And the angel Israfel, whose heart-strings are a lute, and who has the sweetest voice of all God’s creatures.

Name: Israfel (Kou and Otsu/Alpha and Beta)(The Burning One (Two lol))

Order: 7th Angel!

First Appearance: Episode 9, Mind, Matching, Moment (one of, if not THE BEST epidsode of the series and prob my favourite)

Angel(s) of: Poetry, Dance, and Music

Facts: only angel two have two cores! Both Angels that make up Israfel have their own names, in English they're named Alpha and Beta and in Japanese they're named Otsu (the grey one) and Kou (the red one)!
Another pretty major thing to note is that they are an angel that is named in the Abrahamic religions (Christianity, Islam, and Judaism). The quote I have at the top of this page is from the Quran. The poem about Israfel at the bottom of the page is a poem by the poet Edgar Allen Poe. I really like the poem so even though the main topic of this URL is Evangelion, I still thought I'd include the poem. If you ever want to look into more of his works, my personal favourite is "The Conqueror Worm"!

In Heaven a spirit doth dwell
“Whose heart-strings are a lute”;
None sing so wildly well
As the angel Israfel,
And the giddy stars (so legends tell),
Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell
Of his voice, all mute.

Tottering above
In her highest noon,
The enamoured moon
Blushes with love,
While, to listen, the red levin
(With the rapid Pleiads, even,
Which were seven,)
Pauses in Heaven.

And they say (the starry choir
And the other listening things)
That Israfeli’s fire
Is owing to that lyre
By which he sits and sings—
The trembling living wire
Of those unusual strings.

But the skies that angel trod,
Where deep thoughts are a duty,
Where Love’s a grown-up God,
Where the Houri glances are
Imbued with all the beauty
Which we worship in a star.

Therefore, thou art not wrong,
Israfeli, who despisest
An unimpassioned song;
To thee the laurels belong,
Best bard, because the wisest!
Merrily live, and long!

The ecstasies above
With thy burning measures suit—
Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love,
With the fervour of thy lute—
Well may the stars be mute!

Yes, Heaven is thine; but this
Is a world of sweets and sours;
Our flowers are merely—flowers,
And the shadow of thy perfect bliss
Is the sunshine of ours.

If I could dwell
Where Israfel
Hath dwelt, and he where I,
He might not sing so wildly well
A mortal melody,
While a bolder note than this might swell
From my lyre within the sky.