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The Serpent Lost Its Legs and Jacob Lost His Daughter Dinah

It could have carried a merchant's goods across the desert and found its own way home. It asked the woman one question and never walked again.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Beast That Could Have Carried Freight
  2. The Bill for Being Smart Comes to the Smart
  3. One Question in the Garden
  4. Jacob Shut His Daughter Away From His Brother
  5. Dinah Went Out
The Serpent Lost Its Legs and Jacob Lost His Daughter Dinah Click for full size

The Beast That Could Have Carried Freight

Before any of it went wrong, the serpent walked. Rabbi Hoshaya Rabba said it stood straight up like a reed and had legs under it. Rabbi Shimon ben Elazar said it was built something like a camel, and that the world lost an enormous thing the day it was punished, because a man could have loaded his goods onto that animal and sent it off alone, and it would have gone and come back on its own. It was clever enough to find the road.

Not a low thing hissing in the grass. A tall beast with legs, with language, and with a plan.

The Bill for Being Smart Comes to the Smart

Solomon wrote his own verdict on this and signed it. With much wisdom comes much anger, and whoever adds knowledge adds pain. Because I made myself wise, he said, I made myself angry at myself. Because I increased my knowledge, I brought the pain down on my own head. He had the largest mind of any king who ever sat in Jerusalem, and it carried him into confidence, and the confidence carried him into places he should not have gone.

Nobody says of a donkey that the poor creature is suffering from a head cold. Nobody counts its inflammations. Suffering turns up where understanding does.

Rabbi Yohanan put it in cloth. The fine linens that come out of Beit She'an are ruined by one smudge, and the loss is real money. The linens of Arbel take a stain and nobody looks twice, and if they are ruined, what were they worth. Rabbi Yishmael put it in animals: the load goes on according to the camel.

Two men sit down at an inn. One orders roast meat, white bread, good wine. The other asks for bread and beets. The first eats and is sick half the night. The second eats and sleeps. Same table, same hour, and only one of them paid for it in his body.

Rabbi Meir said the serpent's fall came down in proportion to its greatness. The more cunning, the more cursed.

One Question in the Garden

It went to the woman with a single sentence, and the sentence had a false floor in it. "Did God actually say you may not eat from any tree in the garden?"

Rabbi Yirmeya ben Elazar called the animal a heretic, and not for the question. For what it said next, when it told her flat out that God had lied to her about dying.

The legs came off where it stood. The beast that could have carried a merchant's bales from town to town went down on its belly, and the ground it had walked over became the only food it would ever get, and no one since has been able to send freight anywhere without a driver.

Jacob Shut His Daughter Away From His Brother

Jacob put himself on record once. My honesty, he told Laban, will answer for me on a future day.

Rabbi Yehuda bar Simon laid a proverb down next to that sentence. Do not boast about tomorrow, because you have no idea what a day gives birth to. You do not know, Jacob. In time to come your daughter will go out.

He had every reason to feel sure of himself. He had planned. Twenty years of Laban had taught him to see two moves ahead of any man he dealt with, and now Esau was riding toward him with four hundred men, and Jacob had a daughter, and he knew exactly what his brother would do the moment he saw her. So he shut Dinah away where Esau could not see her at all, and the brothers met, and nothing happened to her that day.

Rabbi Hanina, in the name of Rabbi Abba HaKohen ben Rabbi Eliezer, opened this with a line from Job about the man who withholds kindness from his neighbor. You withheld kindness from your brother, he said to Jacob. Had you let her be given to Esau, none of what came next would have reached her.

Dinah Went Out

Two words in the scroll, and then Shechem son of Hamor saw her and took her.

The danger Jacob had spent all his cleverness sealing off came in through the wall he had not been watching. And the reckoning in that telling runs straight at him: you would not seek a permitted marriage for her, so she married in a forbidden way. You would not look for a circumcised husband, so she married Job, who was neither a convert nor circumcised.

The serpent dragged itself through the dust it had been sentenced to eat. Jacob, who had outsmarted every man he ever bargained with, sat in his tent and said nothing at all until his sons came in from the field.

SerpentPatriarchsMidrash RabbahBereshitDina
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From the tradition

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The texts behind this telling. Some cards carry a translation of the source; others are our own retelling of it, and each card says which. Every card links out to the original.

Bereshit Rabbah 19:1Bereshit Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

The familiar version gives us the scene: the serpent, that slippery character, slithering up to Eve and whispering doubts about God's commands. "Did God really say you can't eat from any tree?" (Genesis 3:1). It's a simple question, but loaded with enough cunning to unravel paradise.

Let's rewind a bit. Bereshit Rabbah, that incredible collection of rabbinic interpretations of the Book of Genesis, dives deep into the serpent's character, and what its actions really mean for us. This isn't just about a snake; it's about the nature of knowledge, responsibility, and the potential for greatness to lead to a great fall.

The passage starts by linking the serpent's cunning to a verse from Ecclesiastes (1:18): "For with great wisdom is great anger, and he who increases knowledge increases pain. The more we know, the more we understand the complexities and imperfections of the world – and of ourselves. The Bereshit Rabbah suggests that Solomon, wisest of all men, knew this firsthand. His immense wisdom, it argues, led to overconfidence and transgression. (See Bamidbar Rabbah 10:4). We don't say, "Oh, that poor donkey is suffering from existential dread." Suffering, the text points out, is uniquely human. It's tied to our intelligence, our capacity for understanding.

Here's where it gets even more interesting. Rav, a prominent Babylonian Amora (sage), makes a bold statement: "A Torah scholar does not require forewarning." What does that mean? Well, usually, you can't be held liable for sinning unless you've been warned that what you're doing is wrong. But a Torah scholar? They should already know. Their knowledge comes with a heavier burden of responsibility.

Rabbi Yoḥanan uses a beautiful metaphor to illustrate this point. He compares Torah scholars to fine linen garments from Beit She’an. They're exquisite, precious, but also incredibly delicate. A small stain can ruin them. The linen garments from Arbel, on the other hand? Not so high quality. A little dirt doesn't matter as much. It’s a poignant image: the higher your status, the greater the potential for damage.

Rabbi Yishmael takes this idea even further, saying, "In accordance with the camel, so is its burden." The stronger the camel, the more weight it can carry. The implication is clear: the more capable you are, the more is expected of you.

The text offers a vivid parable: two people in a restaurant. One orders a feast – roast meat, white bread, fine wine. The other? Just bread and beets. The first one indulges, but suffers the consequences of overindulgence. The second one, with simpler tastes, eats without discomfort. The food, the knowledge, the responsibility – it's too much for one, but just right for the other.

Rabbi Meir adds that the serpent's downfall was directly related to its greatness: "The more cunning, the more cursed." And Rabbi Hoshaya Rabba gives us a vivid picture of the serpent before its punishment: standing upright like a reed, with legs! Rabbi Yirmeya ben Elazar even calls it a heretic, for its blasphemous words against God (Genesis 3:4–5). Rabbi Shimon ben Elazar compares it to a camel, emphasizing its intelligence and usefulness. Imagine, the text laments, if the serpent hadn't been punished! Humans could have used it to transport goods, a self-sufficient and intelligent beast of burden.

So, what's the takeaway? Is it better to be ignorant and carefree? I don't think so. The Bereshit Rabbah isn't advocating for blissful ignorance. It's reminding us that knowledge is a double-edged sword. It empowers us, but it also obligates us. It elevates us, but it also makes us vulnerable.

The story of the serpent isn't just about temptation and sin. It’s about the inherent risks and responsibilities that come with being intelligent, aware, and capable. The greater our potential, the greater our responsibility to use it wisely. And maybe, just maybe, to be a little more forgiving of ourselves – and others – when we stumble along the way.

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Bereshit Rabbah 80:4Bereshit Rabbah

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah, 2022 · CC-BY

We make our plans, we have our dreams, but as the Book of Proverbs (27:1) wisely reminds us, "Do not glory in tomorrow, for you do not know what the day will bring."

This idea of the unpredictable future lies at the heart of a fascinating passage in Bereshit Rabbah (80), a collection of rabbinic interpretations of the Book of Genesis. The passage explores the story of Dina, Jacob's daughter, and the unfortunate events that befell her in Shechem (Genesis 34). But it’s not just a retelling of the story; it's a profound meditation on the limits of our foresight and the consequences of our choices.

Rabbi Yehuda bar Simon kicks things off with a powerful juxtaposition. He contrasts the cautious wisdom of Proverbs with Jacob's seemingly confident declaration in Genesis (30:33): "My honesty shall speak on my behalf on a future day [beyom maḥar]?" It's as if Rabbi Yehuda is asking, "Jacob, how can you be so sure of what tomorrow holds when the future is inherently uncertain?"

The answer, according to this midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), is that Jacob’s actions – specifically, his decisions regarding his daughter Dina – had unforeseen and unfortunate consequences. The text argues that Jacob's attempts to control Dina's destiny ultimately backfired in a painful way. "In the future," Rabbi Yehuda says, "your daughter will go out and be violated." It's a harsh pronouncement, linking Jacob's earlier confidence to the tragic events that followed.

But why Dina? What did she do wrong? The midrash doesn't blame her. Instead, it suggests that Jacob himself bears some responsibility. Rabbi Ḥanina, citing Rabbi Abba HaKohen (a priest) ben Rabbi Eliezer, connects Dina's fate to a lack of kindness on Jacob's part. "For the sake of one who deprives his neighbor of kindness" (Job 6:14).

The "kindness" in question? Jacob's decision to hide Dina from Esau when they met. The commentators (see Bereshit Rabbah 76:9) suggest that Jacob feared Esau would want to marry Dina, and he didn't want his daughter marrying outside the family. But by withholding her, by trying to control her future, Jacob inadvertently set in motion a chain of events that led to her being vulnerable and ultimately, to the terrible incident in Shechem.

The midrash takes it a step further, suggesting that Jacob's actions had even wider ramifications. Some say that Job lived in the days of Jacob (Bava Batra 15b). Because Jacob didn’t seek a suitable, circumcised husband for Dina, the midrash says she ended up marrying Job, who was neither a proselyte nor circumcised. The passage concludes with a stark statement: "You did not seek to marry her in a permitted fashion, so she married in a prohibited fashion. ‘Dina…went out.’"

Our attempts to do so, even with the best intentions, can sometimes lead to unintended and even tragic consequences. The story of Dina, as interpreted in Bereshit Rabbah, urges us to balance our desire for control with a sense of humility, recognizing that the future is ultimately in the hands of something greater than ourselves. Perhaps, more importantly, it asks us to consider the kindness we show to others and how our actions, or lack thereof, can shape not only our own destinies but the destinies of those around us.

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