4 min read

Three Times Bereshit Rabbah Refused to Shrink God

A Greek philosopher, a childless patriarch, and a foreign king each try to make God smaller. Every time, the rabbis raise the ceiling.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. A Philosopher Tries to Corner Rabban Gamliel
  2. Gamliel Answers With the Texts
  3. Why Abraham Was Allowed to Speak
  4. The Enemy at the Well

A Philosopher Tries to Corner Rabban Gamliel

The philosopher arrived with a compliment that was a trap. Your God is a great artist, he said to Rabban Gamliel. But every artist needs material. The chaos, the void, the darkness, the deep water. Those were already there. God didn't create anything. God arranged what existed.

It was the oldest move in pagan cosmology. Make matter eternal and God becomes a craftsman among craftsmen. Nothing is created from nothing. Everything is just rearrangement. The God of Israel becomes one organizer among many, perhaps the most skilled, but not fundamentally different from anyone else who works with what is available.

Gamliel Answers With the Texts

Gamliel cut straight through it. He went to Isaiah: I form light and create darkness, I make peace and create evil. Not arrange. Create. Then Amos: God forms the wind. Not channels it, forms it. Then Proverbs: the deep waters were not lying around either. They were generated. Then Psalms: God commanded, and they were created. Every element the philosopher had offered as eternal, pre-existing material had a text showing it was made. Nothing was lying around when God started. The ceiling had been raised before the argument was finished.

Why Abraham Was Allowed to Speak

The second refusal was quieter and cut deeper. Abraham stood outside Sodom and opened his mouth against God's verdict. Shall the Judge of all the earth not do justice? The word he used for God was Shofet, judge, and the sentence ended with a question mark he had no formal authority to write.

Some of the rabbis were troubled by this. Who was Abraham to challenge God? Rabbi Yonatan of Beit Guvrin had an answer. When God said Shall I hide from Abraham what I am about to do, God was not posing a question. God was issuing an invitation. By telling Abraham what was coming, God had opened the space for response. The sharing of the plan was the permission. You cannot tell a man what you are about to do to a city and then be surprised when he has something to say about it. Abraham's argument was not unauthorized. It was solicited.

The ceiling was raised. A human being who has been told the verdict by God has standing to argue with it. That was not Abraham's audacity. That was God's design.

The Enemy at the Well

The third refusal came from a word. Avimelech, king of Gerar, came to Abraham at Beer-sheba with his general Phicol and asked for a treaty. The word Avimelech used for Abraham was oyev, the same Hebrew root that carries the meaning of enemy. I have not wronged you, Avimelech said, and you have not wronged me. So let there be an oath between us.

The rabbis could not let the word oyev pass without examination. The root of enemy, they said, contains the root of the word for the one who desires. Avimelech came to the well not in hostility but in desire. He wanted what Abraham had. He wanted proximity to the blessing. He wanted to be inside the covenant line, not across from it.

The rabbis refused to let enemy mean only enemy. They raised the ceiling on what the word was allowed to contain. A foreign king who comes to a patriarch's well and asks for a treaty is a foreign king who has already understood something. The desire inside the enmity is the beginning of recognition. Avimelech got his treaty. And the word that had seemed to close the door was opened to show the request underneath it.

Midrash RabbahCreationAbrahamPrayer
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From the tradition

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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 1:9Bereshit Rabbah

The philosopher's challenge cuts right to the heart of things. He essentially says, "Your God is impressive, sure, but didn't He have a little help? All that…stuff…the emptiness, the chaos, the darkness – wasn’t that already there?"

Rabban Gamliel, a towering figure of Jewish wisdom, wasn’t having any of it. His response, though brief, is powerful. He basically dismisses the philosopher's premise, asserting that God didn't just stumble upon these raw materials. He created them.

The Rabbis of the Midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary), in Bereshit Rabbah, back it up with scripture. Where did that initial void, that tohu vavohu – the emptiness and disorder – come from? The prophet Isaiah (45:7) gives us a clue: "Who makes peace and creates evil." The same God is behind both.

What about darkness? Isaiah again (45:7): "who forms light [and creates darkness]." Light and darkness, two sides of the same divine coin.

Even the waters above the heavens, mentioned in Psalms (148:4), didn't exist independently. "For He commanded and they were created" (Psalms 148:5). The very act of divine command brought them into being.

The wind, that invisible force? Amos (4:13) tells us that God "forms mountains and creates wind." And those mysterious depths, the tehomot? Proverbs (8:24) states, "when there were no depths, I generated."

Ginzberg, in Legends of the Jews, beautifully expands on this, painting a picture of a God whose creative power extends to absolutely everything.

So, what’s the takeaway? It's not just about proving God's power. It’s about understanding the absolute scope of creation. God isn't just a skilled craftsman working with pre-existing materials. He is the ultimate source. He is the origin of everything, even the things that seem like nothingness. Even the void. Even the darkness. Maybe especially those things.

And that, perhaps, is the most profound mystery of all.

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Bereshit Rabbah 44:8Bereshit Rabbah

Abraham, our patriarch, knew that feeling. In (Genesis 15:2), he cries out, "My Lord God, what will You give me, seeing that I go childless, and the one who has charge of my house is Damascus Eliezer?"

It's a poignant moment. Abraham has everything… except the one thing that truly matters to him: an heir. But what’s fascinating is not just the question itself, but the audacity behind it. According to Rabbi Yonatan, Abraham is in good company when he dares to ask God for something.

Rabbi Yonatan points out that there are three figures in the Tanakh – the Hebrew Bible – who were explicitly told to “make a request.” First, there's Solomon, the wisest of all men. Remember the story? "In Gibeon the Lord appeared to Solomon in a dream at night, and God said: Request what I shall give you" (I Kings 3:5).

Then there's Ahaz, a king of Judah, though not exactly known for his righteousness. Yet, even he gets the offer: "Request a sign for yourself from the Lord" (Isaiah 7:11). It's a moment of potential redemption, a chance to connect with the Divine.

And finally, Rabbi Yonatan includes the messianic king, a figure of future hope and redemption. Of him, it is written: “Ask of Me, and I will make the nations your heritage” (Psalms 2:8).

But here’s where it gets even more interesting. Rabbi Berekhya and Rabbi Aḥa, citing Rabbi Shmuel, add two more names to the list from the realm of aggada – the storytelling portion of the Talmud that fleshes out Biblical narratives. They suggest that both Abraham and Jacob were also implicitly invited to ask.: Abraham wouldn't have pleaded "My Lord God, what will You give me?" unless God had already, in some unspoken way, given him permission to ask. It’s as if there was an unspoken invitation hanging in the air.

Similarly, consider Jacob. Remember his famous vow at Bethel? "Everything that You will give me I will tithe to You" (Genesis 28:22). Rabbi Berekhya and Rabbi Aḥa argue that he wouldn't have made such a bold promise unless God had first signaled, "Ask, and I will give."

So, what does this all mean? It means that sometimes, the biggest blessings come when we dare to ask, when we dare to voice our deepest desires and needs to the Divine. It suggests that God isn't just a distant observer, but an active participant in our lives, waiting for us to engage in a dialogue, a conversation.

And maybe, just maybe, the invitation to "make a request" is always there, hovering just beneath the surface, waiting for us to have the courage to speak up. Are we listening? Are we asking?

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Bereshit Rabbah 54:1Bereshit Rabbah

Like something’s not quite adding up. Well, our sages grappled with that very idea, digging deep into a verse in Genesis and a proverb from the Book of Proverbs to uncover some surprising truths about how we work through the world.

(Genesis 21:22) tells us, "It was at that time, Avimelekh and Pikhol, the captain of his army, said to Abraham, saying: God is with you in everything that you do." And (Proverbs 16:7) states, “When the Lord is pleased with the ways of a man, He will cause even his enemies to make peace with him.” But what does it really mean for your enemies to make peace with you?

Bereshit Rabbah, a classic collection of rabbinic interpretations of the Book of Genesis, asks this very question. What exactly does this proverb signify? Our rabbis offer some striking, and at times, unsettling answers.

Rabbi Yoḥanan suggests a rather sobering thought: This proverb refers to a man's wife! He points to (Micah 7:6), "The members of his household are a man’s enemy." And to illustrate this point, the text tells a chilling story of a woman who complained to the authorities about her husband, leading to his execution. While some say she was later beheaded as well, the core message is clear: those closest to us can sometimes be our greatest adversaries. Whoa.

Then, Rabbi Shmuel offers a completely different interpretation: it's about snakes! Rabbi Ḥalafta taught that snakes have a thing for garlic. The story goes that a mountain snake once invaded a house, gobbled up a bowl of garlic, and then, to add insult to injury, poisoned it. A house snake, unable to fight off the intruder, later protected the family by covering the poisoned garlic with dirt. This tale highlights how even seemingly dangerous creatures can play a role in protecting us when "the Lord is pleased with our ways."

But Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi takes us to a much more internal, and perhaps more familiar, battle: the yetzer hara (יֵצֶר הָרַע) – the evil inclination. He argues that while most companions grow fond of each other over time, the yetzer hara remains a constant adversary, waiting for any opportunity to lead us astray, even in our old age. As David laments in (Psalm 35:10), "All my bones will say: Lord, who is like You, who delivers the poor from those who are stronger, the poor and the needy from their despoiler?" Rabbi Aḥa emphasizes that there is no greater despoiler than the yetzer hara.

So how do we combat this inner enemy? Solomon offers a solution in (Proverbs 25:21): "If your enemy is hungry, feed him bread; and if he is thirsty, give him water to drink." But the rabbis interpret this metaphorically: "bread" and "water" refer to the Torah. By engaging with Torah, we weaken the evil inclination. We feed it something it can't digest, so to speak. By feeding it with Torah, as it says in (Proverbs 9:4), "Come partake of my bread" and (Isaiah 55:1), "Ho, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters," we starve its power over us.

Rabbi Berekhya expands the scope even further. When (Proverbs 16:7) says "even his enemies," the Hebrew word gam (גם) indicates inclusion. This includes the pests in our lives – gnats, fleas, and flies! Even these minor annoyances are kept at bay when "the Lord is pleased with the ways of a man."

Finally, the midrash (rabbinic interpretive commentary) circles back to Abraham himself. It connects the "man" (ish – איש) in the proverb to Abraham, who is referred to as "The man of My counsel from a distant land" in (Isaiah 46:11). And "even his enemies" refers to Avimelekh.

So, what's the takeaway from all of this? Perhaps it's that the concept of "enemies" is far more complex than we initially assume. Sometimes, our enemies are external, like Avimelekh. Sometimes, they are internal, like the yetzer hara. And sometimes, they are even those closest to us. When we strive to live righteously, we find protection and even unexpected alliances in the most surprising places. It begs the question: what "enemies" might actually be blessings in disguise, pushing us to grow and seek deeper meaning?

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