Parshat Lech Lecha6 min read

Abraham Learned the Stars Could Not Rule Him

Young Abraham serves the sun until it sets, then serves the moon until it sets, and understands that anything replaceable cannot be God.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Sky Could Not Answer Him
  2. He Left After His Father Was Counted Dead
  3. The Blessing Came Before the Covenant Was Named
  4. Resh Lakish Read the Covenant as a River
  5. Laban and Bethuel Said It Came From God

The Sky Could Not Answer Him

The child stood in the open air and watched the sun move across the sky. Everything in the world depended on light and warmth. This had to be the ruler. He devoted himself to it for the whole of the day, watching, following, giving the sun the attention a man gives to the one who holds his life.

Then the sun set.

The ruler of the world does not set. Anything that can be replaced by darkness is not ultimate. He waited. The moon rose with its court of stars, a different kind of majesty, cooler and more distant but still governing the night. He gave his attention to the moon. Morning came. The moon went pale and disappeared.

This is where Bereshit Rabbah places the beginning of Abraham's faith. Not in revelation. In failure. The sun and moon each failed him in sequence, and by the time he was through with the sky, he understood the first law of genuine worship: anything that can be replaced cannot be God.

He Left After His Father Was Counted Dead

Genesis says Terah died in Haran before God told Abram to leave. Bereshit Rabbah's tradition notices a problem: the numbers do not add up cleanly. Terah was 70 when Abram was born. Abram left Haran at 75. That means Terah was 145 when Abram departed, and Terah lived to 205. If Terah was still alive, why does the Torah say his death before describing Abram's departure?

The answer Bereshit Rabbah offers is theological. God counted Terah as dead while he was still alive, because the wicked are called dead even in their lifetime. Abram leaving while Terah breathed would have dishonored his father. So God, in the divine accounting, resolved the problem by changing the order of events in the text. The death appears first so that Abram's departure is clean.

The same insight Abraham had learned from the sky returns here: the order in which things appear may not be the order in which they are. The sunset is not the death of the sun. The text's sequence is not always chronological. What looks like one thing may be something else when you press on it.

The Blessing Came Before the Covenant Was Named

After Abram left Haran and crossed into Canaan, after the famine that drove him to Egypt and the near-disaster with Pharaoh and Sarah, after the battle with the kings to rescue Lot, Melchizedek came out to meet him. The king of Salem, priest of God Most High, brought bread and wine and blessed Abram. He blessed the God who had delivered Abram's enemies into his hand.

Bereshit Rabbah reads this encounter with attention. Melchizedek is a righteous priest outside the Abrahamic family, a king of a city that will one day be Jerusalem, already recognizing what Abram's morning under the stars had begun. The blessing he gives is not invented. It acknowledges what was already there. Abram had not been blessed because of covenant and circumcision and trial. He had been blessed because he was the one who had looked at the sky and refused to worship anything that set in the west.

Resh Lakish Read the Covenant as a River

The covenant between the pieces in Genesis 15 is one of the most vivid scenes in the patriarchal narrative: animals cut in half, a smoking fire pot and flaming torch passing between the halves in the dark, Abraham falling into a deep sleep and hearing the prophecy of four hundred years of bondage and return. Resh Lakish reads this not only as a covenant ceremony but as a map of Israel's future.

The fire pot is Egypt. The torch is the divine presence that moves through history. The pieces of the animals are the nations cut away from Israel's path. The covenant was not only a promise made in private between God and one man. It was the shape of the whole of what was to come, laid out in darkness between divided animals while Abraham slept and could not interfere with the vision.

Laban and Bethuel Said It Came From God

When Abraham's servant arrived in Haran looking for a wife for Isaac, he prayed at the well and Rebekah appeared and gave water to him and to his ten camels. He went to her family and told them everything: Abraham's prosperity, Isaac's inheritance, the prayer at the well, Rebekah's response, the gifts he had given her. He laid out the whole sequence as evidence.

Laban and Bethuel listened to the entire account and said: the thing has come from God. We cannot speak against it, good or bad. The family that Abraham had left behind, the people of Haran who worshipped other things, looked at the servant's story and recognized the same pattern Abraham had recognized at the sunset: something is at work here that is not reducible to the people visible in the room. A man who had rejected the sun and the moon for a God who did not set sent his servant across a desert, and even the family of the distant cousin could see the thread running from the prayer to the well to the girl to the mission.


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The texts this telling draws on, in full. Open a card to read inline, or expand it for a wider, quieter read.

Bereshit Rabbah 38:13Bereshit Rabbah

"And Haran died in the presence of Terah his father" (Genesis 11:28). Rabbi Hiyya, the son of the son of Rav Adda of Yafo, said: Terah was a worshiper of idols. One time he went out to a place and seated Abraham as a seller in his stead. A man would come wishing to buy, and Abraham would say to him: How old are you? And he would say to him: Fifty or sixty years old. And Abraham would say to him: Woe to that man, who is sixty years old and wishes to bow down to something a day old. And the man would be ashamed and go on his way.

One time a certain woman came carrying in her hand a dish of fine flour. She said to him: Here, offer this before them. He rose, took a staff in his hand, and broke all the idols, and placed the staff in the hand of the largest one that was among them. When his father came, he said to him: Who did this to them? Abraham said to him: The largest one that was among them rose, took a staff, and broke them. His father said to him: Why do you mock me? Do they have knowledge? Abraham said to him: Let your ears hear what your mouth is saying!

He took him and handed him over to Nimrod. Nimrod said to him: Let us bow down to fire. Abraham said to him: Let us rather bow down to water, which extinguishes fire. Nimrod said to him: Let us bow down to water. Abraham said to him: If so, let us bow down to the cloud, which carries the water. Nimrod said to him: Let us bow down to the cloud. Abraham said to him: If so, let us bow down to the wind, which scatters the cloud. Nimrod said to him: Let us bow down to the wind. Abraham said to him: And let us rather bow down to the human being, who bears the wind. Nimrod said to him: You are merely babbling words. I bow down to nothing but fire. Behold, I am casting you into it, and let the God to whom you bow down come and save you from it.

When Abraham went down into the fiery furnace and was saved, they said to him: From whom are you descended? He said to them: I am descended from Abraham. They took Haran and cast him into the fire, and his innards were scorched, and he came out and died in the presence of Terah his father. This is what is written: "And Haran died in the presence of Terah," and so forth.

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Bereshit Rabbah 39:7Bereshit Rabbah

Sometimes, the most sacred journeys require us to confront the most difficult of family ties.

Our story begins with Avram, later Abraham, and a seemingly simple command from God: "Go you, from your land" (Genesis 12:1). But what led up to this divine instruction? The text immediately preceding it states, "Teraḥ died in Ḥaran" (Genesis 11:32).

Rabbi Yitzḥak, in Bereshit Rabbah 39, points out a chronological puzzle. If you do the math, Teraḥ, Avram's father, should have lived another sixty-five years! Avram was born when Teraḥ was seventy (Genesis 11:26). He left Ḥaran when he was seventy (Seder Olam Rabba 1), making Teraḥ one hundred and forty. Teraḥ lived to be two hundred and five (Genesis 11:32). So, what gives?

The explanation, according to the Rabbis, lies in the idea that "the wicked are considered dead [even] during their lifetimes." In a sense, Teraḥ did die spiritually before Avram departed. He was an idol worshiper, and his spiritual state was considered a form of death.

But there's more to it than just that. Our forefather Avraham was afraid. He worried about the ḥillul Hashem, the desecration of God's name. He feared that people would say, "He abandoned his father and left him in his old age!"

Imagine the weight of that responsibility. Leaving your family, especially your aging father, was a significant cultural taboo. It could bring shame not just upon Avram, but potentially upon the very idea of monotheism he was about to champion.

So, what did the Holy One, blessed be He, do? He reassured Avram, essentially saying, "I exempt you from honoring your father and mother in this particular case, but I do not exempt anyone else." This is a radical idea, isn't it? God Himself making an exception to one of the Ten Commandments!

Bereshit Rabbah emphasizes this by stating, "That is what is meant by 'Go you.'" It wasn't just a physical departure; it was a spiritual one, sanctioned by God. To ease Avram's conscience and silence the critics, God had Teraḥ’s death “recorded” before Avram's departure. First, "Teraḥ died in Ḥaran," and then, "the Lord said to Abram."

It's a powerful message about the complexities of faith, family, and destiny. It reminds us that sometimes, the path to fulfilling our higher purpose requires us to make difficult choices. Choices that might even seem to contradict our deeply held values. But when that higher purpose is aligned with the Divine will, we can find the strength and the justification to move forward, even when it hurts.

As we see reflected in Midrash Rabbah, these stories aren't just historical accounts; they're moral and spiritual lessons encoded in narrative.

What does this mean for us today? Perhaps it’s a reminder that honoring our commitments to a greater good sometimes means navigating complex, even painful, personal situations. It's a call to listen deeply to our own calling, even when it seems to defy conventional wisdom or familial expectations. Perhaps, like Avraham, we too can find the courage to "Go you," knowing that we are not alone on our journey.

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Bereshit Rabbah 43:7Bereshit Rabbah

The verse in question is (Genesis 14:19): "He blessed him, and he said: Blessed is Abram to God, the Most High, Maker of heavens and earth." But another way to read it is "Acquirer of heavens and earth." The question the rabbis confront is: How could God, the creator of everything, possibly acquire something?

Rabbi Abba, citing Rav Kahana and Rabbi Yitzchak, offers a beautiful analogy. He says it's like someone praising another by saying, “His eyes are fair, his hair is fair." The word koneh, acquirer, doesn't necessarily mean taking possession of something new. It can also mean fixing, perfecting, or enhancing something that already exists. So, in this view, God is not acquiring the heavens and earth, but rather perfecting them.

Rabbi Yitzchak offers a more radical interpretation. He suggests the "acquirer" isn't God at all. but Abraham! How could Abraham acquire heaven and earth? Well, picture this: Abraham, the ever-hospitable host, welcomes travelers into his tent. After they’ve enjoyed his food and drink, he asks them to say a blessing.

"What should we say?" they ask, unfamiliar with the concept of monotheistic blessing.

Abraham, ever the teacher, instructs them: “Say: Blessed is God, the Most High, of whose food we have eaten.”

And here’s the kicker. God, blessed be He, says to Abraham: “My name had not been known by My creations, and you caused My creations to recognize me. I consider it for you as though you were My partner in creation of the world!”

The Midrash, a body of interpretive stories, sees Abraham’s act of making God known as so profound that it was akin to participating in the very act of creation. That's why it is written, "Maker of heavens and earth." According to Rabbi Yitzchak, the words “Acquirer of heaven and earth” refer to Abraham, not God. Abraham acquired this status by making God’s presence known in the world.

Isn't that amazing? God, in this understanding, isn't just a distant, unknowable force. He's actively seeking connection, yearning to be recognized by His creation. And Abraham, through his hospitality and his insistence on blessing, becomes the conduit through which that recognition flows. He becomes a partner in revealing God's presence in the world.

The Zohar, the central text of Kabbalah, often speaks of the importance of human actions in affecting the divine realm. Abraham’s actions, in this light, weren't just acts of kindness; they were acts of cosmic significance.

So, what does this all mean for us? Perhaps it's a reminder that even the smallest acts of kindness, the simplest expressions of faith, can have profound consequences. Maybe we, too, can become "acquirers" – not of possessions, but of connection, of meaning, of a deeper understanding of the divine. Maybe, just maybe, we can all be partners in creation, one blessing at a time.

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Bereshit Rabbah 47:10Bereshit Rabbah

Bereshit Rabbah turns to Lakish, Abraham at the Dawn of Creation.

The rabbis ask: how far is too far? The text poses a scenario: Can you go to an idolatrous fair – that is, a fair dedicated, at least in part, to idol worship – even during the intermediate days of a Festival (Chol HaMoed)? Seems like a no-brainer: stay away! But the answer, according to Bereshit Rabbah 47, is yes! You can go to these fairs to purchase houses, fields, vineyards, slaves, and maidservants.

Why? Because acquiring property in the Land of Israel from idolaters is so important, it outweighs the prohibition against attending idolatrous events.

It gets even more interesting. Rabbi Ami, quoting Reish Lakish, says it's permitted not only for slaves who have already been circumcised (meaning they were previously owned by Jews and converted), but even for uncircumcised ones! Why? Because by purchasing them, you bring them "under the wings of the Divine Presence." You give them the opportunity to convert and live a Jewish life. Reish Lakish goes on to say that this purchase is permitted even on Shabbat (the Sabbath).

Imagine the scene: Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi asks Reish Lakish about buying slaves from idolaters. Reish Lakish replies, "Regarding when are you asking me, on a Festival? It is taught: Even on Shabbat." The urgency to redeem these souls, to bring them into the fold, trumps even the sanctity of the Sabbath!

The text continues: even purchasing a courtyard from an idolater in the Land of Israel is permitted on Shabbat. You can say, "I offer such and such a price, to be paid tomorrow." You can negotiate the deal, even though the payment is deferred until after Shabbat. It's because the Land of Israel is so beloved, so central to Jewish life, that these leniencies are granted.

Ḥizkiya teaches that you can even wage war to conquer a city in the Land of Israel on Shabbat, citing the conquest of Jericho on the seventh day (Joshua 6:15) as proof! The intensity of the desire to reclaim the Promised Land seems to override everything.

Bereshit Rabbah then mentions three specific idolatrous fairs: the Gaza fair, the Akko fair, and the Botnan fair, with the Botnan fair being the most overtly idolatrous.

Then, the text shifts, offering a touching anecdote about Abraham. Before his circumcision, Abraham worried that people wouldn't visit him anymore. But God reassures him, saying, "Before you were circumcised, people would come to you. Now, I, in My glory, am coming and revealing Myself to you." This is why it is written, "The Lord appeared to him in the plains of Mamre" (Genesis 18:1).

What are we to make of all this? On the one hand, we see a willingness to bend the rules, even seemingly fundamental ones like observing the Sabbath, for the sake of bringing people closer to Judaism and reclaiming the Land of Israel. On the other hand, there's a deep awareness of the dangers of idolatry. It's a complex and nuanced perspective, one that challenges us to think critically about our own values and priorities. Where do we draw the line between preserving tradition and embracing new possibilities? Where do we compromise, and where do we stand firm? These are questions that continue to resonate today.

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Bereshit Rabbah 60:10Bereshit Rabbah

The story kicks off in (Genesis 24:50-51), where Laban and Betuel, Rebecca's brother and father, respond to Abraham's servant's request for Rebecca's hand in marriage for Isaac. They say, "The matter has come forth from the Lord; we can speak to you neither bad nor good… Behold, Rebecca is before you, take her and go, and she will be a wife for your master’s son, as the Lord has spoken."

Where exactly did this "matter" come forth from? That's where the rabbis really sink their teeth in.

Rabbi Yehoshua bar Nehemya, quoting Rabbi Hanina bar Yitzhak, offers a powerful image: it came forth from Mount Moriah. You remember Mount Moriah. That's where Abraham bound Isaac, ready to offer him as a sacrifice to God. This interpretation, found in Bereshit Rabbah 60, suggests that immediately after this intense test of faith (Genesis 22:20-23), Abraham learned about Rebecca's birth. So, the idea is that Rebecca's marriage to Isaac was foreordained right then and there, a direct result of Abraham's unwavering devotion. for a second. The near-sacrifice, a moment of ultimate trial, is immediately followed by the promise of a future, of continuation, embodied in the destined union of Isaac and Rebecca. Pretty powerful stuff, huh?

Hold on, because not everyone agrees.

Other Rabbis, also in Bereshit Rabbah, take a different tack. They focus on the phrase, "She will be a wife for your master's son, as the Lord has spoken." Their interpretation? The marriage wasn't preordained at Rebecca's birth. Instead, the match was ordained in Heaven only now, at this very moment of decision.

So, we have two contrasting ideas. Was it all planned from the moment of Rebecca's birth, linked to the drama of Mount Moriah? Or was it a more spontaneous divine decree, happening right there, in real-time, as the pieces fell into place?

What’s so compelling about this debate is what it reveals about our understanding of fate, free will, and divine intervention. Is everything predetermined, a script written long ago? Or do we have a say in our own destinies, with God stepping in at crucial junctures?

Maybe, just maybe, both ideas hold a piece of the truth. Perhaps some connections are woven into the fabric of existence from the very beginning, while others blossom in the unfolding present, guided by a divine hand. Perhaps it’s a blend of both – a cosmic dance between destiny and choice.

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