6 min read

The Trees Accused Adam, and Generations Later Jacob Put Laban on Trial

Adam hid in the garden and the trees shouted that he was a thief. Long after, Jacob faced Laban before witnesses over twenty years of stolen wages.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Trees Called Him a Thief
  2. The Angels Asked If He Would Die Today
  3. Seventy Years Left Over
  4. Twenty Years of Swallowed Wages
  5. The Anger Took Fire
The Trees Accused Adam, and Generations Later Jacob Put Laban on Trial Click for full size

The Trees Called Him a Thief

Adam heard the garden before he heard anything else. The trees he had walked past every day of his short life were all going off at once, the whole grove of them shouting the same thing: this is the thief who deceived his Creator. Not one of them had it wrong, so there was nothing he could say back to a tree.

The rabbis of Bereshit Rabbah would not let Genesis 3:8 be a man hearing God take a walk, since God has no feet and the path had no dust to make a sound in. They turned the verse around until it read the other way: not they heard, but something was made to be heard. What was made heard was the testimony of the orchard.

Adam and his wife hid among the trees of the garden, which is to say they went and stood inside the witnesses.

The Angels Asked If He Would Die Today

Higher up, the angels were working on a narrower question. The Lord God is going to the ones in the garden, they said to each other, and then, because the sentence had already been passed on the day of the eating, they asked whether the man walking down there was a man who was about to die. Rabbi Levi heard that question inside the word for walking. Rabbi Yitzhak heard a second version of it: is he to die for having gone off on his own way.

So it was a trial with a full bench and no defense. The trees gave evidence, the angels ran the odds, and the accused was hiding in the shrubbery with his wife, and Rav Aivu says that while all this was going on his body was shrinking, down from something enormous to a mere hundred cubits.

Seventy Years Left Over

The collection did not happen that day. God said that on the day you eat of it you shall die, but you did not know whether I meant one of my days or one of yours, and a day of his is a thousand years. He gave Adam one of his own days and let the man spend it.

Adam used nine hundred and thirty years of it. The seventy left on the account went to everybody who came after him, and that is where the psalm's count of a human life comes from. The judgment itself came down with the breeze of the day, and the sages could not agree whether that was harsh or lenient: Rav said God judged them by the direction the day rises from, since a day only gets hotter as it climbs, and Zavdi ben Levi said God judged them by the direction the day sets in, since a day cools as it goes down.

The hiding place kept its name in the sentence. They hid among the trees, and his children would be carried out in wood.

Twenty Years of Swallowed Wages

Generations later a second man was accused, and this one had spent two decades getting ready for it without knowing that was what he was doing.

Jacob had worked for Laban twenty years, and the wages moved whenever it suited Laban to move them, and Jacob took it. He took the cold looks. He took whatever the sons of the house muttered when he walked past them. A son-in-law living under his father-in-law's roof would normally help himself to something small over that span, a knife off the table, a tool from the shed, and nobody would call it theft. Jacob had not taken a needle. He had not taken a hook.

Then Laban chased him into the hills of Gilead over a set of missing household idols and turned out every pack and every tent and every vessel Jacob owned, in front of both families, and came up with nothing.

The Anger Took Fire

Jacob's anger took fire. The heat came up through his chest before any word did, and for the length of one breath he was not a herdsman doing arithmetic about what a rich uncle could still take from him. Then it came out, and it came out as a question, because he had been raised in Isaac's tents where nobody was condemned without hearing the charge read.

"What is my transgression, what is my sin, that you have pursued after me?"

He did not raise a hand. The quarrel was words, and the words were meant to bring the thing back down. "For you felt all my vessels. What have you found of all your household vessels?" You went through everything I own, he was saying, and you did not come out holding a needle or a hook.

Then the line that changed what kind of scene it was. "Place it here before my brethren and your brethren, and they will determine between the two of us." Laban had arrived as the accuser and the judge and the man who would carry out the sentence, all in one body, so Jacob refused the arrangement and called in the families instead, his own kinsmen and Laban's together, and put the private ambush in front of people who would have to decide it.

Bereshit Rabbah, in the name of Rabbi Azarya reporting Rabbi Hagai and Rabbi Yitzhak bar Maron, calls this the combativeness of the patriarchs and not the humility of the descendants, and puts David beside it for the comparison. David, running from Saul, asked Jonathan what he had done and what his iniquity was, and spoke about a man seeking his life. Jacob asked for the charge.

Nobody in that ring moved to give a verdict, because there was nothing in front of them to rule on. Laban stood in the middle of his own kinsmen with his hands empty, and the man he had chased across the hills waited for him to name the crime.


← All myths

From the tradition

Sources

4 sources

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 19:8Bereshit Rabbah

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

Bereshit Rabbah turns to God's Voice Walking in the Garden After the Fall.

The verse in (Genesis 3:8) tells us, "They heard [vayishme’u] the voice of the Lord God walking in the garden." But what did they hear? That would be ascribing physicality to the Divine! So, how do we understand it?

Bereshit Rabbah, that magnificent collection of rabbinic interpretations of Genesis, offers some fascinating possibilities. What if, instead of vayishme’u, we read it as vayashmiu – "they made heard"?

One interpretation suggests that Adam and Eve heard the voice of the trees themselves, crying out, "This is the thief who deceived his Creator!" – the entire natural world, suddenly aware of the transgression, condemning the first humans.

Another interpretation says they heard the voices of angels, proclaiming, "The Lord God is going to those in the garden!" – to punish them, of course. The verse, then, could be translated as, "They heard a voice [saying:] The Lord God is going into the garden."

Rabbi Levi and Rabbi Yitzḥak delve even deeper. Rabbi Levi imagines the angels asking, “Is the one in the garden to die [met]?” He cleverly interprets the word mithalekh ("walking") as two words: met holekh – "Is he going to die, that man walking in the garden?" Rabbi Yitzḥak offers a similar take: "Is he to die [met], for having gone off [halakh] on his own way?" Isn’t that astonishing? The Holy One, blessed be He, seems to be pondering their fate.

So, what did God do? "With the day breeze [ruaḥ]," the text continues. But ruaḥ, breeze, also carries the sense of "spirit" or "direction." God says, "the expansion [revaḥ] of the day. I will make this day alive for them." He grants them a reprieve, a chance.

The passage continues, explaining that God said, "As on the day that you eat of it you shall die" (Genesis 2:17), but you did not know whether I meant one of My days or one of your days." He grants Adam one of His days, which, as we know from (Psalms 90:4), is like a thousand years. Adam lived nine hundred and thirty years (Genesis 5:5), leaving seventy years for his descendants. This, the rabbis suggest, is the origin of the saying, "The days of our lives in it are seventy years" (Psalms 90:10).

The text then circles back to the word ruaḥ, suggesting God judged them by the eastern direction – the direction that rises with the day. Zavdi ben Levi, however, says He judged them by the western direction – the direction that sets with the day. Rav sees this as harsh, because the day gets hotter as it rises. But Zavdi ben Levi sees it as lenient, because the day gets cooler as it sets.

Finally, we come to the line, "The man and his wife hid." Rav Aivu adds a poignant detail: Adam’s stature diminished, becoming a mere one hundred cubits. He had been much taller originally, as Bereshit Rabba 8:1 reminds us. And when the text says they hid "among the trees [etz] of the garden," it's interpreted as an allusion to his descendants who would be placed in wooden [etz] caskets because of his sin.

What does it all mean? It’s a reminder that even in moments of transgression, there is room for divine compassion, for interpretation, for the turning of a phrase to reveal hidden depths of meaning. And perhaps, a little bit of hope, even in the face of mortality.

Full source
Bereshit Rabbah 74:10Bereshit Rabbah

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

Our ancestors wrestled with that very question.

Remember the story? Jacob, after years of hard labor for Laban, decides it’s time to return to his homeland with his wives and children. Laban pursues him, accusing Jacob of stealing his household idols. The tension is palpable. It all boils over in (Genesis 31:36-37), where we read, "Jacob was angry and quarreled with Laban. Jacob responded and said to Laban: What is my transgression, what is my sin, that you have pursued after me? For you felt all my vessels, what have you found of all your household vessels? Place it here before my brethren and your brethren, and they will determine between the two of us."

Here’s the twist. Bereshit Rabbah, citing Rabbi Azarya in the name of Rabbi Ḥagai and Rabbi Yitzḥak bar Maron, who taught in the name of Rabbi Ḥanina bar Yitzḥak, offers an unexpected interpretation: "The combativeness of the patriarchs, and not the humility of the descendants." What does that even mean?

The rabbis are suggesting that the patriarchs, like Jacob, possessed a certain… assertiveness. A willingness to confront injustice head-on. They weren't afraid to challenge those in authority, even when it meant risking conflict. Where do we see this? Right there, in Jacob’s fiery words: "What is my transgression, what is my sin that you have pursued?"

But hold on. Was Jacob really throwing punches? Were there blows exchanged? The text quickly clarifies that the "quarrel" consisted of "words of appeasement." Jacob, in his own way, was trying to reason with Laban. "For you felt all my vessels, what have you found of all your household vessels?"

Rabbi Simon adds a layer of nuance. He points out the normal, expected behavior between a son-in-law and his father-in-law. It would be typical for the son-in-law, residing with his wife's father, to benefit from at least one of his possessions, a knife or a tool. But Jacob is saying something different. "You felt all my vessels – you did not find even a needle, even a hook." Jacob is emphasizing his absolute integrity. He took nothing that wasn’t rightfully his.

So, where does the "not the humility of the descendants" part come in? The rabbis contrast Jacob's boldness with the perceived humility of later figures, using King David as an example. They cite (1 Samuel 20:1), where David, fleeing from Saul, pleads with Jonathan, "What have I done? What is my iniquity and what is my sin before your father that he seeks my life?" David, in his plea, even mentions the possibility of bloodshed and murder.

The contrast is stark. David speaks of potential death. Jacob simply asks, "What is my transgression?" He is questioning the very basis of Laban's pursuit.

The rabbis aren’t necessarily saying David was weak, but rather highlighting a shift in approach. Perhaps the descendants operated in a different context, requiring a different strategy. Or perhaps, they suggest that the patriarchs set a high bar for standing up for what’s right, even if it meant a quarrel.

Are we meant to be combative? Probably not literally. But perhaps the takeaway is this: Don't be afraid to question injustice. Don't be afraid to stand up for what you believe in, even if it means a difficult conversation. Sometimes, a little righteous indignation, a little "combativeness," is exactly what's needed to set things right.

Full source
Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Genesis 31:37Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Genesis

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Targum of Jonathan ben Uzziel, trans. J. W. Etheridge, London, 1862 · Public Domain

After the failed search, Jakob did what a righteous man does when falsely accused. He opened his tents. Having, therefore, searched all my vessels, what hast thou found of all the vessels of thy house? (Genesis 31:37).

Then he said the line that makes the whole scene a formal legal proceeding: Lay now the matter before my brethren and thy brethren, and let them decide the truth between us two. Targum Pseudo-Jonathan preserves the demand for adjudication.

Laban had arrived as prosecutor, judge, and executioner in one person. Jakob refused that arrangement. He called in witnesses, his own kinsmen and Laban's together. And turned the confrontation from a private ambush into a public tribunal.

It is the instinct of a man raised by Isaac and grandson of Abraham: no accusation without witnesses, no verdict without a bench. The desert might be empty, but the court of righteousness could convene anywhere.

The Maggid teaches: when falsely accused, do not defend yourself alone. Call witnesses. Turn the private slander into a public deliberation. The truth has a better chance when more eyes are watching it.

Full source
Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Genesis 31:36Targum Pseudo-Jonathan on Genesis

Retold in our words. Read the original at the link below.The Targum of Jonathan ben Uzziel, trans. J. W. Etheridge, London, 1862 · Public Domain

For twenty years Jakob had held his tongue. Every shift of wages, every cold look, every whisper from the sons, he had swallowed them all. Now, after the fruitless search, something gave way. The anger of Jakob took fire, and he contended with Laban (Genesis 31:36).

Targum Pseudo-Jonathan uses the language of combustion. Twenty years of kindling, and finally the match. What is my sin, and what my transgression, that thou hast so eagerly come after me?

Notice the precision of the question. Jakob did not shout. He did not insult. He asked Laban to name the charge. He demanded a specific accusation, a specific wrong. The righteous man's anger, even when it finally flames up, still speaks the language of courts and ledgers.

The Maggid teaches: even rage, when it belongs to a tzaddik, arrives as a question rather than a weapon. Jakob's fire burned hot, but it burned in sentences. He wanted the truth on the record, not Laban's blood on the ground.

Full source