Parshat Lech Lecha5 min read

Abraham Left Without Knowing and Jacob Bowed Seven Times

Bereshit Rabbah follows the patriarchs through commands without explanation, marriages that shape the covenant, and costly reconciliations.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. Two Commands, One Name
  2. Marriage Held the Promise Together
  3. Isaac Grew Suspicious at the Feast
  4. Jacob's Message to Esau
  5. Seven Bows Before a Brother

Two Commands, One Name

The phrase lekh lekha, go for yourself, appears twice in Abraham's life. The first time, God tears him loose from his country, his birthplace, and his father's house and sends him toward a land God has not yet named. The second time, the command points Abraham toward the mountain where Isaac will be bound. Bereshit Rabbah asks which of these two commands was the harder one to obey, and the question reveals that the rabbis understood Abraham's life not as a single great test but as a sequence of tests, each one building on the wounds left by the last.

Abraham left the first time without knowing where he was going. Leaving home in the ancient world meant losing the protection of kinship, the certainty of language and law, the gods whose names you knew and whose requirements were familiar. Abraham walked into uncertainty on the strength of a promise whose shape he could not yet see. The midrash says his greatness was not that he was unafraid but that he walked anyway.

Marriage Held the Promise Together

Bereshit Rabbah slows down at the genealogy behind Abram and Sarai. The Torah names fathers, wives, and siblings with unusual care, and the rabbis follow the lines of relationship to understand how the covenant was structured from the beginning. Sarai is not peripheral. She is the vessel through which the specific promise would pass. The genealogy is not background information. It is the architecture of divine purpose.

The promise did not travel through Abraham alone. It traveled through a marriage that carried both of them. When God told Abraham not to fear, the guarantee attached to both their names. When God renamed them Abraham and Sarah, the covenant expanded through the new letters added to each name. Marriage in the patriarchal narrative is not a personal arrangement that runs alongside the covenant. It is the path the covenant takes through the world.

Isaac Grew Suspicious at the Feast

Jacob came home from the hunt faster than Isaac expected. He came with the venison his father had requested, with his brother's voice clumsily disguised by his mother's instructions. Isaac touched the hands, felt the hair of skins on smooth skin, heard the voice that was Jacob's, and grew suspicious. He asked: are you really my son Esau? The answer came back yes. Isaac blessed him.

Bereshit Rabbah does not read this as simply Isaac being deceived. It reads the suspicion as something Isaac held in tension with the blessing. He had to know, somewhere, that something was wrong with the sequence. He blessed Jacob anyway. The rabbis see in that act something deliberate: the blessing went where it was supposed to go, even if the path it traveled was irregular.

Jacob's Message to Esau

Jacob sends messengers to Esau before the reunion. The message is carefully diplomatic: I have been with Laban, I have cattle and servants and donkeys, I am sending to find favor in your eyes. The message does not say: I stole your blessing twenty years ago. It does not say: I am afraid of you. But the fear is in every word. Jacob's diplomatic language, stripped to its bones, is the language of someone who does not know if the next meeting will be an embrace or an ambush.

Bereshit Rabbah reads the message as an example of the complicated work of reconciliation. Jacob does not pretend there is no wound. He does not demand credit for surviving Laban. He offers his brother a full account of his wealth and he bows his language as he will later bow his body, seven times, before Esau's face.

Seven Bows Before a Brother

Jacob bowed to the ground seven times as he approached Esau. The number is deliberate. Seven is the number of completeness. Jacob approached his brother in complete humility, which is not the same as submission. He bowed seven times while his family was behind him, while his plan was already in place to put them in order of vulnerability with his most beloved at the back. He bowed completely and also arranged his household for survival. Both things at once.

Bereshit Rabbah sees in those seven bows the full weight of what Jacob carried into that meeting: twenty years of fear, a stolen blessing, a dream at Bethel, a limp from Peniel, four wives, twelve children, and a God who had promised him everything without telling him how much everything would cost. He bowed seven times and Esau ran toward him and they wept. The promise survived the brothers.


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Bereshit Rabbah 39:9Bereshit Rabbah

Jewish tradition certainly has something to say about that, especially when it comes to the story of Abraham and his monumental tests of faith. to Bereshit Rabbah, a classic collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Genesis. Specifically, God uses this phrase twice with Abraham: first, when commanding him to leave his home, and later when instructing him to sacrifice Isaac. Rabbi Levi poses a fascinating question: which command was more precious to God?

He suggests the second instance, the command to go to the land of Moriah for the Akeidah, the binding of Isaac, was the more beloved. Why? Because in the second command, God reveals the destination – offering Abraham some clarity, albeit a terrifying one.

The story doesn't end there. Rabbi Yoḥanan offers another perspective on the initial "Lekh Lekha," "Go you, from your land, from your birthplace, and from your father’s house." Rabbi Yoḥanan breaks it down: "your land" means your district; "your birthplace" refers to your neighborhood; and "your father's house" signifies your father's household. Notice anything missing? God doesn't immediately reveal where Abraham is supposed to go!

Why the secrecy? Rabbi Yoḥanan argues it’s "to make it more endearing to him, and to give him a reward for each and every stride.” Every step Abraham takes in obedience, in faith, before knowing the destination, earns him additional merit. The uncertainty, the trust, that's where the real value lies.

This idea resonates with another story, also involving Abraham and sacrifice. Remember when God tells Abraham, "Take your son, your only one"? Abraham, ever the arguer with good intent, responds, "This one is the 'only one' to his mother, and that one is the 'only one' to his mother," referring to both Isaac and Ishmael. Then God clarifies, “Whom you love.” Abraham retorts, essentially asking if there are limits to a father’s love for all his sons. Finally, God says, "Isaac."

But even then, God doesn’t immediately reveal the full plan. As with the initial "Lekh Lekha," there's a delay. Why? Again, "It was to make it more endearing to him, and to give him a reward for each and every statement." Each question, each moment of internal struggle and ultimate obedience, amplifies Abraham's merit.

Rav Huna, in the name of Rabbi Eliezer son of Rabbi Yosei HaGelili, beautifully encapsulates this concept: "The Holy One blessed be He withholds [information at first] and keeps the eyes of the righteous directed toward Him, and only then does he reveal to them the particulars of the matter."

He then gives a series of examples: "to the land that I will show you"; "upon one of the mountains that I will say to you"; "proclaim the proclamation that I speak to you"; "Go out to the valley and I will speak to you there." In each case, there's an initial vagueness, a call to trust and action before complete understanding.

What does this mean for us? Perhaps it suggests that true faith isn't about having all the answers upfront. It's about taking that first step, even when the path ahead is shrouded in mist. It's about finding meaning and reward in the journey itself, trusting that the destination, when revealed, will be all the more meaningful because of the steps we took in faith. Maybe, just maybe, the withholding is not a test of obedience, but an act of love. A way to make the journey more rewarding.

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Bereshit Rabbah 38:14Bereshit Rabbah

The Torah gives us hints, but it's in the rabbinic tradition where things get really interesting, where they piece together the ages and relationships to illuminate the story.

(Genesis 11:29) tells us, "Abram and Naḥor took wives for themselves; the name of Abram’s wife was Sarai and the name of Naḥor’s wife was Milka, daughter of Haran, father of Milka, and the father of Yiska.” So, what does that tell us? Well, Bereshit Rabbah 38 takes this verse and runs with it, engaging in some fascinating calculations.

The Rabbis note, "Abram was one year older than Naḥor and Naḥor was one year older than Haran. Consequently, Abraham was two years older than Haran." Okay, we're building a family tree timeline here! Then they add another layer: allowing a year each for Milka and Yiska's pregnancies, they conclude that Haran fathered his children at the tender age of six. This makes Abraham ten years older than Sarah, who they identify as Yiska.

All of this might seem like ancient family trivia, but consider the emotional weight. Abraham is this great figure, destined for greatness, but there's this agonizing waiting. Bereshit Rabbah emphasizes the astonishment: "and Abraham did not beget. This is astonishing." – the promise, the expectation, and the stark reality of infertility.

And then we have Sarai, who "was barren; she had no child" (Genesis 11:30). That phrase, "ein la" – "she had no" – becomes a focal point. Rabbi Levi points out a powerful pattern: "Every place that ein la is stated, ultimately she did have." It's a beautiful rabbinic insight that turns apparent lack into a promise of future fulfillment.

He continues to illustrate this by looking at other barren women in the Tanakh, or Hebrew Bible. "'Sarai was barren; she had no [ein la] child' – she eventually had: 'The Lord remembered Sarah' (Genesis 21:1)." And then there’s Hannah, in 1 Samuel: "'Penina had children but Hannah had no [ein] children' – and she eventually had: 'For the Lord remembered Hannah, and she conceived and bore' (I (Samuel 2:2)1)."

The Rabbis even extend this idea beyond individuals, to the collective. "'It is Zion, it has no [ein la] seekers' (Jeremiah 30:17) – and it eventually had: 'A redeemer will come to Zion' (Isaiah 59:20)." This idea that even when something appears to lack something, God ensures they will ultimately have it, is further emphasized when they state, "Sing, barren one, who did not give birth; burst into song and rejoice, [for more are the children of the desolate than the children of the married wife, says the Lord]’ (Isaiah 54:1)."

So, what does all this mean? It’s about hope, resilience, and the enduring power of faith. Even in the face of apparent impossibility, the Rabbis find a thread of promise woven through the text. The story of Abraham and Sarah isn't just about their individual journey; it’s a evidence of the idea that even when we feel like we "have no," something amazing can still be on the horizon. Perhaps the takeaway from this text is that perceived lack should not deter us from hope, because who knows what potential for abundance lies in store for us?

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Bereshit Rabbah 44:3Bereshit Rabbah

It's like a song with a recurring chorus, reminding us of something vital. the story turns to one of those refrains, the reassurance "Fear not, Abram," and see what echoes it holds.

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), specifically Bereshit Rabbah 44, offers an intriguing interpretation, linking Abram's initial fear to the destiny of Israel. It begins by quoting (Isaiah 41:8-9): "But it is you, Israel, My servant, Jacob, whom I have chosen, descendants of Abraham who loved me, whom I have taken from the ends of the earth…". This passage connects the promise given to Abram with the entire nation of Israel. According to this reading, God's reassurance to Abram isn't just for him as an individual, but for his future descendants.

The verse continues, "And from its noblemen I called you…I called you…I designated you. I chose you and did not reject you." (Isaiah 41:9). The Midrash sees a beautiful progression here. "I chose you" – when you were Abram; "and did not reject you" – when you became Abraham. Even with the name change, signifying a shift in destiny, God's commitment remained steadfast. The Zohar echoes this idea – the names we are given and the names we earn reflect our evolving relationship with the Divine.

Then comes the core message: "Do not fear, as I am with you; do not waver, as I am your God" (Isaiah 41:10). But what exactly is this fear?

Rabbi Hoshaya offers a powerful illustration. He connects this "fear not" to a moment of intense vulnerability for Jacob. Remember when Isaac, nearing blindness, asks Jacob to come close so he can feel him and determine if he is Esau (Genesis 27:21)? Rabbi Hoshaya says that Jacob was so frightened during this deception that "his water spilled onto his knees and his heart became soft as wax." Imagine the sheer terror!

According to the Midrash, God intervened. Two angels were appointed, one to Jacob's right and one to his left, to support him and prevent him from collapsing. And this, Rabbi Hoshaya suggests, is what the verse means by "Do not waver [tishta], as I am your God" – do not be like wax [tishva]. It’s a play on words in Hebrew, but it carries a profound message: even in moments of weakness and fear, divine support is present.

The passage from Isaiah continues: “I strengthened you, even helped you…behold, [all who provoke you] will be ashamed and humiliated” (Isaiah 41:10–11). The Midrash clarifies that these are those who are hostile to you. "They will be like nothing, and the people who quarrel with you will perish" (Isaiah 41:11) – those who incite quarrels with you. "You will seek them…but not find them" (Isaiah 41:12) – those who contend with you.

The message culminates in the reaffirmation: “For I am the Lord your God…who says to you: Fear not” (Isaiah 41:13), which brings us back to where we began: “Fear not, Abram.”

So, what does it all mean? This passage from Bereshit Rabbah isn't just about comforting Abram. It's about reassuring us, his descendants, that even in our moments of deepest fear and uncertainty, even when our hearts feel like melting wax, we are not alone. The promise given to Abram extends to us, a constant reminder that God is with us, strengthening us, and ultimately ensuring our survival. It’s a powerful thought, isn’t it? A chorus echoing through the ages, inviting us to release our fear and embrace faith.

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Bereshit Rabbah 48:17Bereshit Rabbah

Bereshit Rabbah turns to Kingdom of Sarah of Abraham.

Bereshit Rabbah explores this laughter, specifically referencing a moment in history when the Torah was translated into Greek for King Ptolemy. It says that the sages, in their wisdom, actually emended the verse. They altered the wording to read: “Sarah laughed among her relatives [bikroveha].”

Why the change? The Rabbis were concerned about the apparent inconsistency. Abraham also laughed when he heard the news (Genesis 17:17), yet he wasn't reprimanded. Why was Sarah? The emendation suggests her offense wasn't the laughter itself, but sharing her skepticism with others. It wasn't a private moment of disbelief, but a public display that perhaps undermined faith. Pretty clever. It's like they're saying, "Doubt is okay, just keep it to yourself!"

The text then goes on to unpack Sarah’s words, "After my languishing, shall I have youth [edna]?" What is this edna? The Rabbis play with the word, offering multiple interpretations. One suggests it refers to adornment – jewelry. A young woman wears jewelry to attract her husband, but Sarah says, even after her "languishing," she still wears edi (ornaments), quoting (Ezekiel 16:11): “I decked you with ornaments [edi].” She is still vibrant and desirable.

Another interpretation connects edna to menstruation – "set times" (idanin). A woman past childbearing age no longer has cycles, but Sarah claims she will have edna again. It represents a return to fertility. And yet another connects it to pregnancies themselves – iduyim. Even in her old age, Sarah believes that edna signals a renewed ability to conceive.

But what about Abraham? "My husband is old," Sarah says. Rav Yehuda offers a rather blunt interpretation: “He grinds but does not discharge.” Ouch! A delicate way of saying that intimacy isn't quite what it used to be.

However, Rabbi Yehuda ben Rabbi Simon offers a stunning counterpoint. He imagines God Himself responding: "Each of you considers yourself young, and your counterpart old, but am I too old to perform miracles?" This is an interpretation of the words “and I have grown old” in the following verse. God is essentially asking, have I, too, grown old and lost my power?

It's a powerful reminder that miracles are always possible, regardless of age or circumstance. And it's a evidence of the Rabbis' incredible ability to find layers of meaning within a single verse, wrestling with doubt, faith, and the very nature of the Divine. As Ginzberg recounts in Legends of the Jews, this episode highlights not just Sarah's initial disbelief, but also the immense power of faith to overcome even the most seemingly impossible obstacles.

So, what does this all mean for us today? Maybe it's a reminder to be careful with our doubts, to cherish our vitality at every age, and to never underestimate the power of hope, even when the odds seem stacked against us. After all, who are we to limit the power of the Divine?

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Bereshit Rabbah 65:19Bereshit Rabbah

Bereshit Rabbah turns to Isaac Grew Suspicious of How Fast Jacob Found Game.

The story, as we find it in Genesis 27, is fraught with tension. Isaac, old and blind, asks Jacob how he managed to find game so quickly. Jacob replies, "Because the Lord your God coordinated it before me." (Genesis 27:20). But did that response truly satisfy Isaac?

Bereshit Rabbah 65 explores the nuances of this pivotal moment. "How is it that you were so quick to find the blessing, my son?" Isaac asks, according to the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary). It wasn't just about the food; it was about the blessing. The text emphasizes the timeline. Isaac points out that his own father, Abraham, was blessed at 75, and Isaac himself was blessed after Abraham's death (Abraham lived to 175, Isaac was born when Abraham was 100). Now, Jacob is 63. Why this sudden rush?

Jacob's reply, invoking God's name, sparks a debate among the sages. Rabbi Yochanan and Reish Lakish offer different interpretations. One suggests: If God provided for your offering, as with the ram for Abraham (Genesis 22:13), surely He would provide for your food. The other argues: If God provided a mate for you, as with Rebekah (Genesis 24), surely He would provide your food. In both cases, the implication is that God's providence is abundant.

Rabbi Yochanan offers a striking analogy: a raven bringing fire to its nest. It's a vivid image of unexpected provision. But here's where it gets really interesting. Rabbi Yochanan suggests that when Jacob used God's name, Isaac became suspicious. "I know that Esau would not mention the name of the Holy One, blessed be He; this one mentions," Isaac thinks. "This is not Esau, but Jacob." Jacob's attempt to sound pious actually backfires!

Then comes the physical examination. "Please approach, that I may feel you, my son" (Genesis 27:21). Bereshit Rabbah paints a picture of Jacob's sheer terror. Water spilled on his thighs, the verse says. He urinated in fear! And his heart, it says, "was as soft as wax." Imagine the sheer panic.

According to the Midrash, God then intervenes, sending two angels to support Jacob, one on his right and one on his left, holding his elbows so he wouldn't fall. And the verse from Isaiah (41:10) is invoked: "Do not waver (tishta), as I am your God" – connecting the word for "waver" to the Hebrew word for "wax" (tishva). Don't become wax, don't melt away with fear, God is saying.

This passage from Bereshit Rabbah isn't just a commentary on a biblical story; it's a glimpse into the human condition. It's about the complexities of family, the weight of expectation, and the desperate measures we sometimes take. It also subtly hints at the idea that even in our moments of deepest fear and deception, we are not alone. Maybe, just maybe, those "angels" are always there, even when we don't realize it, keeping us from completely falling apart.

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Bereshit Rabbah 75:5Bereshit Rabbah

Jacob's upcoming encounter with his estranged brother Esau is a masterclass in diplomacy, and it holds surprising lessons even for emperors.

In (Genesis 32:5), Jacob instructs his messengers to tell Esau, "So you shall say to my lord, to Esau: So says your servant Jacob: I have resided with Laban, and tarried until now.” It sounds simple. But tucked inside that verse is a whole world of strategy and perhaps even a touch of… well, chutzpah.

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), specifically Bereshit Rabbah, dives deep into this seemingly straightforward message. And it begins with a fascinating anecdote about Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi, the compiler of the Mishnah, and his interaction with Rabbi Appas. Rabbeinu, as he was known, asked Rabbi Appas to write a letter on his behalf to Emperor Antoninus. Initially, Rabbi Appas wrote: "From Yehuda the Prince to our master, Emperor Antoninus." But the Emperor rejected it! He insisted the letter read: "From your servant Yehuda to our master, Emperor Antoninus."

Rabbi Appas was confused. Why would the esteemed Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi, a leader of the Jewish people, humble himself in this way? Rabbi Yehuda’s answer? "In what way am I better than my ancestors? Did he not say this: 'So says your servant Jacob'?" Jacob, facing a potentially hostile reunion with his brother, chooses to address Esau with deference. It's not necessarily about weakness, but about strategic humility. He's setting the stage, controlling the narrative, and maybe even disarming Esau's potential aggression.

But the Midrash doesn’t stop there. It explores the meaning behind Jacob's statement, "I have resided with Laban." Laban, as we know, was not exactly a paragon of virtue. He was, to put it mildly, a trickster. So why mention him? The Midrash offers a bold interpretation: "Laban, who is the master of the deceivers, I placed him up my sleeve; I succeeded in overcoming his deceitfulness."

In other words, Jacob is subtly implying, "If I could handle Laban, what makes you think you can outsmart me, Esau?" It's a veiled warning, a show of strength disguised as a humble report. Talk about playing chess while everyone else is playing checkers.

Then comes the phrase, "and I tarried until now." Why did Jacob stay away so long? Rabbi Pinḥas, quoting Rabbi Shmuel bar Naḥman, offers a powerful explanation: "It is because the adversary of that man [Esau] had not yet been born. But now, the adversary of that man has been born." There was a tradition that Esau would only fall into the hands of Rachel's children. This echoes the verse from (Jeremiah 49:20), "Will the young of the flock not drag them?" The Midrash points out that Rachel's descendants are called “the young of the flock” because they are the youngest of the tribes.

This adds another layer to Jacob's message. He's not just saying he's been away; he's hinting that the time is ripe for a reckoning. The forces that will ultimately challenge Esau's dominance are now in play. It's a subtle but significant shift in the power dynamic.

So, what can we take away from this intricate reading of a single verse? Perhaps it's a reminder that words are powerful tools. That humility can be a strategic advantage. And that sometimes, the most profound messages are hidden beneath the surface, waiting to be uncovered. Jacob's encounter with Esau wasn't just a family reunion; it was a masterclass in navigating power, history, and destiny itself. And as the Midrash shows us, the lessons from our ancestors continue to resonate, even today.

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Bereshit Rabbah 78:14Bereshit Rabbah

That’s kind of the vibe I get from the encounter between Jacob and Esau after their long separation, as described in Bereshit Rabbah 78. The verse in question is (Genesis 33:14), where Jacob says, "Please, let my lord pass before his servant, and I will advance slowly, according to the pace of the property that is before me and according to the pace of the children, until I will come to my lord, to Seir."

The first reading, it sounds like Jacob’s being respectful. He’s acknowledging Esau’s status and promising to meet him later in Seir. But the Rabbis of the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), those brilliant interpreters of our tradition, they weren't so sure. They saw something more, something hidden, in Jacob’s carefully chosen words.

The text in Bereshit Rabbah dives right in. Esau, in this reading, is essentially saying, "Hey, let's be partners! Let's share the world!" A tempting offer, no? But Jacob deflects: “Please, let my lord pass before his servant." He's not interested in Esau's version of partnership.

Then Esau asks, a bit more menacingly, "Don’t you fear my ministers, my governors, and my officers?" He's flexing his power, reminding Jacob of the potential danger. But Jacob, ever the strategist, responds with that carefully worded promise: "I will advance slowly [le’iti]."

Here's where it gets interesting. The Midrash offers two interpretations of le’iti. One is straightforward: "I will walk slowly in accordance with my possessions." Like the slow, steady flow of water, as we find in (Isaiah 8:6), which describes "The water of the Shiloaḥ that flows slowly [le’at]."

But the second interpretation is far more intriguing. Le’iti, the Rabbis suggest, could also mean "I will go with a covered face," like someone in disguise. They draw a parallel to I (Samuel 21:10), "Behold, it is wrapped [luta] in the cloth." Is Jacob hinting at deception? Is he subtly telling Esau that he won’t be who Esau expects him to be?

And then there’s that final phrase: "Until I will come to my lord, to Seir." Rabbi Abbahu raises a critical question: “We reviewed the entire Bible and did not find that Jacob ever went to Esau at Mount Seir.” This is a huge problem! Is Jacob, the man known for his truthfulness, actually lying? Is Jacob, Yaakov Avinu, deceiving his brother?

The Rabbis recoil from this idea. It's unthinkable. So, they offer a powerful resolution: Jacob's promise to meet Esau in Seir isn't meant for this world. It's a promise for the future, for the Messianic Age. As it says in (Obadiah 1:21), "Saviors will ascend Mount Zion to judge the mountain of Esau." Jacob will meet Esau, but only in the End of Days when justice will finally be served.

So, what does this all mean? It means that sometimes, the most straightforward words can conceal layers of meaning. It means that our ancestors understood the complexities of human relationships, the delicate dance between diplomacy and truth. And it means that even a figure as righteous as Jacob could find himself in a situation where he had to choose his words with extreme care.

Perhaps the biggest question this all raises is: How do we navigate those tricky situations in our own lives? How do we balance honesty with the need to protect ourselves and our loved ones? It's a question that continues to resonate, thousands of years after Jacob's encounter with Esau.

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