Parshat Lech Lecha5 min read

The Birds That Descended on Abraham's Covenant Sacrifice

Abraham laid out the covenant animals and waited. Then birds descended. Philo saw in those birds forces that hunt virtue precisely when it stands most exposed.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Sacred Moment That Was Not Interrupted
  2. What Philo Heard in the Wings
  3. What God Revealed After the Terror
  4. What Jubilees Saw in the Preparation

The Sacred Moment That Was Not Interrupted

God tells Abraham to bring a heifer, a goat, a ram, a turtledove, a young pigeon. Abraham cuts the larger animals in half and lays each piece opposite its pair. He does not cut the birds. He arranges everything, and then he waits for God to arrive and pass between the pieces, ratifying the covenant the way a king accepts terms.

This is the brit bein ha-betarim, the covenant between the pieces, one of the most extraordinary scenes in Genesis. The covenant that will define the entire Jewish people is being ratified in blood and darkness, under the stars. Everything is arranged. The altar is complete. And then the birds arrive.

"The birds of prey came down on the carcasses" (Genesis 15:11). Scavengers, swooping in on the sacred moment. Abraham drives them away. The text does not explain the birds. It does not say whether Abraham was frightened, exhausted, or angry. It simply records the birds descending and Abraham driving them off, and then the sun begins to set and a deep terror falls over him as God speaks again.

What Philo Heard in the Wings

Philo of Alexandria, in the first century CE, could not leave that image alone. The birds are not simply scavengers in his reading. They are the forces of evil that descend on virtue whenever virtue is exposed and vulnerable. The cut animals represent something living that has been opened, something that has committed itself to a covenant and is now lying in pieces waiting for the other party to arrive. That is exactly when the birds come: not when a person is guarded and defended, but when they have opened themselves completely and are waiting in trust.

The Midrash of Philo, section 11:1, preserves this reading in a form that makes it a general principle. The person who has made a commitment, who has laid out their offering and is waiting in vulnerability for the covenant to be sealed, is the person most exposed to the forces that want to disrupt the covenant. The birds are not a supernatural evil. They are the ordinary pressures of doubt, distraction, the voices that come in precisely when a person has gone as far as they can go alone and needs the other party to show up.

What God Revealed After the Terror

The Legends of the Jews, Ginzberg's compilation of rabbinic traditions, records that God appeared to Abraham after the covenant ritual to ease his conscience about something that had been troubling him: the spilling of innocent blood. Abraham had killed in battle. He had killed in the covenant sacrifice. He carried anguish about this. God's appearance was, among other things, a reassurance about that.

But more than reassurance, God granted Abraham something given to very few people in the tradition: permission to ask for anything he wished. Abraham used this gift for his descendants. He asked that when they sinned, they should be able to atone through the sacrificial system rather than through destruction. God agreed. The covenant between the pieces became the covenant that made atonement possible. The cut animals were not just symbolic: they were the charter of the entire sacrificial system that Israel would eventually build at Sinai and in the Temple.

What Jubilees Saw in the Preparation

The Book of Jubilees, the second-century BCE retelling of Genesis, gives the preparation for the covenant a different texture. Abraham was not simply responding to a divine command mechanically. He was at the altar in a state of profound connection, offering not stale animals but the first-fruits of the produce, the best of what he had. The heifer, the goat, the sheep: each was a complete burnt offering, an olah, consumed entirely. The wood was arranged properly. The incense was prepared.

The setting of the sun deepens when read against Jubilees. Abraham has been at this altar all day. He has arranged everything carefully. He has offered the first-fruits. He has driven off the birds. And now the sun sets, a deep terror falls on him, and God speaks. The terror is not only from God's voice. It is from the knowledge that this is really happening, that the covenant being sealed in this darkness is the covenant that will govern his descendants for all time. The birds were a small interruption. What follows them is permanent.

AbrahamCovenantSacrificeVirtue
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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.

The Midrash of Philo 11:1The Midrash of Philo

What does it even mean?

The verse appears in the context of the brit bein ha-betarim, the “covenant between the pieces.” God makes a covenant with Abraham, promising him descendants as numerous as the stars. As part of this covenantal act, Abraham prepares a sacrifice. He cuts animals in half and lays the pieces opposite each other.

Then…the birds arrive.

The plain meaning of the text is already It evokes a sense of vulnerability. Abraham is in this sacred moment, setting up this important agreement with God, and these scavengers come swooping in, threatening to defile the offering.

But the rabbis, masters of interpretation that they were, saw something much deeper. They asked: What is the meaning of, "And the birds descended on the bodies which were divided?" (Genesis 15:11). They wouldn't let that image rest.

Philo of Alexandria, a Jewish philosopher living in Egypt in the first century CE, offers a fascinating interpretation in his writings. He saw these birds as representing the "onslaught of evils" against virtue. (Philo, Questions and Answers on Genesis III, 5). Imagine that: the chopped-up animals, symbolizing potential, and then these birds representing the forces that seek to tear that potential apart. How often do we start something new, something meaningful, only to be beset by doubts, fears, and external pressures? Those, Philo might say, are the birds descending.

So, the next time you feel like something beautiful you’re trying to create is under attack, remember Abraham and the birds. Remember that even in the midst of a sacred covenant, there are forces that try to tear things apart. The key, perhaps, is to be vigilant, to protect what is precious, and to trust in the promise that was made, the covenant that will ultimately prevail. And maybe, just maybe, to shoo those pesky birds away.

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Legends of the Jews, V. Abraham, The Covenant Of The PiecesLegends of the Jews

God revealed Himself to Abraham shortly after, to ease his conscience about the spilling of innocent blood, a scruple that caused him great anguish. God assured him that pious men would arise from his descendants, shielding their generations just as he had.

That wasn't all. God granted Abraham a rare gift: the permission to ask for anything he desired – a grace given to very few others, including Jacob, Solomon, Ahaz, and even the Messiah.

Abraham, ever mindful of his future generations, responded, "O Lord of the world, if in time to come my descendants should provoke Thy wrath, it were better I remained childless!" He even suggested that Lot, for whose sake he had journeyed to Damascus, would make a fine heir. Abraham, after all, believed he had read in the stars that he would have no children.

God, in a powerful moment, raised Abraham above the vault of the skies and declared, "Thou art a prophet, not an astrologer!"

Abraham, convinced, didn't even demand a sign regarding offspring. His simple faith earned him a share in this world and the world to come. The redemption of Israel from exile would be a reward for his unwavering trust.

However, Abraham, while believing in the promise, still wanted to know how his descendants would maintain themselves. Therefore, God instructed him to bring a sacrifice: three heifers, three she-goats, three rams, a turtle dove, and a young pigeon. These animals, God explained, represented the various sacrifices to be brought in the Beit Hamikdash, the Temple, to atone for Israel's sins and ensure their well-being.

But what would become of them, Abraham asked, after the Temple’s destruction? God responded that if they read the order of sacrifices as written in the Scriptures, He would consider it as if they had offered the sacrifices, forgiving their sins.

Then, God revealed to Abraham the sweep of Israel's history and the history of the world itself. According to tradition, the three-year-old heifer symbolized the dominion of Babylon, the she-goat represented the Greek empire, and the ram stood for the Medo-Persian power. The rule of Ishmael was also represented by a ram, and Israel was symbolized by the innocent dove.

Abraham took the animals and divided them in the middle, a symbolic act that, had it not been performed, would have left Israel unable to resist the power of the four kingdoms. The birds, however, he did not divide, signifying that Israel would remain whole. When birds of prey descended upon the carcasses, Abraham drove them away, foreshadowing the arrival of the Messiah, who would cut down the heathen. Yet, Abraham bid the Messiah to wait until the appointed time.

This scene, often called the Brit Bein Habetarim, the Covenant of the Pieces, is described in Genesis 15.

Not only was the Messianic time revealed to Abraham, but also the time of the resurrection of the dead. As he arranged the halves of the animals, they miraculously came back to life as the bird flew over them.

While preparing these sacrifices, Abraham received a vision of profound significance. As the sun set, a deep sleep fell upon him, and he saw a smoking furnace – Gehenna, the place God prepares for sinners. He also beheld a flaming torch, representing the revelation at Sinai, where the people saw flaming torches. He saw the sacrifices to be brought by Israel. And then, an "horror of great darkness" fell upon him, symbolizing the dominion of the four kingdoms.

God spoke to Abraham, explaining that as long as his children fulfilled the two duties of studying the Torah and performing the service in the Temple, they would be spared Gehenna and alien rule. However, if they neglected these duties, they would suffer the consequences. God then offered Abraham a choice: punishment through Gehenna or through the dominion of strangers.

All day long, Abraham wavered. Finally, God urged him to decide on one, and to choose the dominion of the stranger. Then, God revealed the four hundred years of bondage in Egypt, reckoning from the birth of Isaac. However, Abraham himself was promised that he would go to his fathers in peace, untouched by the arrogance of the oppressor.

As we find in Midrash Rabbah, it was also revealed to Abraham that his father, Terah, would have a share in the world to come, having repented for his sins. Ishmael would turn toward righteousness while his father was still alive, and Esau would not begin his impious ways until after Abraham’s death.

And so, alongside the promise of deliverance, Abraham received the announcement of slavery for his descendants in a foreign land. But it was also revealed to him that God would judge the four kingdoms and ultimately destroy them.

The Covenant of the Pieces, then, is not just a story about sacrifice and prophecy. It's a story about faith, responsibility, and the enduring relationship between God and Israel. It's a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there is always hope for redemption. And perhaps most powerfully, it is a reassurance that our actions, both good and bad, have consequences that ripple through generations. What kind of legacy are we building today?

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Book of Jubilees 15:5Book of Jubilees

Book of Jubilees turns to Abram, Covenant of Abraham.

The scene: Abram, having just received divine instructions, is at the altar. He’s not just going through the motions. This is a moment of profound connection. He offers “new offerings…the first-fruits of the produce, unto the Lord.” These aren't stale leftovers; they're the best of the best, a tangible expression of gratitude and devotion. He offers a heifer, a goat, and a sheep, each a korban (a sacrificial offering) olah, a burnt offering, completely consumed by fire as a sacrifice to God.

The text continues: “their fruit-offerings and their drink-offerings he offered upon the altar with frankincense.” frankincense. The aroma filling the air, the smoke rising towards the heavens. It's a multi-sensory experience, a full-bodied act of worship. The Book of Jubilees paints a picture of Abram not just following instructions, but pouring his heart and soul into this sacred act.

Then, the pivotal moment: “And the Lord appeared to Abram…”

This isn’t just a voice from the sky. This is a direct encounter, a divine presence. And what does God say? “I am God Almighty; approve thyself before Me and be thou perfect.”

El Shaddai – God Almighty – makes a powerful declaration. But it's that next phrase that really grabs you: "approve thyself before Me and be thou perfect." What does it mean to be "perfect" before God? Is it about flawless behavior? Or is it about striving, about the intention behind our actions, about continually refining ourselves?

God continues, “And I will make My covenant between Me and thee, and I will multiply thee exceedingly.”

This is it. The core of the covenant. A promise of abundance, a promise of descendants beyond counting. This covenant is the bedrock of the Jewish people.

Abram’s response is immediate and visceral: “And Abram fell on his face…”

Humility. Awe. Recognition of the sheer immensity of the moment. In that posture of submission, God begins to speak again.

What follows are further details of the covenant. But it all begins with that scene at the altar, with Abram's offerings, with his willingness to engage in a physical act that creates a pathway for divine communication. It makes you wonder about the rituals in our own lives. What offerings – of time, of energy, of ourselves – do we bring to the metaphorical altar? What covenants are we forging, and how can we, like Abram, strive to be "perfect" – whole, complete, and fully present – in the eyes of the Divine?

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Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Genesis 15:11Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Genesis

Once the pieces were laid out, something ugly came down. Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on (Genesis 15:11) calls it plainly: idolatrous peoples, like unclean birds, descending on the sacrifices of Israel to steal them away.

The image is not subtle, and it is not meant to be. Where the Hebrew simply says birds of prey came down on the carcasses, the Targum reads the scene forward. Those are not ravens. Those are nations. Empires with beaks. Kingdoms that will one day swoop on Israel's altars and try to carry off what belongs to God.

Then the Targum gives the countermove: the righteousness of Abram was a shield over them. The merits of the first Jew function like a canopy. The vultures descend; the covenant is not carried off. Not because the pieces are hidden, but because Abraham's zekhut, his accumulated righteousness, is already standing guard.

The Maggid hears how much this verse trusts one life. One man's faithfulness in Canaan is enough to shelter generations of sacrifices yet to be offered in a Temple that has not been built. The Targum teaches that righteousness is portable across time. Abraham's deeds in Genesis 15 are still pushing the birds off Israel's altar centuries later (Genesis 15:11). Good done now protects altars you will never live to see.

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Bereshit Rabbah 44:16Bereshit Rabbah

The Torah uses powerful imagery to describe just such a feeling in (Genesis 15:11): “Birds of prey descended upon the carcasses, and Abram drove them away.”

What does it really mean?

The Rabbis of the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), those ancient interpreters of scripture, saw layers upon layers of meaning in these words. In Bereshit Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic homilies on the Book of Genesis, they unpack this verse with profound insight.

Rabbi Asi paints a vivid picture. He says that Abraham literally took a stick and started swatting at these predatory birds. But get this: the birds wouldn't budge! They were relentless. So how did Abraham drive them away? According to Rabbi Asi, it was through teshuva – repentance. Not brute force, not physical strength, but a turning inward, a return to what's right. The Midrash here suggests that even when faced with overwhelming odds, the true power lies in repentance and spiritual renewal.

It’s a radical idea, isn't it? That when enemies descend – and let’s be honest, we all face those moments, internally and externally – the answer isn’t always to fight fire with fire. Sometimes, it's about looking within.

Rabbi Azarya offers another interpretation, a message of hope for the future. He suggests that God is saying that even when the descendants of Abraham – that's us! – become like "carcasses without sinews and bones," weakened and vulnerable through persecutions, their merit will stand them in good stead. Their inherent goodness, their connection to the covenant, will ultimately bring salvation.

It's a powerful promise. A reminder that even in our most broken, most vulnerable moments, we are not beyond redemption. We are not beyond hope.

What does this mean for us today?

Perhaps it's a call to examine our own lives. Are we relying too much on external solutions, on force, when the real answer lies in teshuva, in reconnecting with our values, with our spiritual core?

Perhaps it's a reminder to have faith, even when things look bleak. To trust that even when we feel like those carcasses, picked apart by the birds of prey, our merit, our inherent goodness, will ultimately see us through.

The story of Abraham and the birds isn't just an ancient tale. It's a timeless lesson about the power of repentance, the enduring promise of redemption, and the strength that lies within us, even in our most vulnerable moments.

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