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Three Rabbis Say Jacob Fashioned the World

God tells the world it was Jacob who made it. Three sages in Vayikra Rabbah each press the same claim from a different angle and arrive at the same center.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Declaration Over the World
  2. The Behemoth and the Bulls of Bashan
  3. The Name Left Out of Korah's Lineage
  4. The Ark and the Body of Joseph

The Declaration Over the World

God turned to the world and said: "Jacob fashioned you. Jacob created you."

This is not a metaphor buried in a footnote. It stands at the opening of Vayikra Rabbah's commentary on Leviticus 26:42, where God declares, "I will remember My covenant with Jacob." Rabbi Pinhas, quoting Rabbi Reuven, pushes that declaration outward until it reaches creation itself. The proof text is Isaiah 43:1, "Your Creator, Jacob, and your Fashioner, Israel" - a verse addressed, in the plain reading, to the people of Israel. But the Midrash hears it differently. The verse is addressed to the world. The Creator of the world is Jacob. The Fashioner of existence is the man who deceived his brother for a birthright and spent twenty years in exile.

Rabbi Pinhas does not explain how this could be so. He states it and moves on. The tradition takes the weight of the claim seriously enough that two other sages, working separately, arrive at the same conclusion through different routes.

The Behemoth and the Bulls of Bashan

Rabbi Yehoshua of Sikhnin, citing Rabbi Levi, takes the same verse and presses into its details. Behemoth, the great creature of Psalm 50, the beast that grazes on a thousand hills every day while the hills replenish themselves overnight - that creature exists because of Jacob's merit. The wild bulls of Bashan exist because of Jacob's merit. Creation's strangest creatures, the ones that push the edge of what the world can hold, are held in place by the accumulated weight of what Jacob was and what his descendants were called to be.

The third reading comes from Bereshit Rabbah, in the account of Jacob's agreement with Laban. When Jacob and Laban erect a pile of stones as a boundary marker between them, Rabbi Yohanan notices something in the Hebrew. The word for the pile, yariti, can be read as a root meaning to throw like a spear. A monument that doubles as a weapon. Even in this domestic legal moment - who may cross whose boundary for what purpose - the rabbis see Jacob negotiating within a world that already belongs to him in some prior and deeper sense.

The Name Left Out of Korah's Lineage

Korah's genealogy in Numbers 16:1 reads: son of Yitzhar, son of Kehat, son of Levi. It stops there. Jacob's name is absent. Bamidbar Rabbah explains that this was not an accident but a fulfillment of Jacob's own deathbed words in Genesis 49:6: "Let myself not come in their counsel, let my glory not be associated with their assembly." Jacob foresaw the rebellion of Korah and asked not to have his name attached to it.

This detail matters for the larger claim. Jacob is not simply a founding ancestor whose descendants do both good and bad. He is a structural presence, aware of his role, capable of withdrawing his name from a genealogy across centuries of time. The relationship between Jacob and creation is not passive. He is not merely the reason the world was made. He is still involved in its management.

The Ark and the Body of Joseph

Shemot Rabbah, the midrash on Exodus, adds one more layer. When Israel left Egypt, two arks traveled together through the wilderness: the Ark of the Covenant, which held the Tablets of the Law, and the ark of Joseph, the casket that held Joseph's bones. The sages ask what right the bones of a single man had to travel beside the Torah itself. The answer was that Joseph had fulfilled the Torah before it was given. He embodied its commandments before they were commanded. And Joseph was Jacob's son, the one who most completely inherited and expressed what Jacob had become.

The Ark of the Covenant contained the law that holds creation in order. The ark of Joseph contained the body of the man who lived that law. They traveled together because they belonged together - both consequences of what Jacob had made possible in the world.


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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.

Vayikra Rabbah 36:4Vayikra Rabbah

The ancient rabbis grappled with these very questions, and their answers, preserved in texts like Vayikra Rabbah, are both surprising and deeply inspiring. to one fascinating passage from Vayikra Rabbah 36.

" This isn't just a sentimental promise. It's a foundation of creation itself. Rabbi Pinḥas, quoting Rabbi Reuven, takes this idea to a breathtaking level. God tells the world, “Jacob created you and Jacob fashioned you.” It’s a mind-bending thought, isn't it? That the patriarch Jacob, the father of the twelve tribes, somehow played a direct role in the very formation of existence! The verse cited is (Isaiah 43:1), "Your Creator, Jacob, and your Fashioner, Israel."

It doesn't stop there. Rabbi Yehoshua of Sikhnin, citing Rabbi Levi, adds another layer: the mighty behemoth, that legendary creature destined to be served at the feast of the righteous in the World to Come, was created solely through the merit of Jacob! It's all in (Job 40:15): "Behold now the behemoth that I made with you.” With you – implying a specific, significant individual.

Rabbi Yehoshua ben Rabbi Neḥemya, in the name of Rabbi Ḥanina ben Rabbi Yitzḥak, goes even further. He says that the heavens and the earth themselves were created thanks to Jacob! (Psalm 78:5) says, "He set a testimony in Jacob," and this "testimony," they argue, refers to none other than the cosmos itself, just as (Deuteronomy 30:19) says, “I call today to the heavens and the earth to bear witness to you.”

These rabbis aren't alone in this line of thinking. Rabbi Berekhya suggests that the heavens and earth were created thanks to Israel, citing (Genesis 1:1) ("In the beginning [bereshit], the Lord created [the heavens and the earth]") and connecting reshit, "beginning," to Israel, as in (Jeremiah 2:3): "Israel is sacred to the Lord, the first [reshit] of His crop.”

Rabbi Aḥa even proposes that the whole thing happened because of Moses, pointing to (Deuteronomy 33:21): "He saw the first [reshit] for himself." And Rabbi Abbahu simply states that everything was created in Jacob's merit, referencing (Jeremiah 10:16): "Not like these is the Portion of Jacob; for He is the fashioner of everything."

So, what’s going on here? Are they saying Jacob literally hammered the stars into place? Not exactly. It's about the merit, the inherent righteousness and potential embodied in these key figures. They represent the covenant, the promise of a relationship between God and humanity.

This idea extends even to Abraham. Rabbi Berekhya and Rabbi Levi, in the name of Rabbi Shmuel bar Naḥman, say that Abraham was saved from Nimrod's fiery furnace because God foresaw Jacob's future greatness. It's like a ruler sparing someone because their future daughter will marry the king. (Isaiah 29:22) says, "Therefore, so says the Lord to the house of Jacob, who redeemed Abraham.”

The rabbis even suggest that Abraham himself was created for Jacob's sake! (Genesis 18:19) states, "For I know him, so that he shall command his children and his household after him, and they will observe the way of the Lord, to perform righteousness and justice." And where do we find true righteousness and justice? In Jacob, as (Psalm 99:4) declares: "You wrought justice and righteousness in Jacob.”

What does this all mean for us? It's a reminder that we're all part of something bigger, a cosmic narrative that stretches back to the very beginning. Our actions, our choices, ripple outwards, influencing not just our own lives but the world around us.

The rabbis of the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) invite us to see ourselves as active participants in creation, carrying forward the legacy of Jacob, Abraham, Moses, and all those who strive for righteousness and justice. We, too, have the potential to shape the world through our deeds, to contribute to the ongoing story of creation. It's a profound and humbling thought, isn't it?

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Bamidbar Rabbah 18:5Bamidbar Rabbah

Our stories are woven into our lineage, and sometimes, those threads get tangled. to a fascinating passage from Bamidbar Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic teachings on the Book of Numbers, that explores just this.

The passage starts with Koraḥ – "Koraḥ, son of Yitzhar son of Kehat son of Levi." (Numbers 16:1) But notice anything missing? Why isn’t it written, "son of Jacob," or even better, "son of Israel"? There's a reason.

Bamidbar Rabbah connects this omission directly to Jacob's deathbed blessing in (Genesis 49:6): "Let myself not come in their counsel… let my glory not be associated with their assembly." The Midrash, a method of interpreting biblical texts, understands that Jacob foresaw two terrible events: the sin of the spies who spoke negatively about the Land of Israel, and the rebellion of Koraḥ against Moses and Aaron.

Jacob praying, begging even: "Master of the universe, neither regarding the spies, nor in Koraḥ’s dispute, let my name be mentioned with those wicked ones!"

So when should Jacob's name be mentioned? The text explains: "When their lineage is recorded and they are standing upon the platform," performing the Levite service in the Temple. We see this positive association in I (Chronicles 6:22)–23, where the lineage is traced all the way back: "son of Taḥat, son of Asir, son of Evyasaf, son of Koraḥ, son of Yitzhar, son of Kehat, son of Levi, son of Israel." Here, when the descendants are serving faithfully, Jacob’s name is included.

Then there's the unfortunate case of Datan and Aviram. "And Datan and Aviram…" Bamidbar Rabbah uses their story to illustrate a harsh lesson: "Woe unto the wicked one, woe unto his neighbor." Why? Because Datan and Aviram were neighbors of Koraḥ. Talk about guilt by association.

The text explains that Koraḥ was situated in the south, referencing (Numbers 3:29): "The families of the sons of Kehat shall encamp on the side of the Tabernacle to the south." And who else was nearby? The banner of Reuben, as stated in (Numbers 2:10): "The banner of the camp of Reuben is to the south."

But consider the contrast. To the east were the tribes of Judah, Issachar, and Zebulun (Numbers 2:3). More importantly, Moses and Aaron were also encamped to the east (Numbers 3:38). Because they were close to the Torah, the text says, they "merited becoming masters of Torah." Judah became a "lawgiver" (Psalms 60:9), Issachar possessed "understanding of the times" (I (Chronicles 12:3)3), and Zebulun produced those "who ply the scribe’s quill" (Judges 5:14).

Datan and Aviram, on the other hand? They were neighbors of a controversialist, someone who stirs up dissent. And they were "stricken with him and were eliminated from the world." A stark warning.

So what's the takeaway? This passage from Bamidbar Rabbah isn’t just a historical account. It's a profound reflection on the company we keep, the influences we absorb, and the legacy we leave behind. Are we associating ourselves with those who elevate and inspire, or those who drag us down? Our choices, like those of Koraḥ, Datan, and Aviram, ripple through generations. And ultimately, they shape the story of who we are.

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Bereshit Rabbah 74:15Bereshit Rabbah

In (Genesis 31:51), we hear Laban say to Jacob, "Here is this pile and here is the monument that I have established between me and you.” Now, this might sound like a simple boundary marker, but as Rabbi Yoḥanan points out in Bereshit Rabbah, the Hebrew word used, yariti, could also mean "like one who throws a spear." A bit more aggressive than your average handshake. This yariti can also mean to cast a stone in a threatening manner.

The agreement was clear: “This pile is witness, and the monument is witness, that I will not pass this pile toward you, and that you will not pass this pile and this monument toward me, for harm” (Genesis 31:52). But here’s the catch – the verse specifies “for harm.” So, what about for, say, commerce?

This little loophole opens up a whole can of worms, and the Rabbis in Bereshit Rabbah jump right in. They ask: what happens when those agreements are broken?

The Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) tells us a story of King David dispatching Yoav to Aram Naharayim and Aram Tzova, where they encountered Edomites and Moabites. David, wanting to attack them, was presented with their own versions of that boundary agreement. The Edomites essentially said, "Enough! You're entering our territory – back off!" quoting (Deuteronomy 2:3)–5. The Moabites chimed in with, "God told us not to mess with you," citing (Deuteronomy 2:9).

Talk about awkward!

Yoav, unsure what to do, sends a message back to David. David, in turn, does something He takes off his royal garb, humbles himself, and goes to the Sanhedrin, the Jewish high court. "I came here only to teach. If you give me permission, I will teach," he says. He lays out the situation: these nations are invoking old agreements, but haven't they broken them first?

He reminds the Sanhedrin of past transgressions. Hadn't Eglon, king of Moab, allied with the children of Ammon and Amalek (Judges 3:13)? The Amalekites, like the Edomites, are descendants of Esau. Hadn't the Moabites hired Bilam to curse Israel (Numbers 22:5–6)? It’s a fascinating moment of humility and a recognition that even a king is subject to the law and the wisdom of the community.

"A letter [for David to teach]" (Psalms 60:1). How many letters did he write? Rabbi Aivu suggests David wrote two letters, one about the Edomites and one about the Moabites. Rabbi Ḥanina, however, thinks it was just one. And it's interesting to note that "A letter [mikhtam] for David to teach" (Psalms 60:1) can also be interpreted as "poverty [makhut] and faultlessness [tamut]," highlighting David's humble approach before the Sanhedrin.

The passage then grapples with a seeming contradiction in the numbers of Edomites slain. One verse says 18,000 (I (Chronicles 18:1)2), while another says 12,000 (Psalms 60:2). The solution? Two separate wars, one with each count.

So, what can we take away from this deep dive into Bereshit Rabbah 74? It's not just about ancient treaties and battlefield strategies. It's about the complexities of agreements, the importance of humility even in positions of power, and the need to consider the full context of any situation. It reminds us that history is rarely simple, and that even seemingly clear-cut rules can have surprising loopholes. And maybe, just maybe, it offers a little food for thought the next time we find ourselves navigating a tricky family dynamic.

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Shemot Rabbah 1:8Shemot Rabbah

The Book of Exodus opens with a simple statement: "Joseph died, along with all his brothers and that entire generation" (Exodus 1:6). But this seemingly straightforward sentence holds a crucial key. The Shemot Rabbah, a classic collection of rabbinic interpretations on Exodus, teaches us that as long as at least one of those who had originally descended to Egypt with Jacob was still alive, the Egyptians wouldn't dare enslave the Israelites. Their respect for Joseph and his family was a powerful shield.

Then, time marches on, generations pass, and the protection fades. “The children of Israel were fruitful, propagated, increased, and grew exceedingly, and the land filled with them” (Exodus 1:7). We read it almost as an afterthought. The Shemot Rabbah emphasizes that even with Joseph and his brothers gone, their God remained. It was divine providence ensuring the continuity of the Israelite people.

About that "fruitful" part.. how fruitful are we talking? Some interpretations in the Shemot Rabbah get One opinion suggests that each woman gave birth to six children at a time. Others, taking a close look at the Hebrew, see hints of twelve children per birth! They break down the verse: "Were fruitful" – two, "propagated" – two, "increased" – two, "grew" – two, "exceedingly [bimod meod]" – two, "and the land filled with them" – two, for a grand total of twelve! Another interpretation puts it at sixty, comparing it to a scorpion, which is known to birth a large number of offspring. Whether it was six, twelve, or sixty, the message is clear: the Israelites were multiplying at an astonishing rate.

Then comes the ominous shift: "A new king arose over Egypt who did not know Joseph" (Exodus 1:8). This verse is ripe for interpretation. Was he truly a "new" king, a different pharaoh entirely? Or was he the same pharaoh, but with a changed attitude? Rav and Shmuel, two prominent rabbinic scholars, debated this very point. One said he was actually new, while the other argued that he simply issued new, harsher decrees against the Israelites. If he was the same pharaoh, why does it say he didn't know Joseph? The rabbis explain that he acted as if he didn't know Joseph.

The Rabbis offer a fascinating behind-the-scenes look at the pharaoh's decision. Initially, he resisted the idea of oppressing the Israelites, remembering all that Egypt owed to Joseph. But his advisors pressured him, and when he refused to listen, they temporarily dethroned him! Only when he relented and agreed to their plans was he restored to power. Hence, "A new king arose" – a king renewed in his commitment to oppress the Israelites.

But what sparked this sudden change of heart? The Rabbis introduce a powerful idea connected to (Hosea 5:7): "They have betrayed the Lord, for they have begotten foreign children; now a month will devour them with their portions." According to this interpretation, after Joseph's death, some Israelites began to abandon the covenant of circumcision, seeking to assimilate into Egyptian society. "Let us be like the Egyptians," they reasoned. As a consequence, God transformed the Egyptians' love for them into hatred. As it is stated: “He changed their hearts to hate His people, to harass His servants” (Psalms 105:25). So, the "new" king, the ḥadash king, who issued new decrees, becomes the instrument of their misfortune.

Rabbi Avin offers a chilling analogy: The pharaoh's actions were like someone stoning a person beloved by the king. The king reasons, "Behead him, because tomorrow he will do the same to me." In other words, by forgetting Joseph's contributions, the pharaoh was setting a dangerous precedent. Today, he claims to not know Joseph; tomorrow, he will declare, "I do not know the Lord" (Exodus 5:2).

This passage from Shemot Rabbah gives us so much to think about. It's a reminder that collective memory is fragile, that gratitude can be fleeting, and that even those in positions of power can be swayed by fear and prejudice. It asks us to consider: What happens when we forget the good deeds of the past? And how do our own choices contribute to the unfolding of history?

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