Jewish Scriptures present time as linear, purposeful, and oriented toward a divinely appointed end. Genesis opens with “In the beginning,” setting forth not only the origin of the world but also the structure of time itself, governed by days, seasons, and appointed times (moadim) that anticipate a climactic fulfillment. History is not a closed loop but a narrative moving toward the Day of the LORD, resurrection, and the restoration of all things.
In the first century, however, the Jewish apocalyptic vision did not stand alone. Two alternative redemptive narratives competed for dominance in the Mediterranean world:
The Greek narrative, rooted in Platonic philosophy, subordinated time to the eternal. Salvation meant the soul’s escape from the flux of history into the changeless realm of Forms. History, in this framework, lacked decisive meaning. Eternity came to mean “timelessness” and God was imagined as existing outside of time.
The Roman narrative, shaped by imperial ideology, placed the fullness of redemption in the present political order. The pax Romana was proclaimed as the “good news,” a vision of peace and stability secured through empire.
In both systems, “newness” was either a re-participation in timeless ideals or the celebration of present political achievements—not the breakthrough of God’s decisive act at the end of the age.
Christian theology developed at the crossroads of these competing visions. Over time, core elements of Jewish, Greek, and Roman frameworks were blended into synthetic narratives that shaped the church’s theological imagination:
Augustine’s synthesis of Greek metaphysics and Roman political theology (Greek & Roman) produced a vision in which history was linear but deeply allegorized: the City of God advancing amid the rise and fall of earthly powers.
Dispensationalism, emerging much later, drew on aspects of Jewish apocalyptic linearity but combined them with philosophical and modernist categories (Jewish and Greek), emphasizing discrete epochs and timetables for God’s dealings with humanity.
The modern inaugurational narrative sought to mediate between apocalyptic expectation and realized fulfillment (Jewish and Roman), emphasizing that the kingdom is already present but not yet fully consummated. While this preserved a future hope, it also risked diluting the decisive “end” by locating much of redemption in the present.
The contrasts among these frameworks are most clearly seen in their treatment of time. Jewish apocalyptic insists that time is real, linear, and moving toward a climactic intervention: the resurrection of the dead, the judgment of nations, and the reign of Messiah on earth. Greek thought, by contrast, minimizes the significance of time in favor of timeless eternity. Roman ideology collapses the end into the present, narrating salvation through political order. Synthetic Christian frameworks often straddle these visions, some leaning toward historical allegory, others toward speculative chronology, and still others toward a realized or partially realized eschatology.
The stakes in these differences are profound. For Jewish apocalyptic thought, creation’s beginning guarantees a purposeful ending: exile will give way to restoration, and the age of suffering will give way to the age to come. Only this framework allows history to be truly meaningful, holding together both God’s covenantal promises to Israel and His ultimate purposes for the nations. In contrast, Greek and Roman alternatives either spiritualize hope into timeless ideals or collapse it into present realities, diminishing the climactic drama of redemption. Thus, to recover the Jewish vision of creation and time is to recover a redemptive story that is both grounded in history and directed toward the ultimate renewal of all things.
Most of church history can be understood as a series of deviations from, or returns toward, the original Jewish apocalyptic narrative.
References
This lesson is adapted from John Harrigan’s teachings in Discipling the Gentiles into the Hope of Israel, as presented by First Fruits of Zion.
Signs of the Times
Then God said, "Let there be lights in the expanse of the heavens to separate the day from the night, and let them be for signs and for seasons and for days and years." (Genesis I:I4)
Before we attempt to peer into the end of days or unravel the riddles of Revelation, we need to talk about God's calendar. We can't expect to determine much about the end times if we don't know how the Bible measures time.
God created the sun, moon, and stars as the means to measure out the progress of time. He created light and dark-the first day. He placed lights in the heavens-sun, moon, and stars— the first calendar. The rising and setting of the sun mark off days. The cycle of the moon marks off the months. The first tiny sliver of the new moon indicates the first day of the month; the full moon indicates the middle of the month; the disappearance of the moon indicates the end of the month. Ordinarily, a biblical year contains twelve lunar months.
The biblical calendar is also connected to the solar cycle. The changing angle of the sun across the sky marks off seasons and years. The sun makes the seasons—spring, summer, fall, winter. If you only followed the moon, the seasons would slowly get messed up. For example, Passover, which is supposed to be in the spring, would eventually drift into winter if nothing was done.
Every so often, the calendar requires an extra lunar month to keep everything synchronized with the solar year. That year has 13 months instead of 12. This “catch-up month” keeps the moon calendar lined up with the sun calendar, so the feasts and holidays stay in the right season. That means, sometimes, the Jewish year is thirteen months long. Otherwise, the seasons would eventually drift to the wrong time of year.
Imagine two clocks running side by side:
Clock A = Moon months
One moon cycle (new moon → full moon → new moon) is about 29–30 days.
12 of these = about 354 days.
Clock B = Sun year
The earth going all the way around the sun takes about 365 days.
That’s an 11-day gap every year (365 – 354).
If you just keep using the moon (354 days), then after 3 years you’d be about a month off from the sun/season calendar. After 6 years, you’d be off by two months, and so on. Eventually spring holidays would be showing up in winter!
So, the fix is simple:
Every couple of years, the Jewish calendar adds an extra “leap month.”
This extra month “catches up” the moon calendar with the sun calendar, so the feasts stay in the right seasons (Passover in spring, Sukkot in fall, etc.).
The Torah designates the heavenly lights for "seasons," but the Hebrew word mo’adim (מוֹעֲדִים) should be translated as "appointed times." God wants the seasons to occur at their appointed times. Genesis I:14 should be translated to say, "Let them be for signs and for appointed times and for days and years."
That's important because the Bible designates specific appointed times (moadim) as holy days: "The LORD's appointed times which you shall proclaim as holy convocations-My appointed times are these" (Leviticus 23:2). We are talking about the Shabbat (Sabbath), Pesach (Passover), Shavu'ot (Pentecost), Rosh HaShanah (Festival of Trumpets), Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement), and Sukkot (Festival of Booths). They are not just holidays; they are also God's appointments for meeting with His people. Think of them as rehearsals for God's appointed times in history. Each one contains hints and clues about the future. It is not for us to know the future "times or appointed times which the Father has fixed by His own authority" (Acts I:7), but we can learn a lot about them and prepare for them by learning about the appointed times of the biblical holy days. They are a shadow of things about to happen, a shadow cast by the body of the Messiah (Colossians 2:17). Paul’s wording doesn’t say “was a shadow” (past tense) but “is a shadow” (present tense)—indicating ongoing relevance. The feasts continue to function as living signs of Messiah’s work: already fulfilled in some aspects, not yet fulfilled in others. Each festival communicates something important about the final redemption and the end of days.
In addition to marking off seasons, days, and years, the heavenly lights are “signs (otot, אוֹתוֹת)” in the heavens. That's another big end-times concept. In the Bible, prophets, holy men, and angelic messengers sometimes offer people "signs" to validate the divine origin of their messages. God sometimes provides signs in the form of miracles, wonders, and astronomical phenomena as warnings to the world about impending events. In the end of days, such signs escalate. For example, "The sun will be turned into darkness and the moon into blood before the great and awesome day of the LORD comes" (Joel 2:31). When that great and awesome day finally does come, "the light of the moon will be as the light of the sun, and the light of the sun will be seven times brighter, like the light of seven days" (Isaiah 30:26). In the World to Come, the holy city "has no need of the sun or of the moon to shine on it... there will no longer be any night; and they will not have need of the light of a lamp nor the light of the sun, because the Lord God will illumine them; and they will reign forever and ever" beyond the end of time (Revelation 21:23, 22:5).
References
This lesson is adapted from Daniel Lancaster's teachings in The End of Days, as presented by First Fruits of Zion for the Torah Club.
How Holy Days Hint at the Future
Each of the biblical holy days (moedim) not only commemorates past events but also points prophetically toward future fulfillment in God’s redemptive plan:
Passover (Pesach): Foreshadows the Messiah’s sacrificial death as the true Passover Lamb (Exodus 12 → 1 Corinthians 5:7).
Unleavened Bread: Symbolizes the Messiah’s sinless body resting in the tomb and the call to live without sin (Leviticus 23:6 → Romans 6:4).
Firstfruits: Points to the Messiah’s resurrection as the first of those who will rise (Leviticus 23:9–14 → 1 Corinthians 15:20).
Shavuot (Pentecost): Anticipates the giving of the Spirit and the harvest of nations (Exodus 19; Acts 2).
Trumpets (Yom Teruah): Prefigures the final trumpet and the resurrection (Leviticus 23:23–25 → 1 Thessalonians 4:16).
Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur): Foreshadows final judgment and Israel’s national repentance (Leviticus 16 → Zechariah 12:10).
Tabernacles (Sukkot): Points to the Messianic Kingdom when God will dwell among His people (Leviticus 23:33–43 → Zechariah 14:16; Revelation 21:3).
Together, these days form a prophetic calendar—past and future—revealing the unfolding plan of redemption from the Exodus to the coming Kingdom.
Day of Shabbat
By the seventh day God completed His work which He had done, and He rested on the seventh day from all His work which He had done. Then God blessed the seventh day and sanctified it. (Genesis 2:2-3)
The beginning of days culminates with the seventh day. On the seventh day, God rested from His work of creation. He blessed the seventh day and declared it holy. He declared the seventh day a day of rest (Shabbat), the first of His appointed times.
There is no eighth day of the week. Instead, the sequence starts over and begins another progression toward the seventh day. Unlike the meaningless repeating cycles that characterized the pagan view of time, the Torah's seven-day cycle created a linear progression culminating in a defined goal. Sure, things start over every new week, but the days are always headed toward a definite goal: Shabbat.
The weekly sequence establishes the pattern for one of the big ideas of the Jewish view of time by dividing it into two types of days. The six mundane days of the week are followed by an exceptional day dedicated to the LORD. The seventh day stands apart from the others as holy. It belongs to a class by itself. The Jewish view of time follows the same pattern by distinguishing between the mundane world of this current age (olam hazeh, עוֹלָם הַזֶּה) and the utopian age to come (olam haba, עוֹלָם הַבָּא). Like the days of the week that culminate in the Sabbath, this current age culminates in the Day of the LORD, which, ultimately, brings a conclusion to time itself.
We can refer to these two distinct periods of time as "the two ages" or "the two worlds."
Olam Hazeh (עוֹלָם הַזֶּה): this current age / this world
Olam Habah (עוֹלָם הַבָּא): the age to come / the World to Come
The ambiguous Hebrew word olam (עוֹלָם) can be translated into English as age or world. This current age (olam hazeh) is characterized by pain, sickness, suffering, sin, corruption, injustice, scarcity, jealousy, and conflict. In this current age, Israel endures travail and suffers exile. The righteous suffer injustice while the wicked prosper. This present age is also marked by God’s mercy, patience, and long-suffering before the Day of the Lord arrives. Psalm 110, repeatedly cited in Acts 2 and Hebrews 10, gives the answer: Jesus is at the right hand of God, waiting for His enemies to be made His footstool. He is not idle; He is patient—His kindness leading to repentance. The church is therefore called to mirror this mission: patiently proclaiming the coming judgment, the return of Jesus, the hope of the resurrection, and the cross as God’s provision to escape the wrath to come.
In the age to come (olam haba), God will intervene in human affairs to save His people through an apocalyptic revelation of His person. After that day, the opportunity for repentance ends, and judgment begins. That intervention and revelation will result in a physical era here on earth characterized by healing, health, peace, prosperity, sufficiency, enlightenment, righteousness, and justice. In the age to come, the people of Israel will be redeemed from exile. God will avenge the suffering of the righteous, reward the righteous, and punish the wicked. Even the dead will rise to receive reward or punishment. In those days, God will defeat the nations that have afflicted His people and institute His justice throughout the earth. An era of world peace will ensue. He will accomplish all of this through the agency of His anointed King, Messiah Son of David.
Jewish sources use several different terms to refer to this future utopian state, such as World to Come, Time to Come, Day of the LORD, Last Days, Days of Messiah, Messianic Era, Messianic Kingdom, the kingdom of heaven, and the kingdom of God. Some sources distinguish between these terms, others conflate them together into one conceptual hodgepodge of end-times expectations. For now, it's not important to spell out the nuances that distinguish them. We will sort things out in later lessons. For now, it's enough to understand them all as components of the age to come.
References
This lesson is adapted from Daniel Lancaster's teachings in The End of Days, as presented by First Fruits of Zion for the Torah Club.
The Age to Come Versus “Going to Heaven”
In modern Christian thought, many equate the believer’s hope with “going to heaven”—a spiritual existence in another realm after death. Yet in the biblical and Jewish worldview, this is not the ultimate destiny of humanity. The Scriptures consistently point toward the resurrection of the dead and the coming age, when God’s kingdom will be fully established on earth under the Messiah’s reign.
The Biblical Hope: Resurrection and the Age to Come
In the Hebrew Scriptures and the teachings of Jesus, the focus is on the age to come (Olam Haba)—a restored creation, resurrection life, and the reign of God on earth. Isaiah, Ezekiel, and Daniel describe a future world where death is no more, nations worship the Lord, and justice fills the earth (Isaiah 2:2–4; 25:8; Daniel 12:2):
It shall come to pass in the latter days that the mountain of the house of the LORD shall be established as the highest of the mountains, and shall be lifted up above the hills; and all the nations shall flow to it, and many peoples shall come, and say: “Come, let us go up to the mountain of the LORD, to the house of the God of Jacob, that he may teach us his ways and that we may walk in his paths.” For out of Zion shall go the law, and the word of the LORD from Jerusalem. He shall judge between the nations, and shall decide disputes for many peoples; and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore. (Isaiah 2:2–4, ESV Bible)
He will swallow up death forever; and the Lord GOD will wipe away tears from all faces, and the reproach of his people he will take away from all the earth, for the LORD has spoken. (Isaiah 25:8, ESV Bible)
And many of those who sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake, some to everlasting life, and some to shame and everlasting contempt. (Daniel 12:2, ESV Bible)
Jesus and the apostles continued this expectation, speaking of eternal life in the age to come (Matthew 19:28–29; Mark 10:30; Luke 20:34–36):
Jesus said to them, “Truly, I say to you, in the new world, when the Son of Man will sit on his glorious throne, you who have followed me will also sit on twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel.
And everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or children or lands, for my name’s sake, will receive a hundredfold and will inherit eternal life.” (Matthew 19:28–29, ESV Bible)Who will not receive a hundredfold now in this time… and in the age to come eternal life. (Mark 10:30, ESV Bible)
And Jesus said to them, “The sons of this age marry and are given in marriage, but those who are considered worthy to attain to that age and to the resurrection from the dead neither marry nor are given in marriage, for they cannot die anymore, because they are equal to angels and are sons of God, being sons of the resurrection.” (Luke 20:34-36, ESV Bible)
This view is not escapist but redemptive—God renews what He made, restoring both creation and humanity to their intended glory. The “hope of Israel” (Acts 23:6) was never about leaving the world, but about the resurrection of the body and the restoration of all things (Acts 3:21).
The Greek Influence: The Rise of “Going to Heaven”
The idea of going to heaven as the final destination of the soul has roots in Greek philosophy, not in Hebrew theology. Greek thinkers like Plato viewed the physical world as imperfect and corrupt, teaching that salvation meant escaping the body and ascending to the realm of pure spirit. This worldview profoundly influenced early Christian thought after the first century, especially as Gentile converts became the majority and Greek philosophical categories shaped theology.
Over time, the biblical vision of resurrection and renewed creation was overshadowed by a dualistic, spiritualized eschatology. “Heaven” came to mean a disembodied paradise, and “salvation” became departure from the world rather than its renewal. The biblical hope of resurrection on a renewed earth faded behind an otherworldly notion of eternal life in heaven.
Distinguishing the Two
Are the Dead “Asleep” Until the Resurrection — or Already with God? Scripture presents what seems at first to be two perspectives about the state of the dead:
1. Some verses portray the dead as sleeping, awaiting the resurrection (e.g., Daniel 12:2; John 5:28–29; 1 Thessalonians 4:13–16):
And many of those who sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake, some to everlasting life, and some to shame and everlasting contempt. (Daniel 12:2, ESV Bible)
Do not marvel at this, for an hour is coming when all who are in the tombs will hear his voice and come out, those who have done good to the resurrection of life, and those who have done evil to the resurrection of judgment. (John 5:28-29)
But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, about those who are asleep, that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have fallen asleep. For this we declare to you by a word from the Lord, that we who are alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord himself will descend from heaven with a cry of command, with the voice of an archangel, and with the sound of the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rise first. (1 Thessalonians 4:13–16)
2. Other verses imply that the righteous are already in God’s presence after death (e.g., Luke 23:43; Philippians 1:23; 2 Corinthians 5:8):
And he said to him, “Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” (Luke 23:43)
I am hard pressed between the two. My desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better. (Philippians 1:23)
Yes, we are of good courage, and we would rather be away from the body and at home with the Lord. (2 Corinthians 5:8)
A careful reading, however, shows these two threads are not contradictory — they describe two aspects of the same hope from different vantage points: the temporal experience of the living versus the eternal reality of the dead before resurrection.
“Going to Heaven” describes the intermediate state—the temporary condition of the righteous in God’s presence after death (Luke 23:43; Philippians 1:23).
“The Age to Come” refers to the Messianic Kingdom—the future age of resurrection, judgment, and restoration on earth (Isaiah 65:17–25; Revelation 21–22).
The first is temporary and spiritual; the second is physical and eternal. The first reflects Greek categories; the second reflects the Hebraic, biblical narrative.
The Jewish Two-Stage View of the Afterlife
The Hebrew Bible (Tanakh) mostly describes the dead as going to Sheol (a shadowy realm of the dead):
All his sons and all his daughters rose up to comfort him, but he refused to be comforted and said, “No, I shall go down to Sheol to my son, mourning.” Thus his father wept for him. (Genesis 37:35)
In Genesis 37 Jacob expects to go to Sheol, not heaven, to be reunited with his deceased son Joseph. Even the righteous patriarchs expected Sheol after death. More examples follow:
As the cloud fades and vanishes, so he who goes down to Sheol does not come up. (Job 7:9)
Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with your might, for there is no work or thought or knowledge or wisdom in Sheol, to which you are going. (Ecclesiastes 9:10)
For in death there is no remembrance of you; in Sheol who will give you praise? (Psalm 6:5)
For my soul is full of troubles, and my life draws near to Sheol. I am counted among those who go down to the pit; I am a man who has no strength… like one set loose among the dead, like the slain that lie in the grave, like those whom you remember no more, for they are cut off from your hand. (Psalm 88:3–6)
Sheol beneath is stirred up to meet you when you come; it rouses the shades to greet you, all who were leaders of the earth. (Isaiah 14:9)
The mighty chiefs shall speak of them, with their helpers, out of the midst of Sheol: “They have come down, they lie still, the uncircumcised, slain by the sword.” (Ezekiel 32:21)
For you will not abandon my soul to Sheol, or let your holy one see corruption. (Psalm 16:10)
Shall I ransom them from the power of Sheol? Shall I redeem them from Death? O Death, where are your plagues? O Sheol, where is your sting? (Hosea 13:14)
In the Hebrew Bible, Sheol is not “hell” or “heaven” but the realm of the dead — the grave where all humans go.
Later Jewish writings — especially from the Second Temple period (500 BCE–100 CE) — develop a more complex view where we see clearer distinctions between the righteous and the wicked after death, leading to ideas of Paradise vs. Gehenna, and eventually to the two-stage hope of intermediate rest and final resurrection. They distinguish between:
An intermediate state — where souls of the righteous and wicked await judgment.
The age to come (Olam HaBa) — the world of resurrection, judgment, and restoration.
This framework matches what you described as “going to heaven” (the temporary state) and “the age to come” (the permanent restored creation). This developed framework is consistent with the apocalyptic Jewish worldview that is prevalent in the second temple period.
Evidence from Second Temple Jewish Texts
As we saw before, the Hebrew Bible presents death as descent to Sheol, a dim realm where all people go — righteous and wicked alike (Gen 37:35; Ps 88; Eccl 9:10).
There is little moral distinction after death. Hope lies only in God’s covenant faithfulness — that He might redeem from Sheol someday (Ps 16:10; Hos 13:14).
So, in the First Temple period (pre-exilic), Israel’s hope was largely corporate and this-worldly — tied to land, lineage, and temple, not individual post-mortem bliss.
When the Babylonian exile (586 BCE) shattered those covenantal anchors, new questions arose:
What about the righteous who died before seeing God’s promises fulfilled?
What justice is there for the wicked who prosper?
These questions drove reflection on personal destiny after death and the ultimate vindication of the righteous.
During the exile and post-exilic eras, influenced by both Persian (Zoroastrian) ideas of judgment and Israel’s prophetic hope of national restoration, Jewish thinkers began imagining a final resurrection and a divided afterlife.
By the Second Temple era, especially between 300 BCE and 100 CE, Jewish literature shows a strikingly more developed afterlife theology:
Sheol Becomes Moralized
Texts such as 1 Enoch 22 divide Sheol into compartments:
One for the righteous (at peace, awaiting reward)
One for the wicked (in torment, awaiting judgment)
This is the clearest origin of the intermediate state idea.
By Jesus’ time, 1 Enoch had become one of the most read and influential Jewish texts among:
The Essenes / Qumran community,
The Pharisees,
Early Jewish apocalyptic writers,
And even some early Jesus followers (it’s quoted directly in Jude 14–15).
Peter speaks of Christ preaching to the “spirits in prison” (1 Pet 3:19–20), a phrase that evokes the Enochic underworld where fallen spirits are confined.
Paul speaks of being “caught up to the third heaven” (2 Cor 12:2) — reflecting layered cosmology similar to that in Enochic and Qumran writings.
Fragments of every major section of 1 Enoch were found among the Dead Sea Scrolls, confirming that it was treated as sacred literature by at least one major Jewish sect.
In Luke 16:19–31 (The Rich Man and Lazarus) Jesus describes a scene in the afterlife:
Lazarus is in “Abraham’s bosom” (a term for the righteous compartment of Sheol).
The rich man is in torment, separated by a “great chasm.”
That image aligns almost perfectly with 1 Enoch 22, which likewise shows:
“…between them a great gulf has been fixed…” (1 Enoch 22:9).
So Jesus’ parable assumes that his hearers already understand this geography — it’s not a new revelation, but a familiar framework used to illustrate moral truth.
The Book of 1 Enoch 22 (ca. 3rd century BCE) is the clearest early evidence for this shift.
“And there I saw… hollow places… there were four hollow places… separated for the spirits of the dead… one for the righteous… one for sinners who were not punished in their lifetime… one for the accursed who are punished until the great judgment…” (1 Enoch 22:1–14)
Here we find:
Four compartments within Sheol.
One place of comfort for the righteous.
Others where the wicked are punished or await final judgment.
This is the first explicit appearance of what we might call a proto-Hell — not yet eternal damnation, but a temporary punitive realm for souls awaiting the last judgment.
By the late Second Temple period, another term appears: Gehenna (Γέεννα) — from the Valley of Hinnom (Ge-Hinnom) outside Jerusalem.
Originally associated with idolatry and child sacrifice (2 Kings 23:10; Jeremiah 7:31), it became a symbol of divine judgment.
In Jewish literature:
Sirach 7:17 (2nd century BCE): warns that the proud will go “to Sheol beneath.”
1 Enoch 27:2–3: equates the cursed valley with the “accursed valley of judgment.”
2 Esdras 7:36–38 (1st century CE): speaks of “the pit of torment” and “the furnace of Gehenna.”
The Dead Sea Scrolls also mention fiery punishment and separation of spirits (e.g., 1QS 4.11–14).
Thus, Gehenna evolved into a moralized Sheol — a place of fiery retribution for the wicked.
By the first century, Gehenna was a standard Jewish term for divine post-mortem punishment.
That’s why Jesus uses the same term repeatedly (e.g., Matthew 5:22, 29–30; 10:28; Mark 9:43–48).
Revelation actually makes a distinction between Gehenna and the place the wicked will go after final judgement:
“And the sea gave up the dead who were in it, Death and Hades gave up the dead who were in them… Then Death and Hades were thrown into the lake of fire. This is the second death, the lake of fire.” (Revelation 20:13–14)
So:
Hades (and Gehenna) = temporary holding place of punishment before judgment.
Lake of Fire = final, eternal punishment after resurrection and judgment.
Resurrection Becomes Central
Daniel 12:2 (c. 165 BCE) is the first explicit reference to resurrection in the Hebrew Bible:
“Many of those who sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake, some to everlasting life, and some to shame and everlasting contempt.”
This links the vindication of the righteous to the end of history — the beginning of the age to come (Olam HaBa).
This is clearly endorsed by Jesus and the apostles and becomes the cornerstone of faith in Jesus as the Messiah.
“This Age” vs. “The Age to Come”
Second Temple Jews began speaking of two ages:
Ha-Olam Ha-Zeh — This Age, marked by sin, exile, oppression.
Ha-Olam Ha-Ba — The Age to Come, marked by resurrection, peace, and God’s rule.
You can see this duality in 1 Enoch, 4 Ezra, 2 Baruch, the Dead Sea Scrolls, and later in the Mishnah (Avot 4:16).
Evidence in Rabbinic Thought
a. The Talmud and Olam HaBa
Rabbinic Judaism explicitly uses the language of two stages:
“This world is like a vestibule before the World to Come (Olam HaBa); prepare yourself in the vestibule that you may enter the banquet hall.”
— Mishnah Avot 4:16
Here, “this world” (Olam HaZeh) is the current age; Olam HaBa is the age of resurrection and reward.
But within rabbinic texts, there’s also mention of a Garden of Eden / Gan Eden in the heavens where the righteous rest until the resurrection:
“The souls of the righteous are hidden under the Throne of Glory.”
— b. Shabbat 152b
Thus, even within rabbinic theology:
Gan Eden (Paradise) = the intermediate blessed state.
Olam HaBa (World to Come) = the resurrected, eternal age.
Jesus and the Apostles within This Framework
Jesus and the early apostles clearly operated within this Jewish framework:
“Paradise” (Luke 23:43) corresponds to Gan Eden, the temporary resting place of the righteous.
“The Age to Come” (Matt 19:28–29; Mark 10:30) aligns with Olam HaBa, the resurrection age of restored creation.
Paul’s “sleep” language matches the Jewish belief in waiting for resurrection.
Thus, Christian eschatology did not invent the “two-stage” hope — it inherited and clarified it from Second Temple Judaism.
Why It Matters
This distinction shapes how we live and hope. If salvation is escape, the world has little purpose. But if salvation is renewal, then creation, justice, and righteousness matter deeply. The Gospel of the Kingdom calls believers not to flee the world, but to anticipate and prepare for the renewal of all things—the resurrection life of the age to come.
Millennialism
One more thought about the Sabbath as a model for the Day of the LORD. One might say that the whole concept of an end-times redemption and Messianic Era hangs on the Sabbath. That's because early Jewish scholars interpreted the story of the seven days of creation as a broad outline for the two ages of human history. They noticed that Psalm 90:4 says, "A thousand years in Your sight are like yesterday when it passes by." They began to think of the six days of the week as symbolic of six eons of human history that comprise this current age. If so, the seventh day represents the age to come. It's the Day of the LORD: "With the Lord one day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years like one day" (2 Peter 3:8).
Don't get hung up on taking the seven-thousand-year timeline too lit-erally. Think of the number thousand as a big round number that means a really long time. But it's also possible to measure the days out literally. That's what many of the early disciples did. According to that idea, the six days of creation correspond to human history from Adam until the end of the age. Note that, by the reckoning of the traditional Jewish calendar, we are now (in 2025) 5,785 years along on the seven-thousand-year plan. The Day of the LORD comes as the great Sabbath at the end of the six days.
In the poetic words of the rabbis, the seventh day represents "the day that is entirely Shabbat."
"The LORD alone will be exalted in that day" (Isaiah 2:11), and it states:
"A psalm, a song for the Sabbath day," a day that is entirely Sabbath (Psalms 92:1), as it says, "For a thousand years in your sight are but as yesterday when it is past." (b.Sanhedrin 97a)
That's why the writer of the Epistle to the Hebrews refers to the age to come as the Sabbath rest that remains for the people of God (Hebrews 4:9).
References
This lesson is adapted from Daniel Lancaster's teachings in The End of Days, as presented by First Fruits of Zion for the Torah Club.
The Jewish Reckoning of Time Since Creation
The traditional Jewish reckoning of time, which places creation in 3761 BCE, has shaped Jewish historical consciousness for nearly two millennia. Though it is often treated as a literal chronology, its origins, intent, and enduring use reveal a far deeper purpose—one theological and eschatological rather than scientific. This sacred timeline frames human history as a divinely ordered process moving toward ultimate redemption and rest, patterned after the rhythm of creation itself.
The Development of the Jewish Reckoning
The Jewish calendar’s starting point—year 1 corresponding to 3761 BCE—was formalized in the Seder Olam Rabbah, a chronological work composed around the second century CE, likely by Rabbi Yose ben Halafta. This text represents one of the earliest comprehensive attempts to calculate the passage of time from creation to the author’s present era. Drawing upon the genealogies and reigns found throughout the Hebrew Scriptures, particularly in Genesis, Kings, and Chronicles, the Seder Olam sought to construct a continuous historical narrative grounded in Scripture itself.
The genealogies of Genesis provided the ages of the patriarchs, allowing a count from Adam to Abraham. The books of Exodus and Kings supplied the durations from the patriarchs to the construction of the First Temple, while post-exilic books furnished chronological markers extending to the Second Temple and the early Roman period. When these biblical time spans were harmonized, they produced a total of approximately 3,761 years from creation to the beginning of the Common Era—hence, the Jewish year 1 was fixed as 3761 BCE. At the time of this writing, the current Jewish year is 5786.
A Theological Rather Than Scientific Chronology
The intent behind this chronology was never to establish a scientifically precise measurement of cosmic time. Rather, it was a sacred framework—a theological map outlining the unfolding of God’s purposes in history. The rabbis envisioned history as progressing through six “millennial days,” corresponding to the six days of creation, followed by a seventh millennial “Sabbath,” the Messianic age of rest and renewal.
This concept is expressed explicitly in Babylonian Talmud, Sanhedrin 97a:
“The world will exist for six thousand years—two thousand of chaos, two thousand of Torah, and two thousand of the days of the Messiah, but because of our many sins, which are numerous, some of those have already passed.”
In this schema, time itself becomes prophetic. Human history mirrors the divine pattern of creation, culminating in the seventh millennium—the olam haba, or “world to come”—which represents the eternal Sabbath. The Jewish reckoning, therefore, was not merely a timeline of past events but a cosmic calendar of God’s redemptive plan, situating all of history within a divine week.
The Mature Creation View
Modern science — through astronomy, geology, and physics — estimates:
The universe at about 13.8 billion years old,
The earth at about 4.5 billion years old,
Human civilization at least tens of thousands of years old.
By contrast, biblical chronologies, when taken literally (especially as systematized in Jewish reckoning), yield a few thousand years since creation — roughly 5786 years according to the Jewish calendar.
That’s a colossal difference — and one that has led to tension between biblical literalism and empirical observation.
Some have argued that God created things to appear old — providing a way to affirm the truth of Scripture without denying what we observe in creation.
This concept proposes that God created a fully mature, functioning world — not a barren, embryonic one.
Consider the following:
Adam was created as an adult, not an infant.
Trees were created bearing fruit (Gen. 1:11–12), implying they had rings and roots.
Light was already reaching the earth (Gen. 1:14–15), implying that starlight was visible — even though some stars are billions of light-years away.
If creation was mature at its inception, then it follows that its scientific indicators of age (such as light-travel time, radioactive decay, or sedimentary layers) would reflect a functional history — not necessarily a lived history.
This idea was articulated clearly by Philip Henry Gosse in his 1857 book Omphalos, in which he argued that God created the world with apparent age. Gosse (a devout Christian and naturalist) noted that Adam must have had a navel (omphalosin Greek) — a mark of a birth that never happened. Similarly, the earth could have geological “scars” of a past that never actually occurred in real time.
While Gosse’s work was controversial, the theological principle behind it is sound: God is free to create a universe that is instantaneously complete — not “unfinished” or “juvenile.”
There’s actually a strong biblical rationale for this idea. Throughout Genesis 1, everything is created in mature, functional form. The creation account describes not development but completion — not a gradual emergence, but a divine word calling forth maturity.
“For a thousand years in Your sight are but as yesterday when it is past.” —Psalm 90:4
This verse (and its echo in 2 Peter 3:8) implies that God stands outside of time. He is not bound by chronological sequence. From His perspective, instantaneous creation could contain the fullness of what appears to us as deep time.
Thus, apparent age is not deception — it’s simply the mark of God’s transcendence over the temporal process. It reminds us that scientific measurements of age are descriptive of the system’s internal logic, not prescriptive of how God must have created it.
In other words, science measures the story the universe tells — but not necessarily the moment it began.
The Days of Messiah
The passage from Sanhedrin 97a reflects a cosmic-week schema, in which each “day” of creation corresponds to 1,000 years of history:
“The world will exist for six thousand years—two thousand of chaos, two thousand of Torah, and two thousand of the days of the Messiah, but because of our many sins, which are numerous, some of those have already passed.”
This idea arises from Psalm 90:4 —
“For a thousand years in Your sight are but as yesterday when it is past.”
And also 2 Peter 3:8 later echoes this same concept:
“With the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day.”
This is the Jewish equivalent of the “millennial week” concept that early Christian writers such as Barnabas (Epistle of Barnabas 15), Irenaeus (Against Heresies 5.28), and Hippolytus later drew upon.
The “Two Thousand Years of the Days of the Messiah” in Sanhedrin 97a is a fascinating intersection between rabbinic expectation and Christian fulfillment, because, as you note, Jesus appeared precisely within the time frame the rabbis themselves associated with the Messianic era.
The rabbis believed that close to 4,000 years had passed from Adam to their own time (around the first or second century CE). That means the “Messianic era” was expected to begin around the first century CE — precisely the period of Jesus of Nazareth.
Even within rabbinic chronology (based on Seder Olam Rabbah), the era of the Messiah was “due.” The Talmud itself laments this delay, adding:
“...but because of our many sins, some of those years have already passed.”
In other words, the Messiah was expected, but not yet manifested — a problem that required explanation once the anticipated time came and went without visible redemption (from the rabbinic perspective).
When Jesus appears in the early first century, He proclaims:
“Repent, for the kingdom of God is at hand.” (Mark 1:15)
That phrase fits seamlessly into the Jewish apocalyptic expectation of the time — not a vague moral message, but a declaration that the long-awaited Messianic era had arrived.
From the Christian perspective, Jesus’ ministry fulfills the “Days of the Messiah” described in rabbinic literature:
The Torah age (given through Moses) had run its course, preparing the people.
The prophets had long foretold the coming Redeemer.
Now, in the fullness of time (Galatians 4:4), God sent His Son — precisely when the prophetic and rabbinic countdown anticipated the Messianic age to begin.
This alignment is so striking that many early Christian writers (like Justin Martyr and Irenaeus) used it as an argument for Jesus’ Messianic identity: not only did He fulfill the Scriptures, He also appeared in the right historical window that even Jewish tradition expected.
After the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE — and especially after the Bar Kokhba revolt (132–135 CE), in which a false messiah led to national catastrophe — the rabbis redefined the timeline.
The failure of redemption to materialize led to a postponement theology:
“Because of our sins, the years of the Messiah have already passed.” (Sanhedrin 97b)
In effect, the rabbis acknowledged that the Messianic window had opened but explained the delay as a consequence of Israel’s unworthiness — rather than accepting Jesus as the fulfillment.
Meanwhile, Christians interpreted that same delay differently: that the Messiah had indeed come, but the consummation of His kingdom was yet to be realized — postponed not because of failure, but because of God’s mercy in allowing the Gentiles to enter (Romans 11:25).
Thus, both rabbinic and Christian thought developed explanations for the same “delay,” but from radically different theological standpoints. There’s a poignant irony here:
The very framework that set the stage for Messianic expectation — the six-thousand-year plan — is a Jewish framework that Christianity inherited. But when Jesus appeared within that window, most of Israel did not recognize Him, while Gentiles did.
Paul himself reflects on this mystery in Romans 11, saying Israel’s partial blindness served a purpose: to allow the nations to enter before the final restoration.
Thus, from a biblical and theological perspective, Jesus’ arrival during the “two thousand years of the Messiah” is not accidental — it’s a divine convergence of Jewish chronology, prophecy, and fulfillment.
Both traditions, however, still look forward to the final seventh day — the Sabbath of the world to come — the ultimate rest and renewal of creation.
Chronological Simplifications and Historical Compression
From a historical-critical standpoint, the Jewish chronology compresses several historical periods when compared with modern archaeological and cross-cultural evidence. Most notably, the Persian period—between the fall of Babylon and the rise of Alexander the Great—is reduced from roughly two centuries to about thirty-four years. Likewise, the interval between the Second Temple’s construction and the Maccabean revolt is considerably shortened.
These adjustments appear deliberate, serving theological or symbolic aims rather than reflecting historical oversight. They harmonize biblical data into a numerically coherent and spiritually meaningful framework. Even within Scripture, genealogical language need not imply unbroken succession, as the Hebrew verb yalad (“to beget”) can skip generations. Consequently, while the Jewish timeline yields a count of approximately 5,786 years to the present day, this number is symbolic, not empirical. Modern disciplines such as archaeology, astronomy, and anthropology confirm that both the earth and human civilization are vastly older.
If we restore the Persian and later periods to their full historical length, we get:
Thus, the true historical span from creation (if using the same biblical framework) would be around:
5786 + 266 ≈ 6050 years
So, if the Seder Olam had not compressed those periods, the current Jewish year (2025 CE) would likely be around AM 6050–6100 instead of AM 5786.
Its Role in Jewish Thought Today
In contemporary Judaism, the traditional count remains a fixture of communal and liturgical life. The current Jewish year, 5786, continues to mark time from creation (bereishit), yet few interpret it as a literal measure of the universe’s age. Rather, it functions as a covenantal and sacred calendar, linking modern Jewish life to the divine narrative of Scripture.
Later rabbinic and mystical traditions, especially in the Zohar, expanded this symbolic understanding. The six thousand years of world history correspond to six divine “days” of labor, while the seventh thousand represents the Sabbath rest of the age to come, the olam haba. Thus, the Jewish calendar serves as a spiritual chronometer, expressing anticipation for the Messianic fulfillment that will bring creation into divine rest.
The Theological Significance
Even if the Jewish reckoning lacks precision by modern scientific standards, its theological depth remains profound. It encapsulates a distinctly biblical view of time—one that is purposeful, moral, and redemptive. Rather than portraying history as cyclical, the Jewish framework envisions it as linear and covenantal, moving from creation to consummation, from chaos to order, and from exile to restoration.
This vision of sacred history has profoundly influenced both rabbinic eschatology and early Christian thought, shaping apocalyptic expectations of a coming age of renewal. In this sense, the Jewish reckoning is not “inaccurate,” but accurate in its intention—it conveys the truth that history itself is God’s story, ordered toward a final Sabbath rest.
Thus, while modern chronology finds the timeline far too short to describe literal cosmic history, the Jewish count continues to serve as a faithful theological framework. It affirms that time is not random but directed by divine purpose—unfolding toward the ultimate fulfillment of creation, the seventh day, when God’s rest and rule will encompass all things.
Days of the Kingdom
What did the rabbis mean when they said that the age to come will be "a day that is entirely Sabbath"? Take a look at how Moses Maimonides (Rambam), the great codifier of Jewish law, summarizes the Bible's prophecies about the age to come:
In that time there will be neither hunger nor war, neither jealousy nor competition, but goodness will spread over everything. And all the delights will be as common as dust. And the whole world will have no other occupation, but only to know the LORD. And therefore Israel will be great sages and knowers of secret things, and they will attain a knowledge of their Creator as far as the power of man allows, as it is written [in Isaiah II:9], "For the earth will be full of the knowledge of the LORD as the waters cover the sea." (Maimonides, Hilchot Melachim 12:5)
The Sabbath day uniquely embodies that utopian hope. It's a day of peace. Those who observe the Sabbath set aside the sorrows, conflicts, competitions, and travails of ordinary life for a day of repose dedicated to God. On the Sabbath, there should be no war, jealousy, or even competi-tion. It's a day of satiety and cessation from striving. The Bible tells the Jewish people to "call the Sabbath a delight" (Isaiah 58:13). Delights are commonplace on the Sabbath-the best foods are reserved for Shabbat, and the best clothing in the wardrobe is reserved for Shabbat. It's a day dedicated to Torah study. Other pursuits may occupy a person during the rest of the week, but on the Sabbath, a person has no other occupation except "to know the LORD" in prayer and the study of the Word. In this way, every Sabbath can be compared to a down payment on the age to come. "We rest on Shabbat to symbolize the peace that we will have in the days of the Messiah" (Tz'enah Urenah).
References
This lesson is adapted from Daniel Lancaster's teachings in The End of Days, as presented by First Fruits of Zion for the Torah Club.
Gan Eden
The LORD God planted a garden toward the east, in Eden; and there He placed the man whom He had formed. (Genesis 2:8)
In the beginning of days, God planted a garden in the land of Eden. He placed Adam in the garden so that "he might stretch out his hand, and take also from the tree of life, and eat, and live forever" (Genesis 3:22), but man fore feited that opportunity. God removed mankind from Eden, and He removed the garden from the earth. In the end of days, God will return that garden to the earth and once more offer human beings the gift of eternal life. That's the grand finale toward which time is flowing.
Gan Eden (the garden of Eden, 17y 1a) means "garden of delight." Jewish sources speak of Gan Eden the way that many Christians speak of going to heaven after death. The garden of Eden is more than a flower garden and more than a historical location-it's a cosmic archetype for the paradisical place of reward in the afterlife where the souls of the righteous mingle with angels in the presence of God while they await the resurrection. It's the blessed immortal realm of the undying, prepared as a place of reward before the foundation of the world.
The Bible describes Gan Eden as "the garden of God" on "the holy mountain of God" (Ezekiel 28:13-14). Picture it as a terraced hill adorned with lush gardens and orchards at each ascending level. At the top of the hill stands a holy city that doubles as a Temple. Rivers flow down from the Temple-city to water the gardens and orchards along the hillside. They spill out to water the whole earth (Genesis 2:10). This is the city of God (Hebrews II:1O), built like a city on a hill that cannot be hidden (Matthew 5:14)-the heavenly Jerusalem. This is the hill that King David has in mind when he asks us, "Who may ascend into the hill of the LORD? And who may stand in His holy place?" (Psalm 24:3).
That lofty vision of an elevated Eden can be compared to the stepped temple cities of the ancient Near East (like Nineveh, Babylon, or Ugarit, cf. Ezekiel 31:4), adorned with verdant gardens, flowing waters, and sacred architecture. At the peak of those cities, the central temple served as the axis mundi, that is, the touching point between the realm of the gods and the realm of men. Likewise, Jewish sources describe heaven in terms of ascending levels-sometimes three, sometimes seven, sometimes more. In Jewish mysticism, the lower heavens are called "the lower Gan Eden," while the higher levels, closest to the throne of God, are called "the upper Gan Eden."
The crossover between cosmic temple and paradisical garden explains the Edenic imagery woven into the Tabernacle's curtains and furnishings (Exodus 26:1). The Temple on earth, adorned with cherubim and resplendence, was a shadow and a reflection of the "greater and more perfect tabernacle, not made with hands, that is to say, not of this creation" (Hebrews 9:II), i.e., "the temple which is in heaven" (Revelation 14:17).
Where is Eden today? The sages say that, after the sin of Adam, God removed the garden of Eden from the earth. The Prophet Isaiah looked forward to "the last days" when the hill of Zion will flourish like a new Eden. The house of the God of Jacob will be rebuilt on it. Then, people will stream up to Jerusalem. The Torah will flow like rivers out to the nations:
Now it will come about that in the last days the mountain of the house of the LORD will be established as the chief of the mountains, and will be raised above the hills; and all the nations will stream to it. (Isaiah 2:2)
The grand finale at the end of time, presented in the last chapters of the book of Revelation, heightens Isaiah's imagery by depicting New Jerusalem descending from heaven to earth, where it flourishes as an Edenic temple city. God's throne is at the center of the city. The river of life flows down from the throne and through the city streets to water the garden where the tree of life grows. The city's gates are always open to receive the nations who flow to it. Toward this goal, all time flows.
Gan Eden was originally an earthly place, located in the east and described in Genesis as a real garden where humanity dwelled in God’s presence. Over time, Jewish thought “heavenized” this concept, envisioning a celestial counterpart where the souls of the righteous reside after death. Yet, the ultimate destiny in Jewish and biblical hope was never a permanent existence in heaven, but rather the renewal of the earth—when heaven and earth are reunited and God once again dwells among humanity. In this sense, the heavenly Eden is temporary, while the restored earthly Eden is eternal.
References
This lesson is adapted from Daniel Lancaster's teachings in The End of Days, as presented by First Fruits of Zion for the Torah Club.
A Peek into Eden
Let's take a peek. The apocalyptic books of Enoch offer glimpses into the garden as pictured by early Jewish writers. In the first book, Enoch ascends to heaven to behold "the mountain of God," the seat of God's throne, encircled by an orchard of trees, among which grows the fragrant tree of life (I Enoch 24). Enoch is told, "This high mountain which you have seen, whose summit is like the throne of God, is His throne, where the Holy Great One, the Lord of Glory, the Eternal King, will sit when He shall come down to visit the earth with goodness" (I Enoch 25). Enoch is told that the fragrant tree of life will one day be transplanted to earth, and its fruit will be given to the righteous and holy for eternal life.
Read the following passage from the second book of Enoch. See if you can identify similarities to the descriptions of New Jerusalem in Revelation 21-22:
Then those men took me from there and brought me up to the third heaven, and they set me in that place. I looked down and saw the bounty that flowed from those realms-goodness beyond anything ever known. I saw every kind of tree, blooming with sweet flowers, and I beheld their fruits-fragrant and overflowing with delightful aromas.
And in the midst of them stood the Tree of Life, in the place where the Lord rests whenever He enters into Paradise. That tree was beyond description in beauty and fragrance-more glorious than anything else in existence. It shimmered with the appearance of gold, deep red like vermilion, and glowing like fire on every side. Its branches bore every kind of fruit, and its root reached into the garden at the edge of the earth.
And Paradise itself was set between the corruptible and the incorruptible-between this world and the World to Come.
From it flowed two great springs: one poured out honey and milk, the other sent forth oil and wine. These streams divided into four branches, moving gently and silently, flowing down into the Paradise of Eden, that space between the corruptible and the incorruptible. From there they spread out across the earth, moving in harmony with the natural order, circling back in their course like the elements themselves.
In this place, no tree is barren-every part of it is blessed. And there are three hundred radiant angels who watch over the garden, singing ceaselessly in sweet voices that never fall silent. They serve the Lord in joy through all days and hours. And I said, "How wonderful is this place—how sweet it is!"
And they said to me: "This place, O Enoch, is prepared for the righteous..." (2 Enoch 8)
References
This lesson is adapted from Daniel Lancaster's teachings in The End of Days, as presented by First Fruits of Zion for the Torah Club.
A Good Story
Gospel means "good news," but the Old English word godspel could better be rendered as "good story." The end of days is like a happy ending to a good story.
A good story has a beginning, a middle, and an end. The beginning of the story establishes a status quo for the main characters. The middle of the story describes a conflict disrupting that status quo. A villain is introduced. He is responsible for disrupting the status quo. A climactic conflict between the main characters and the villain ensues. A happy ending resolves the conflict by returning the main characters to their original status quo or an improved one.
In this story, the status quo of man's life in Paradise is interrupted by a villain who gets human beings exiled from Paradise. Toward the end of the story, the villain is defeated in a climactic conflict. Humanity is redeemed and returned to Paradise in an improved and immortal Edenic state. The term "end of days" includes both the climactic conflict and the happy ending. Notice the overlap in the chart below.
Within this metanarrative of humanity's exile from Eden, the Bible focuses attention on the story of the Jewish exile from the land of Israel. The plot revolves around God's promises to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. How will those promises find fulfillment? The villains are the foreign nations and empires that deport the Jewish people from the land, subjugate them, and obstruct the return of the Davidic kingdom. Israel's redemption entails a climactic escalation of that conflict with the nations. Israel's return to the promised land brings about a utopian fulfillment of God's promises and a very happy ending to the saga.
References
This lesson is adapted from Daniel Lancaster's teachings in The End of Days, as presented by First Fruits of Zion for the Torah Club.
The God of This World
Now the serpent was more crafty than any beast of the field which the LORD God had made. And he said to the woman, "Indeed, has God said, "You shall not eat from any tree of the garden'?" (Genesis 3:1)
A good story has a strong villain. In this story, the archvillain is Satan, the serpent in the garden. He's the bad guy from the beginning of the story all the way to the end. He's the one who gets human beings kicked out of Paradise in the first place, disrupting our status quo. Before we can return to Paradise, he needs to be dealt with. That makes him a major character and plot point in the end of days, and that's why he plays such a large role in apocalyptic Jewish texts about the end of days, such as the book of Rev-elation. In those texts, Satan is not the lord of hell; he's the ruler over the nations. The New Testament refers to him as the enemy, the tempter, the destroyer, the serpent of old, father of lies, deceiver of the nations, prince of the power of the air, ruler of this world, and, in 2 Corinthians 4:4, "the god of this world," i.e., the evil power who seems to wield temporary authority over this present age (olam hazeh).
As such, he enjoys prestige as one of the angels of the heavenly court where he serves in the role of prosecuting attorney. The Hebrew name Satan (10) and the Greek Diabolos (devil, Siáßolos) are not personal names; they are titles that mean "adversary" in the sense of a courtroom prosecutor (e.g., Job I; Zechariah 3). Satan is a high-powered attorney serving the role of "the accuser of our brethren" in the heavenly court (Revelation 12:10). It's his job to bring accusations against Israel and all mankind. He's not above engaging in entrapment (tempting us to sin and then accusing us for succumbing) in order to accomplish his mission: "To what may [Satan] be compared? To an accuser before a tribunal... so does Satan stand before the Divine Presence and bring accusations" (Exodus Rabbah 17:5).
At the same time, this prosecuting attorney appears in apocalyptic texts as the leader of a spiritual rebellion against God's program on earth, marshaling the Gentile nations of the world under the governance of diabolical spiritual beings in the unseen realm. The so-called "god of this world" once enjoyed prestige in Eden before the creation of human beings:
You were in Eden, the garden of God.. You were the anointed cherub who covers, and I placed you there. You were on the holy mountain of God; you walked in the midst of the stones of fire. You were blameless in your ways from the day you were created until unrighteousness was found in you. (Ezekiel 28:13-15)
He was the "star of the morning, son of the dawn" (Isaiah 14:12), but when God said, "Let Us make man in Our image, according to Our likeness" (Genesis 1:26), he objected to the plan. He took the creation of man as an insult to angelic dignity, and from that day on, he bent his will toward our destruction (Pirkei deRebbi Eliezer 13).
He is the "great dragon [that] was thrown down, the serpent of old, who is called the devil and Satan, who deceives the whole world; he was thrown down to the earth, and his angels were thrown down with him" (Revelation 12:9). He is the "prince of the power of the air, the spirit that is now working in the sons of disobedience" (Ephesians 2:2). He rules among "the powers, ... the world forces of this darkness, ... the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places" (Ephesians 6:12).
References
This lesson is adapted from Daniel Lancaster's teachings in The End of Days, as presented by First Fruits of Zion for the Torah Club.
Paradise Lost
Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they knew that they were naked. (Genesis 3:7)
God made human beings in His image and likeness. He gave them the freedom to eat from the tree of life. But Satan deceived them. In the guise of the serpent, the devil tempted human beings with the promise, "You surely will not die ….. you will be like God" (Genesis 3:4-5). Ironically, by sinning against their Maker, Adam and Eve forfeited both eternal life and the likeness of God.
The early Jewish believers in Yeshua taught that although God made human beings in His image and likeness, they lost God's likeness when they sinned:
You are the image of the invisible God ... However, not everyone fully reflects God's likeness-only a pure mind and a good soul bear that likeness. (Clementine Homilies II:4-5)
They retained "the image of God," but contrary to the tempter's promise that they would "be like God," they lost the "likeness" of God. That is to say, they lost the moral character of righteousness: justice, mercy, and faithfulness.
What could be worse than getting kicked out of Paradise, forfeiting eternal life, and losing the likeness of God? Well, the villain also stole their clothing. Early Jewish commentaries on the Torah teach that, prior to their fall, Adam and Eve wore resplendent garments of light (Genesis Rabbah 20:12). They went naked in the garden and knew no shame only because their bodies were clothed in the resplendence of heavenly glory. When they lost "the likeness" of God, they also lost those garments of light:
At first they were clothed with garments of light, but when they sinned, their glory departed from them and they were left naked. (Tanchuma, Bereishit 6)
At the end of days, God will defeat the villain who has stolen from us both eternal life and the likeness of God. He'll also get our clothes back. This is hinted at in the words, "The LORD God made garments of skin for Adam and his wife, and clothed them" (Genesis 3:21). The Hebrew word for skin (or, 7iy) sounds like the Hebrew word for light (or, ix). In the age to come, the righteous resurrected "will shine brightly like the brightness of the expanse of heaven, and those who lead the many to righteousness, like the stars forever and ever" (Daniel 12:3).
References
This lesson is adapted from Daniel Lancaster's teachings in The End of Days, as presented by First Fruits of Zion for the Torah Club.
The Translation of Enoch
Enoch walked with God; and he was not, for God took him. (Genesis 5:24)
Enoch, the seventh from Adam, prophesied to his generation (Jude 14). Enoch was the father of Methuselah, a man famous for living longer than any other human being in history. Methuselah, in turn, was the grandfather of Noah, so that makes Enoch your direct ancestor.
The Torah explains that Enoch was exceptional because "Enoch walked with God; and he was not, for God took him." An ancient Aramaic paraphrase of the Torah spells out the implications:
Enoch served in truth before God, and behold, he was not with the sojourners of the earth for he was withdrawn and he ascended to heaven by the Word of God. (Genesis 5:24, Targum Yonatan)
My trusty old King James Version of the Bible says that "Enoch was translated that he should not see death" (Hebrews II:5, emphasis mine). The word "translated" translates the Greek metatithemi (METaTiOnI), a verb for changing from one place to another. The same Greek word appears in the Greek (Lxx) version of Genesis 5:24, which the writer of the book of Hebrews directly quotes:
By faith Enoch was translated that he should not see death; and was not found, because God had translated him: for before his translation he had this testimony, that he pleased God. (Hebrews II:5 KJV, emphasis mine)
Enoch pleased the Lord, and was translated, being an example of repentance to all generations. (Sirach 44:16, emphasis mine).
The Old English term translation referred to carrying or transferring a person from one place to another or from one office to another. Later, the same term was applied to transferring a text from one language to another, and that's how we use the word today. By translating Enoch from the earth, God supernaturally relocated him into heaven-raptured him up alive, so to speak, not unlike the Prophet Elijah, who also underwent a translation (2 Kings 2).
References
This lesson is adapted from Daniel Lancaster's teachings in The End of Days, as presented by First Fruits of Zion for the Torah Club.
Apocalypse of Enoch
By the time of the apostles, a great body of Jewish tradition had grown up around the character of Enoch. Naturally, people wanted to know more about Enoch's strange story. In the years before the birth of the Master, Jewish writers created expansions on the Enoch story to fill in the missing details. Someone compiled those writings into the collection we now refer to as the apocryphal books of Enoch.
Enoch belongs to a type of Jewish literature called apocalypse (apokalupsis, ảпокЛ), i.e., an unveiling. We usually translate the word as "revela-tion." In the apocalypse genre, a narrator relates a visionary or actual ascent to heaven. Ordinarily, an angelic tour guide shows him around the place.
It's comparable to modern-day stories about near-death experiences. The narrator gets to see all sorts of otherwise unseen things that lie hidden behind the scenes. He usually gets to see the seven heavens, the throne of glory, and the angelic hosts. He might hear the heavenly worship services and tour the heavenly chambers. While touring the upper world, he discovers that the forces of good and evil are at war. He sees how those spiritual battles play out in the field of human events in this world through disasters, calamities, conflicts, wars, and tribulations. He realizes that, despite current appearances on earth, God has not lost control of the world. There will be a reward for the righteous and punishment for the wicked. An hour of judgment is coming when all the wrongs will be set right. All of history is going to culminate in a final end-times battle between good and evil to be followed by a fulfillment of God's promises through the prophets. Almost all the apocalypses endeavor to lift the veil that conceals the end of days.
Paul experienced an apocalyptic vision (whether in the body or out of the body, he did not know) when he ascended to "the third heaven" and heard things that he could not utter (2 Corinthians 12:2-4). He wasn't the only one to do so. The entire Apocalypse of John (the book of Revelation) follows the same script.
In the apocalypse of 1 Enoch, Enoch bodily ascends to the heavens of the heavens, where he sees things unseen. The angels give him a tour, and he sees the spiritual forces of good at war with the forces of evil. He sees the spirits of the dead in Gehenna and Paradise, and he sees the Son of Man seated on the throne of glory. He sees the Ancient of Days, and he hears Him speak. He sees the final battles. He sees the Son of Man seated in judgment in the end of days.
The apostles studied the book of Enoch and other apocalyptic texts like it. The book of Enoch was important to them because it describes the messianic hope for the end of days. It features a messianic figure called the Elect One and Son of Man, who sits on God's throne in judgment over the nations. Enoch's apocalyptic language and symbolism color the New Testament text— especially the book of Revelation. Jude quotes from I Enoch directly. Compare:
References
This lesson is adapted from Daniel Lancaster's teachings in The End of Days, as presented by First Fruits of Zion for the Torah Club.
The Return of Enoch
Enoch and Elijah share the unique distinction of being the only two men in the Bible to have escaped death. Because of that, they are sometimes paired together in apocalyptic texts. Early Christians believed that God preserved Enoch and Elijah because they will have a role to play in the end of days.
Jewish tradition teaches that Elijah will return prior to Messiah's coming to prepare the way for the Messiah (Malachi 4:5). The Apocalypse of Elijah, a lost book from the Apostolic Era that survives only in a fragmentary and heavily redacted form, predicts that Elijah and Enoch will appear in the last days and suffer martyrdom at the hands of the antichrist:
Then when Elijah and Enoch hear that the shameless one has revealed himself in the holy place, they will come down and fight with him ... The shameless one will hear and he will be angry, and he will fight with them in the market place of the great city. And he will spend seven days fighting with them. And they will spend three and one half days in the market place dead, while all the people see them. But on the fourth day they will rise up and they will scold him. (Apocalypse of Elijah 4:7-15)
Early Christian traditions about the antichrist transmit the same expecta-tion. For example, the church father Tertullian explains, "Enoch was translated and so was Elijah. They did not experience death; it was postponed, and only temporarily. They are most certainly preserved for the purpose of suffering of death so that, by their blood, they may extinguish Antichrist" (Treatise on the Soul).
References
This lesson is adapted from Daniel Lancaster's teachings in The End of Days, as presented by First Fruits of Zion for the Torah Club.
A Day of Reckoning
Then the LORD said, "My Spirit shall not strive with man forever, because he also is flesh; nevertheless his days shall be one hundred and twenty years." (Genesis 6:3)
The story of Noah's flood establishes the pattern for the day of judgment. Right from the beginning of the Bible, we are taught that God does not put up with our nonsense forever. Yes, He is patient, but His patience reaches a limit. At an appointed time of His own choosing, He will intervene to punish sinners and cleanse the world of filth and corruption. This future day of reckoning is called the Day of the LORD. The apostles referred to it as "the wrath to come." The good-news message of the gospel is about escaping the wrath to come. John the Immerser warned people to repent before "the wrath to come" (Matthew 3:7). In the Day of the LORD, the wrath of God will be revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness (Romans I:18). Those who refuse to repent store up wrath for themselves in the day of wrath and revelation of the righteous judgment of God when He will render to each person according to his deeds (Romans 2:5-6). However, those who repent to serve the living and true God "and to wait for His Son from heaven, whom He raised from the dead," will be rescued "from the wrath to come" (I Thessalonians I:9-10). That's what it means to be saved.
References
This lesson is adapted from Daniel Lancaster's teachings in The End of Days, as presented by First Fruits of Zion for the Torah Club.
It’s Not the End of the World
"Oh well, it's not the end of the world." The sentiment implies that things could always be worse-it could be the end of the world. For example, a person might say, "I wrecked my new car, but I guess it's not the end of the world."
Contrary to that sentiment, things are not going to be worse when the end of the world comes. Instead, things are going to get a lot better. There is a climactic conflict at the end of this current age when things might get a little bit bumpy for a while, but after that, things will get a lot better. According to the Bible's prophecies, the end of the world is the beginning of a new world: a world without pain and suffering, a world in which human beings reach their full potential as sons and daughters of God, a world of love and light, filled with the knowledge of God. "All the earth will be filled with the glory of the LORD" (Numbers 14:21). "The earth will be filled with the knowledge of the glory of the LORD, as the waters cover the sea" (Habakkuk 2:14). In this Bible study, we are going to be focusing on that future hope.
So stick with it.
This is all going someplace.
The best is yet to come.
References
This lesson is adapted from Daniel Lancaster's teachings in The End of Days, as presented by First Fruits of Zion for the Torah Club.
Eschatology and the God of Israel: Restoring the Covenant Story Within Systematic Theology
Eschatology is a branch of systematic theology. Systematic theology is the effort to organize and reconcile everything we believe about God and everything He has revealed about Himself, humanity, sin, salvation, and more.
Here’s a quick example:
Psalm 22:27 says, “All the ends of the earth will remember and turn to the Lord, and all the families of the nations will worship before You.”
But Psalm 110:6 says, “He will judge among the nations, He will fill them with corpses.”
These passages seem to present very different visions of how God deals with the nations. Systematic theology is the process of bringing such ideas together into a coherent understanding—perhaps suggesting that some among the nations are judged, while those who remain come to worship God. By collecting and comparing many such passages, we gradually form a clearer picture of what Scripture as a whole is teaching.
Eschatology, then, focuses on “the last things”—the end times, the events leading up to the Messiah’s return, and what follows afterward. It gathers information from the Torah, the Prophets, the words of the Master, and the writings of the apostles to create a unified, systematic view of what the future holds. You may also hear the adjective eschatological, which simply means “relating to eschatology.”
In modern English, “apocalypse” often means a catastrophe. But in Scripture, apocalypse literally means “unveiling” or “revelation.” In The Apocalypse of John—another name for the Book of Revelation—we’re given a glimpse behind the veil of the physical world into the unseen spiritual realm.
Apocalyptic literature describes writings, often Jewish in origin, in which someone is shown what is happening in that hidden realm and what is coming in the future. 1 Enoch is a prime example, though there are many others. Such texts often include prophetic scenes of the end of this age and the dawn of the next—just like the prophecies we find in Scripture.
When we speak of first-century Jewish apocalyptic thought, we’re usually referring to this two-age framework—the idea that the present age (Olam Ha-Zeh) will come to a cataclysmic close and be replaced by a new age (Olam Ha-Ba), “the world to come.”
Olam Ha-Ba can refer to several related ideas, but generally it describes the time of peace and blessing that follows the Messiah’s return. Sometimes it includes the thousand-year reign of the Messiah on earth—an era of righteousness and prosperity. In other contexts, it points even further ahead to the eternal state Paul describes when quoting Isaiah: “Things which eye has not seen and ear has not heard.” John, also quoting Isaiah, calls this “a new heaven and a new earth” (Revelation 21:1).
This two-age view stands in contrast to the traditional Christian idea that we are already living in the Kingdom of Messiah. In first-century Jewish thought, many things must occur before that Kingdom begins—the return of Israel’s exiles, the rebuilding of the Temple, the re-establishment of the Sanhedrin, and the Messiah seated on David’s throne in Jerusalem. We’re not in that age yet. We are still living in Olam Ha-Zeh—this present age—which will one day end. That ending is what Scripture calls “the end of days.”
Another important term is the Day of the Lord. This doesn’t necessarily mean a single twenty-four-hour day. Rather, it refers to the transition between this age and the next—the time surrounding the Messiah’s return and the final judgment. It includes what both Jewish literature and the Gospels call “the birth pangs of the Messiah”—a period of intense suffering preceding His arrival. In Matthew 24, these same events are often referred to as the Tribulation.
The Messiah comes immediately after these “birth pangs,” inaugurating a millennial Kingdom of peace and righteousness. So while the Day of the Lord ultimately leads to something good, the process itself is agonizing. That’s why Amos 5 warns that “the Day of the Lord is darkness, and not light.” But by the end of that same book, light does return—the darkness gives way to redemption.
To understand the end of days, it helps to begin by walking through the Torah for a while, because the seeds of the end are planted in the beginning. God’s creation of the world, humanity’s sin and exile, His call of Abraham, and His election of Israel—all of these are foundational to everything that follows. The rest of Scripture continues that same story, and without its beginning and middle, the end cannot be understood.
Many Christian eschatologies go astray precisely because they overlook or minimize God’s unique choice of Israel as His priestly nation. To understand the end rightly, we must first grasp the beginning and middle.
When we study the end of days, it’s tempting to approach it like a puzzle to be solved — to fit every prophecy neatly into a system. That’s the impulse behind systematic theology, and while it comes from a good place, it can easily lose sight of the story that gives Scripture its meaning.
To appreciate why an Israel-centered perspective matters, it helps to remember where systematic theology came from and what it set out to do. In many ways, systematic theology arose from the early Church’s effort to understand Scripture without the Jewish worldview that had originally given it meaning. By the second century, a growing divide between the Gentile church and the Jewish community had taken root. As Christianity spread into the Greco-Roman world, theological reflection increasingly took place in categories familiar to that culture—those of Greek philosophy rather than the Hebrew Scriptures.
By the time of figures like Origen, Augustine, and later Thomas Aquinas, theology had become an effort to express biblical truth in the rational, universal categories of classical thought—categories like substance, nature, essence, and causation. The goal was noble: to show that faith and reason could coexist and that Christianity offered a coherent worldview.
During the Reformation, theologians such as Calvin, Luther, and later the Protestant scholastics kept this systematic impulse but restructured it around Scripture rather than Church tradition. They organized theology into divisions—theology proper, anthropology, Christology, soteriology, and eschatology—each answering specific questions about God, humanity, salvation, and the future. The result was intellectually rigorous and deeply influential.
However, as R. Kendall Soulen observes in The God of Israel and Christian Theology, this very structure came with a cost. By abstracting biblical truth into universal doctrines, systematic theology often detached God from His concrete identity as the God of Israel. The story of Israel—the covenants, the exodus, the promises, the hope of restoration—was absorbed into general categories like “redemption” or “salvation history.” In doing so, theology remained coherent but lost its narrative heart.
Soulen’s challenge reminds us that biblical theology is covenantal before it is systematic. The coherence of Scripture flows not from philosophical order but from God’s faithfulness to His people through time. Israel’s story is the spine of the biblical narrative; every doctrine finds its proper place when connected to that spine.
So as we study eschatology—the culmination of God’s redemptive plan—we must resist the urge to treat prophecy as pieces of a detached system. Instead, we see it as the unfolding of God’s covenant promises to Israel, extending blessing to all nations through her Messiah. The end cannot be understood apart from the beginning, and the fulfillment cannot be divorced from the faithfulness that precedes it.
This can be a hard topic for many Christians, especially those who struggle with any concept of Israel that is not “spiritual Israel.” Soulen isn’t denying the inclusion of Gentiles in God’s redemptive plan. Soulen’s concern isn’t about who is included in salvation, but how the story of inclusion has been told.
Traditional Christian theology often says: ‘Israel failed, so God created the Church as the new Israel.’ Soulen points out that this version of the story actually changes God’s identity. The God of Scripture doesn’t abandon His covenant partners; He fulfills His promises through them.”
Soulen says much of Christian theology is built around a simplified story:
Creation → Fall → Redemption → Consummation.
It’s tidy—but notice what’s missing: Abraham, Israel, the covenants, and God’s ongoing relationship with them. If God’s covenant with Israel was replaced, how can we trust Him to keep His promises to the Church?
Soulen shows that the Bible’s actual storyline is covenantal:
Creation → Election of Israel → Messiah through Israel → Blessing of the Nations → Restoration of Israel and the World.
This structure keeps God’s identity as the God of Israel consistent from Genesis to Revelation.
You might say:
“Paul’s vision in Romans 11 reflects that same pattern. The Gentiles are grafted into Israel’s tree—not the other way around. If Israel’s story ends, the whole tree dies.”
Soulen’s deepest concern is the character of God Himself. If theology erases Israel, it portrays a God who abandons His covenants—a contradiction of His revealed nature.
You might conclude:
“The reason Israel still matters isn’t ethnocentrism—it’s about God’s integrity. The same faithfulness that guarantees Israel’s restoration guarantees our salvation.”
In the end, all things converge not in an abstract idea but in a Person—the Messiah of Israel—through whom God’s covenant purposes reach their completion. Keeping Israel at the center doesn’t limit our theology; it grounds it. It reminds us that the God who created the world, called Abraham, and promised restoration through David’s heir is the same God who will bring about the new creation.
The story begins with Israel and ends with Israel restored—and through that restoration, the nations find their redemption. That is the heartbeat of eschatology, and the reason every study of “last things” must begin with the first things.
References
This lesson is adapted from teachings in The End of Days, as presented by First Fruits of Zion for the Torah Club.