Parshat Lech Lecha6 min read

Hagar Named God and the Rabbis Debated Who She Actually Spoke To

Pregnant in the desert, Hagar called the voice she heard El Ro'i, God Who Sees Me. Bereshit Rabbah and Philo's Midrash disagree about who she spoke to.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Name She Gave in the Desert
  2. The Fracture in Abram's Household
  3. What the Angel Actually Said to Her
  4. El Ro'i and the Question of the Name

The Name She Gave in the Desert

Pregnant and alone beside a spring on the road to Shur, Hagar did something no patriarch in the Torah managed to do. After the encounter in the wilderness, she named the One who had spoken to her. "El Ro'i," she called him. God Who Sees Me (Genesis 16:13). A runaway Egyptian handmaid, carrying a child whose father had handed her back to the woman who wanted to drive her out, stood in the desert and assigned a name to God from inside the experience of abandonment. The rabbis spent centuries trying to determine exactly what had happened in that encounter, and they never fully agreed.

The Fracture in Abram's Household

The story that led to the desert begins in the household of Abram and Sarai, in the gap between promise and fulfillment. Sarai was childless and the divine promise had not arrived. She gave her Egyptian handmaid to Abram to bear a child on her behalf. The arrangement was recognized practice in the ancient Near East. What the arrangement did not account for was the change that came over Hagar when she conceived.

Bereshit Rabbah 45, the foundational midrash on Genesis compiled in fifth-century Palestine, preserves the raw language of Sarai's complaint to Abram: "The injustice done to me is on you." Rabbi Yudan, in the name of Rabbi Yehuda bar Simon, explains what she meant: "You are committing an injustice of words against me." Abram had said something in Hagar's presence that diminished Sarai. More specifically, Hagar had begun to question whether Sarai was truly as righteous as she appeared, since if she were, why had she not conceived while Hagar had immediately? Sarai felt herself measured by her handmaid and found insufficient. She asked Abram to restore the proper order. He told her the matter was in her hands. What he did not do was intervene.

What followed was hard enough that Hagar ran. She left in the direction of Egypt, the country she had come from, and she got as far as a spring on the road to Shur. Bereshit Rabbah notes that the angel found her specifically at the spring "on the road to Halutza." The place was on a route, not in a void. She was going somewhere. She had not simply collapsed. She was leaving.

What the Angel Actually Said to Her

The angel's message, when it came, was not rescue. "Return to your mistress and be humbled beneath her hands." Bereshit Rabbah finds significance in the precision of the address: "Hagar, Sarai's maidservant." The angel reminded her who she was and where she belonged before telling her what to do. The midrash adds an observation: "if one has an address, one can be held accountable." Hagar had an identity. She was not dissolved into the wilderness. The naming preserved the possibility of return.

The reason the angel gave, at least in part, was what lay ahead. He promised her a son whose name would be Ishmael, for God had heard her affliction, and he promised her descendants beyond counting. The promise was not conditioned on her obedience. It was given before she agreed to go back. Then he said: go back. And she went.

The Midrash of Philo, a distinct interpretive work sometimes associated with Philo of Alexandria's Biblical commentary tradition, asks the uncomfortable question that Bereshit Rabbah passes over: why would a divine messenger tell someone to return to a situation of suffering? The answer the Midrash presses toward is that the return was not acquiescence. It was the path through which the promise would be fulfilled. Ishmael would be born inside Abraham's household. The covenant, even if it ran through Isaac, would acknowledge Ishmael's existence within its boundaries.

El Ro'i and the Question of the Name

Genesis 16:13 creates a grammatical puzzle that the rabbis could not leave alone. Hagar "called the name of the Lord who spoke with her" El Ro'i. But was it the Lord who spoke with her, or an angel speaking on behalf of the Lord? Bereshit Rabbah records a dispute with several positions. One view, attributed to Rabbi Yehoshua citing Rabbi Nechemiah in the name of Rabbi Idi, holds that Hagar's interaction was mediated through an angel, not direct divine speech. A second tradition, attributed to Rabbi Eleazar citing Rabbi Yose b. Zimra, proposes that even when Scripture says God spoke to Rebecca, the speech was mediated by Shem son of Noah as an intermediary.

The Midrash of Philo addresses the promise of Hagar's uncountable descendants specifically. The phrase "it shall not be numbered for multitude" is not merely a description of large numbers, the text argues, but a deliberate signal about the nature of the blessing. The descendants of Ishmael would be spread so widely across the world, so diffused among the nations, that no single counting could capture them. The phrase is designed to say something about the kind of presence they would have in history: dispersed, pervasive, impossible to hold in a single census. The Midrash of Philo 9 takes this seriously as a statement about the shape of the promise.

ProphecyAbrahamHagarAngelsWildernessIshmael
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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 45:5Bereshit Rabbah

Our story centers on Sarai (later Sarah) and Abram (later Abraham), a couple facing the heartbreaking reality of childlessness. Sarai, in a desperate attempt to fulfill the divine promise of offspring, suggests that Abram have a child with her maidservant, Hagar. But as readers often see, even well-intentioned plans can unravel.

(Genesis 16:5) tells us, “Sarai said to Abram: The injustice done to me is on you. I gave my maidservant into your bosom and she saw that she conceived and I was diminished in her eyes; May the Lord judge between me and you.” It's a raw, honest outburst. But what exactly did Sarai mean by “the injustice done to me”?

Rabbi Yudan, in the name of Rabbi Yehuda bar Simon, offers a fascinating interpretation: "You are committing an injustice of words against me, as you hear my humiliation from Hagar and remain silent." Ouch. It's not just the situation, but Abram's inaction that stings. He's not standing up for her.

Rabbi Berekhya, citing Rabbi Abba bar Kahana, uses a powerful analogy: Imagine two prisoners, and the king walks by. One cries out, "Take up my cause!" The king frees him. The other prisoner laments, "I have a grievance against you! Had you said, 'Take up our cause,' he would have freed me too!"

Sarai, according to this interpretation, is saying that had Abram pleaded with God for both of them to have children, God would have granted her request too. But because Abram only focused on his own desire for descendants ("I go childless," as (Genesis 15:2) states), Sarai was left out. It's a poignant reminder of the power of collective prayer and shared desires.

We even get a glimpse into the rabbinic perception of women at the time. The text lists four traits associated with women: being gluttons, eavesdroppers, lazy people, and jealous people. Eve eating the forbidden fruit represents gluttony; Sarah overhearing the angel's prophecy exemplifies eavesdropping; Abraham urging Sarah to hurry to prepare the meal indicates laziness; and Rachel's jealousy of her sister Leah displays jealousy. Rabbi Yehuda bar Nehemya adds sensitive and chatty to the list and Rabbi Levi adds thieves and roamers. While these stereotypes are obviously problematic through a modern lens, they offer us a window into the social dynamics and biases of the time.

But here’s where it gets really interesting. Rabbi Tanhuma, in the name of Rabbi Ḥiyya the Great, and Rabbi Berekhya, again in Rabbi Ḥiyya's name, make a striking claim: "Anyone who assiduously pursues the attribute of justice will not emerge intact from its effects." What does that even mean?

Well, they use Sarah as an example. Because she said, "May the Lord judge between me and you," thirty-eight years were deducted from her life! She was worthy of reaching Abraham's years, suggesting that her pursuit of justice, her insistence on divine judgment, had unintended consequences. It’s a sobering thought. Is there a price to pay for demanding justice? Perhaps the emphasis is on how we pursue justice.

The passage also touches on Hagar's pregnancy. The text notes the apparent redundancy of the angel telling Hagar, "Behold, you will conceive and bear a son" (Genesis 16:11) after she had already conceived. The explanation given is that Sarah directed an evil eye against her and caused her to miscarry her fetus. This adds another layer of complexity to the story, highlighting the destructive potential of jealousy and resentment.

Rabbi Yoḥanan even points out a subtle textual nuance: the phrase "between me and you" (uveinekh) can be read as "your son" (uvinkha). A subtle hint at the complicated relationship that will eventually arise between Sarah's son, Isaac, and Hagar's son, Ishmael?

Finally, Rabbi Ḥanina comments on Hagar's encounter with the angel, noting that while an angel speaking to her was a privilege, it would have been sufficient for Elisha the prophet to speak to her through divine inspiration. This seems to subtly elevate the role of prophecy within the Israelite tradition.

So, what do we take away from all this? This passage from Bereshit Rabbah isn't just a simple retelling of a Bible story. It's a complex exploration of human relationships, the challenges of faith, the consequences of our words, and the elusive nature of justice. It invites us to consider the unintended consequences of our actions and the importance of empathy, even in the face of perceived injustice. Maybe, just maybe, sometimes forgiveness and understanding are more powerful than demanding our "rights."

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Bereshit Rabbah 45:7Bereshit Rabbah

That's where our story begins, drawn from the ancient wisdom of Bereshit Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations of the Book of Genesis.

"The angel of the Lord found her in the wilderness, at the spring of water on the road to Shur" (Genesis 16:7). Bereshit Rabbah picks up on this, noting it was specifically “on the road to Ḥalutza.” So, what happens next? The angel asks her a direct question: "Hagar, Sarai's maidservant, from where did you come, and where are you going?" (Genesis 16:8). She confesses she is fleeing from her mistress, Sarai.

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) doesn't stop at the surface. It explores the nuances of the angel's words. "Hagar, Sarai's maidservant" – the text emphasizes this detail. There's a fascinating teaching tucked in here: "If one says to you, ‘Your ears are like those of a donkey,’ pay him no mind; if two people tell you this, make a bridle for yourself." In other words, if only one person criticizes you, maybe it's just them. But if two people point out the same flaw, it's time to take it seriously.

The story highlights how both Abraham and the angel refer to Hagar as a "mere maidservant." And here’s the kicker: because of this, she begins to see herself that way too, referring to Sarah as "my mistress." It's a powerful commentary on how labels and societal roles can shape our self-perception.

Then comes a difficult command. "The angel of the Lord said to her: Return to your mistress and suffer under her hands" (Genesis 16:9). Return? Suffer? It seems counterintuitive, doesn't it? But then, the angel continues, "The angel of the Lord said to her: I will multiply your descendants, and they shall not be counted due to their great number" (Genesis 16:10).

This is where the Rabbis get into some interesting textual analysis. How many angels actually appeared to Hagar? Rabbi Yosei bar Ḥanina suggests five, counting each time the word "saying" is used in the narrative. Others, like the Rabbis in another interpretation, say four, counting each time the word "angel" appears. Even the initial phrase, "The angel of the Lord found her," is counted by some as a separate angelic encounter.

The text then offers a striking comparison between generations. Rabbi Ḥiyya exclaims, "Come and see how great the difference is between the earlier generations and the later generations!" He contrasts Hagar's experience with that of Manoaḥ, who, upon seeing just one angel, feared for his life, saying, "We will die because we have seen God" (Judges 13:22). Hagar, on the other hand, sees multiple angels and doesn't panic.

Rabbi Ḥiyya encapsulates this idea with a memorable phrase: "[Better] the fingernail of the forefathers and not the belly of the descendants." It's a vivid way of saying that even the smallest part of the earlier generations held more spiritual strength than the entirety of later generations.

Finally, Rabbi Yitzḥak connects this to (Proverbs 31:27), "She supervises [tzofiya] the proceedings of her household." In the Midrash of Proverbs, this verse is applied to Abraham and Sarah. The idea is that Abraham’s household was filled with prophets [tzofim] – seers – so Sarah was accustomed to seeing angels. Perhaps Hagar, being in their household, also became accustomed to these divine encounters.

What does it all mean? This passage from Bereshit Rabbah isn't just about angels and encounters. It's about how we see ourselves, how we're seen by others, and the enduring power – and challenge – of faith, even in the face of hardship. And perhaps, it’s a reminder that even in our own "wilderness," we are never truly alone.

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The Midrash of Philo 9:1The Midrash of Philo

Take Hagar, for example. Poor Hagar. A handmaiden, caught in the middle of Sarah and Abraham's struggle to have a child. She runs away into the desert, desperate and alone. And then, an angel appears.

The angel’s message isn't what you might expect. Instead of a grand rescue, the angel tells her, "Return to thy mistress and be humbled beneath her hands" (Genesis 16:8).

Wait, what?

Why would an angel, a messenger of God, tell someone to go back to a situation of potential hardship? Shouldn’t the divine intervention be a little…more intervening? That's the question that the Midrash of Philo 9 wrestles with.

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), if you're not familiar, is a way of interpreting the Torah, the first five books of the Hebrew Bible, by filling in the gaps, asking questions, and drawing out deeper meanings. It's like detective work with ancient texts!

So, what’s the deal with this angel's instruction?

Well, the Midrash offers us a few ways to understand it. One perspective is that Hagar's humility was a crucial step in her journey. Maybe, just maybe, going back and facing her situation, even if it meant further hardship, was necessary for her spiritual growth. Perhaps the angel saw potential in Hagar, a strength that could only be revealed through this challenging experience.: sometimes the greatest transformations come from facing our difficulties head-on, rather than running away from them.

Another layer to consider is the social context. In that time and place, a handmaiden running away was a serious breach of social order. The angel's instruction could be seen as a way of upholding that order, even while acknowledging Hagar's suffering. It's a complex and, frankly, uncomfortable idea for us today.

But the Midrash doesn't shy away from these complexities. It forces us to confront the real-world implications of faith and divine guidance.

The angel's words to Hagar are a reminder that divine intervention doesn't always look like a fairytale ending. Sometimes, it's a nudge in a difficult direction, a call to humility, and an invitation to find strength within ourselves.

And perhaps, that's a more profound kind of miracle after all. What do you think?

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The Midrash of Philo 11:1The Midrash of Philo

The verse in question, from (Genesis 16:10), has an angel speaking to Hagar, Sarah's handmaid, who is pregnant with Abraham's child, Ishmael. The angel says, "I will multiply thy seed, and it shall not be numbered for multitude."

At first, it seems straightforward. A promise of countless descendants! But hold on. Why the odd phrasing, "it shall not be numbered"? What's that about? It's like saying, "I'm going to give you so much, it's beyond counting!" But.why not just say that?

The Midrash of Philo really wants us to pause and notice this phrasing. It isn't just a casual statement. It's a deliberate choice, hinting at something deeper about the nature of this blessing, and the future of Ishmael’s line.

Maybe it suggests a multitude so vast, so spread out across the world, that they wouldn't be easily contained within a single census, a single nation, or even a single identity. Think of it: a diaspora woven into the tradition of other cultures.

Or perhaps it speaks to a different kind of abundance. Not necessarily in sheer numbers, but in the quality of the descendants. Their influence, their impact, their contributions to the world might be immeasurable, beyond simple numerical quantification.

When we consider the historical trajectory of the descendants of Ishmael, the Arab peoples, we can see this notion of "uncountable multitude" taking shape. Their cultural, intellectual, and religious influence has indeed been vast and far-reaching.

So, next time you encounter a seemingly simple verse in the Torah, remember the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary). Remember the layers of meaning, the potential for interpretation, and the invitation to delve deeper into the text. Sometimes, the most profound truths are hidden in plain sight, waiting to be uncovered.

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Bereshit Rabbah 49:1Bereshit Rabbah

Bereshit Rabbah turns to Did Hagar Speak Directly to God or an Angel.

He points to the story of Hagar, who, after encountering an angel, "called the name of the Lord who spoke with her" (Genesis 16:13). But Rabbi Yehoshua, citing Rabbi Nechemiah in the name of Rabbi Idi, offers a different perspective: that Hagar’s interaction was actually through an angel.

Then, the text throws another curveball: What about when God speaks directly to Rebecca? Rabbi Levi, echoing the previous sentiment, suggests that this, too, was mediated by an angel. But Rabbi Eleazar, this time citing Rabbi Yose b. Zimra, proposes a different idea altogether: that it was Shem, son of Noah, who acted as the intermediary!

It makes you think, doesn't it? About the different ways we can interpret sacred texts, and the levels of meaning they might hold.

The passage then shifts gears, delving into the power of names and memory, both good and bad. It pivots to the famous verse, "Shall I conceal from Abraham what I am doing?" (Genesis 18:17). But it's not just about God's decision to inform Abraham of the impending destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. It's about something deeper: the importance of remembering the righteous.

Rabbi Yitzchak begins with a poignant observation: "The memory of the righteous is for a blessing, and the name of the wicked will rot" (Proverbs 10:7). He argues that when we mention a righteous person, we should offer a blessing. Why? Because "the memory of the righteous is for a blessing." Conversely, when we mention a wicked person, we should pronounce a curse, because "the name of the wicked will rot." It’s a powerful idea – that our words have the power to either uplift or degrade, even after someone is gone.

Rabbi Shmuel bar Naḥman offers a vivid image: The names of the wicked are like weaving implements – taut when used, but slack and useless when forgotten. Have you ever heard anyone name their child Pharaoh? Sisera? Sennacherib? These names, he says, have fallen into disuse, they have "rotted away." Instead, we have Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Reuben, and Simeon – names that carry blessing and remembrance.

The text even provides examples of how this was practiced. Rabbi Yonatan, upon reaching the verse in Esther that mentions Nebuchadnezzar, would say, "Nebuchadnezzar, may his bones be crushed!", fulfilling the verse, "The name of the wicked will rot." Rav, on Purim, would say, "Cursed is Haman and cursed are his sons!" Rabbi Pinḥas, on the other hand, remembers Ḥarvona for good, as it was Ḥarvona who suggested hanging Haman.

But here's where it gets even more interesting. Rabbi Shmuel bar Naḥman points out that when God mentions the name of Israel, He blesses them. As it says, "The Lord who remembers us, blesses" (Psalms 115:12). Rav Huna, citing Rav Aḥa, then asks a crucial question: We know this applies to the entire nation, but what about each individual?

The answer, they suggest, lies in the very verse we started with: "Shall I conceal from Abraham what I am doing? And Abraham will become a great and mighty nation." The Torah, they argue, could have simply said, "Because the outcry of Sodom and Gomorrah is great" (Genesis 18:20). But God chose to include the verses praising Abraham. Why? Because, "I have mentioned the righteous man, shall I not bless him? ‘Abraham will become a great nation.’"

It's a beautiful idea, isn't it? That even God, in a sense, is bound by this principle of honoring the righteous. It suggests that our actions, our memories, and the way we speak about others have profound consequences, reaching even the Divine. It makes you wonder: what names will we choose to remember, and how will we speak of them?

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Yalkut Shimoni on Torah 79:7Yalkut Shimoni on Torah

How many angels were paired with her? Rav Chama bar Chanin said: five, for everywhere that 'saying' is mentioned there is an angel. The Rabbis say: four, for everywhere that 'angel' is mentioned. Rabbi Chiya said: come and see how great is the difference between the later generations and the earlier ones. Manoah said to his wife, "We shall surely die, for we have seen God" (Judges 13:22), yet Hagar, Sarai's maidservant, sees five angels one after another and is not afraid of them. Rabbi Chiya said: the fingernail of the patriarchs and not the belly of the children! Rabbi Yitzchak said, "She watches over the ways of her household" (Proverbs 31:27) - the members of Abraham our father's household were watchers, and she was accustomed to seeing them.

"And you shall call his name Ishmael" - he was called by his name before he was born, and so on (as is written in remez 45). "And he shall be a wild man" (Genesis 16:12). Rabbi Yochanan said: because all others grow up in a settled place and he grows up in the wilderness. Resh Lakish said: a wild man indeed, for all others plunder money and he plunders souls. "His hand against all and the hand of all against him." [Read it as 'his dog'] - his hand and the hand of his dog are alike: just as his dog eats carcasses, so too he eats carcasses. Rabbi Elazar said: when is 'the hand of all against him'? When that one comes of whom it is written, "and wherever the children of men dwell, the beasts of the field and the birds of the heavens He has given into your hand and made you ruler over them all" (Daniel 2:38). This is what is written, "Concerning Kedar and the kingdoms of Hazor, which Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon struck" (Jeremiah 49:28) - for he hemmed them in within the wilderness and killed them.

"And he shall dwell before the face of all his brothers." Here it says 'he shall dwell,' yet elsewhere you say "before the face of all his brothers he fell" (Genesis 25:18). Rather, all the days that Abraham our father was alive, 'he shall dwell'; once Abraham died, 'he fell.' Before he stretched out his hand against the Temple, 'he shall dwell'; once he stretched out his hand against the Temple, 'he fell.' In this world, 'he shall dwell'; but in the time to come, 'he fell.'

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Yalkut Shimoni on Torah 80:1Yalkut Shimoni on Torah

"And she called the name of the LORD who spoke to her" (Genesis 16:13) - by means of an angel. Rabbi Yehuda bar Rabbi Simon and Rabbi Yochanan in the name of Rabbi Elazar bar Rabbi Shimon: never did the Holy One, blessed be He, find it necessary to converse with a woman except with that righteous one [Sarah], and even that was on account of a cause. Rabbi Abba bar Kahana in the name of Rabbi Biri said: how many words and how many circlings He circled in order to speak with her, as it is said, "And He said, No, but you did laugh" (Genesis 18:15). But is it not written, "And she called the name of the LORD who spoke to her"? Rabbi Yehoshua bar Rabbi Nechemiah in the name of Rav Idi: by means of an angel. But is it not written, "And the LORD said to her" (Genesis 25:23)? Rav Levi in the name of Rav Chanina bar Rav Chama said: by means of an angel. Rabbi Elazar in the name of Rabbi Yosei ben Zimra: by means of a divine Name.

"You are the God of seeing." Rabbi Eibo said: You are the One who sees the humiliation of the humiliated. "For she said, Have I even here seen after Him who sees me?" She said: it is not enough that I was found worthy of speech, but even of royalty, as you say "For You have brought me even here [halom]" - it is not enough that I was made worthy together with my mistress, but even alone, between myself and myself. Rabbi Shmuel said: a parable of a noblewoman to whom the king said, Pass before me. She passed before him while leaning on her maidservant, and she narrowed her face and did not see the king, but the maidservant saw.

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