Parshat Bereshit5 min read

The Thorns of Creation and the Students Who Could Not Hide

Rabbi Berekhya saw the thorns of wicked empires in the tohu vavohu of Genesis. Two students in Roman disguise proved the thorns always show early.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Earth Was Formless and the Thorns Were Already There
  2. The Seed Cannot Hide What It Is
  3. Rabbi Yehoshua and His Student in the Cave
  4. What the First Verse of Torah Was Really Saying

The Earth Was Formless and the Thorns Were Already There

The earth was emptiness and disorder. Darkness on the face of the deep. The spirit of God hovering over the water. A reader could take the verse as a description of nothing, a blank state before creation began filling it. Rabbi Berekhya did not read it that way.

He cited Proverbs: "even a boy is recognized through his deeds." A plant shows its thorns early, before it has grown to its full height, before it has flowered or fruited, before anyone knows what kind of plant it will become. The thorns come first. They are the signature of what is growing. The tohu vavohu of Genesis was not a neutral empty state. It was a seed showing its thorns. The darkness, the formlessness, the disorder were the visible early signature of everything that would grow out of the world in its corrupted form.

The rabbis of Bereshit Rabbah connected the four elements of that verse to four specific empires. The earth was formless: Babylon. Emptiness: Persia. Darkness on the face of the deep: Greece. The spirit of God hovering over the water: Rome, moving over the waters, and one day God will deal with it. The creation verse is not a description of before. It is a preview of what would grow from the world's history, written into the first moment of creation.

The Seed Cannot Hide What It Is

The second story in the same collection comes from a different world and makes the same argument. Two students of Rabbi Yehoshua were traveling during a period of Roman persecution. They had dressed in Roman clothes to avoid being recognized. A Roman officer stopped them at the road.

The officer knew Torah. He told them he would let them go if they could answer three questions. What does a man do who wants to be rescued from his enemies? Pray. What does a man do who wants to live long? Honor his father and mother. What does a man do who wants to be wealthy? Be faithful in business. The students answered from the Torah. The officer told them to go, and added: any nation that had such counsel and departed from it deserved everything that had happened to it.

The disguise had not worked. The students looked like Romans. They spoke like students of Torah. The officer, who was watching for exactly this kind of seed showing its thorns early, saw through the Roman clothes to the students underneath. The clothes were the outer coating. The Torah learning was the thorn that showed first.

Rabbi Yehoshua and His Student in the Cave

The same principle appears in a third form in the same cluster of Bereshit Rabbah passages. Rabbi Yehoshua ben Hananiah was walking when he encountered a boy sitting at a crossroads. The rabbi asked which road led to the city. The boy pointed to one path and said it was short but long, and pointed to the other and said it was long but short. The rabbi took the short-but-long path and found it ended in gardens and orchards that blocked his way. He came back and said the boy had told him that road was short. The boy said: did I not also tell you it was long?

The boy was a seed showing thorns early. He answered correctly and was ignored. Rabbi Yehoshua went back and praised him, and the talmudic tradition that follows the story identifies the child as a future scholar. The intelligence was visible before the scholar existed. The thorn precedes the full-grown plant.

What the First Verse of Torah Was Really Saying

Bereshit Rabbah treats the connection between the creation verse and the empire list as evidence that Torah contains history. The first thing written is a compressed preview of everything that will come. Rome is in Genesis 1:2. The Roman officer interrogating students in disguise is in Genesis 1:2. The boy at the crossroads who answers better than the rabbi expected is in Genesis 1:2. Every seed that shows its thorns early was announced in the formlessness before creation lit up the world.

The midrash is making an argument about the reliability of early signs. When you see the thorn on the seedling, you can know what it will become. The thorn is not decoration. It is information. The tohu vavohu of the universe showed the four empires before any of them had been built. The students in Roman clothes showed their Torah before the officer had finished asking his questions.

Midrash RabbahBereshit RabbahCreationTorahPersecutionIdentity
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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 2:1Bereshit Rabbah

Bereshit Rabbah turns to The Deep Meaning of Tohu Vavohu in the Book of Genesis.

What does "emptiness and disorder" really mean?

The Hebrew there is tohu vavohu. It's a phrase that just rolls off the tongue, isn't it? Tohu vavohu. But it's more than just a pretty sound. It's a description of… nothingness struggling to become something. Imagine a world without form, without structure, just… potential. Raw, unshaped potential.

Rabbi Berekhya offers a fascinating take. He starts with a proverb: "Even a boy is recognized through his deeds" (Proverbs 20:11). What’s he getting at?

Rabbi Berekhya explains that even when a plant is young, before it blossoms, it shows signs of what it will become. It might even sprout thorns early. Little, tiny thorns that foreshadow the plant's nature. It's a clever analogy, isn't it? The tohu vavohu isn't just a blank slate. It already contains the seeds of what's to come, both good and… thorny.

This idea is echoed later by the prophet Jeremiah, who says, "I have seen the land, and behold, it is emptiness and disorder" (Jeremiah 4:23). It's a powerful image, isn't it? The prophet sees the tohu vavohu not just at the beginning of creation, but as a potential state of being, a consequence of… well, of things gone wrong.

So, what does it all mean for us?

Maybe it's a reminder that even in the earliest stages, our actions have consequences. That the seeds we sow, even small and seemingly insignificant ones, can blossom into something beautiful or something… prickly. Maybe it's a call to pay attention to the potential within ourselves, within our world, and to nurture the good while carefully tending to the thorns.

Because even in the beginning, everything mattered. And maybe, just maybe, it still does.

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Bereshit Rabbah 1:11Bereshit Rabbah

Rabbi Simon, quoting Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi, shares something fascinating about the letters mem, nun, tzadi, peh, and kaf. You know, those letters that have different forms depending on where they land in a word – whether at the beginning, middle, or end? According to this tradition in Bereshit Rabbah, the prophets spoke of these letter forms, but the underlying halakha, or law, was actually transmitted to Moses himself at Sinai! It's like the prophets were re-discovering something ancient, a piece of knowledge that had been passed down but perhaps temporarily forgotten.

Rabbi Yirmeya, quoting Rabbi Ḥiyya bar Abba, adds that what the prophets "instituted" was perhaps a re-establishment of this tradition. Now, isn’t that intriguing?

The text then tells a story. Imagine a stormy day. The Sages couldn't make it to the bet midrash – the house of assembly, the place where Torah was expounded. But some children were there, bright and curious. So, they decided to create their own bet midrash! They started pondering: Why are there two forms of mem, two forms of nun, and so on?

Their answer? Prepare to be amazed. The different forms allude to the transmission of Torah itself! It went "from utterance [ma’amar] to utterance, from a faithful one [ne’eman] to a faithful one, from a righteous one [tzadik] to a righteous one, from mouth [peh] to mouth, from hand [kaf] to hand.": from the utterance of the Holy One, blessed be He, to the utterance of Moses. From the Holy One, called “God, faithful King,” to Moses, who the Torah calls faithful: "In all My house he is faithful" (Numbers 12:7). From the Holy One, who is righteous – "Righteous is the Lord in all His ways" (Psalms 145:17) – to Moses, who "performed the righteousness of the Lord" (Deuteronomy 33:21). From the mouth of God to the mouth of Moses. From the hand of God to the hand of Moses.

Isn't that powerful?

The Sages recognized the brilliance of these children, and, as the story goes, great sages emerged from among them later in life – some even say they were Rabbi Eliezer, Rabbi Yehoshua, and Rabbi Akiva! The verse from Proverbs (20:11) seems to fit perfectly: “Even a boy is recognized through his deeds, if his action is pure or upright.”

So, what does this all mean? It suggests that the very shapes of the Hebrew letters, especially those with dual forms, aren't just arbitrary. They hold a deep, almost mystical connection to the transmission of divine wisdom. They whisper of a chain of faithfulness, righteousness, and direct communication stretching all the way back to Sinai.

Next time you see a mem sofit – the final form of the letter mem – remember this story. Remember the children, the storm, and the profound connection between the shapes of the letters and the unbroken chain of tradition. It might just change how you see the Torah forever.

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Bereshit Rabbah 82:8Bereshit Rabbah

The ancient rabbis certainly did, and their struggles echo even today. to a fascinating story tucked away in Bereshit Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations of the Book of Genesis.

Our story begins with the verse, "It was as she had difficulty in her childbirth, the midwife said to her: Fear not; for this too is a son for you" (Genesis 35:17). Seems straightforward. But the rabbis, masters of drash (interpretive storytelling), saw much more.

The story unfolds with two students of Rabbi Yehoshua facing a dilemma. It’s a time of persecution, and they've made a difficult choice: they've changed their outer garments to Roman clothes, hoping to blend in and avoid being identified as Jews. It's a desperate act of self-preservation.

Their disguise doesn't fool everyone. A Roman officer – and here's where it gets interesting – who seems to have Jewish roots and some Torah knowledge, confronts them. He challenges them: "If you are sons of the Torah, give your lives for its sake. If you are not its sons, why should you be killed for its sake?" Ouch. He's essentially asking them to choose: live openly as Jews and risk death, or abandon their faith entirely.

The students respond that they are sons of the Torah and willing to die for it, but that "it is not the way of people to commit suicide." They're acknowledging their faith while also clinging to the instinct to survive. It's a very human response, isn't it?

The officer, clearly not satisfied, throws down the gauntlet. He proposes a test: answer three questions, or face religious persecution – convert or die. The stakes are impossibly high.

The first question revolves around two seemingly contradictory verses: "The Lord stands to dispute [and stands to judge the peoples]" (Isaiah 3:13) versus "As there I will sit to judge all the surrounding nations" (Joel 4:12). How can God both stand and sit in judgment?

The students explain that God judges Israel while standing, offering leniency and abbreviating the trial. But when judging the nations, He sits, is meticulous, and extends the trial. A nice explanation, playing on the idea of divine mercy for the chosen people.

But the officer isn't buying it. He claims Rabbi Yehoshua taught that both verses refer to the nations: God judges them meticulously and then becomes an adversary, standing to implement their punishment. According to this interpretation, found in Matnot Kehuna, there is no preferential treatment.

Next, he asks about the meaning of "One who works his land [admato] will be sated with bread..." (Proverbs 28:19). The students offer a straightforward agricultural interpretation: it's better to cultivate one field well than to neglect many.

Again, the officer rejects their answer. He says Rabbi Yehoshua taught that admato should be understood as ad moto – "until the day of his death." In other words, one who worships God will be sustained until their dying day, while those who pursue vanities (idolaters, as the text notes) will be filled with poverty. A clever play on words revealing a deeper spiritual truth.

Finally, he circles back to the original verse: "It was as she had difficulty in her childbirth..." The students say it's a comforting phrase to reassure the birthing mother that she's delivered a male child.

But the officer has one last twist. He claims Rabbi Yehoshua taught that each tribe was born with a twin sister, referencing Abba Ḥalfoi ben Kureya's teaching that Benjamin had an additional twin sister. Rachel’s concern during childbirth, therefore, wasn't just about having a second son, but about whether Benjamin would receive his rightful twin sister. The midwife's assurance, then, was specifically about the birth of the son.

What does it all mean? This passage from Bereshit Rabbah isn't just about biblical interpretation; it's about identity, survival, and the courage to stand by your beliefs. It's about finding meaning in scripture even when facing impossible choices. The students of Rabbi Yehoshua were caught in a moment of crisis, forced to reconcile their faith with the harsh realities of their time. And aren't we all, in some way, still wrestling with that same tension today?

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