Let’s dive into a fascinating, and frankly, rather unusual story from Bereshit Rabbah, a classic collection of rabbinic interpretations of the Book of Genesis.

Genesis 17:23 tells us that Abraham, obedient to God's command, circumcised his son Ishmael and all the males in his household. “Abraham took Ishmael his son, and all those born in his house, and all those purchased with his money, every male among the people of Abraham’s household, and he circumcised the flesh of their foreskin on that very day, as God had spoken with him.” Okay, pretty straightforward, right? But the rabbis, never content with the surface level, ask: What happened next?

Rabbi Aivu, in Bereshit Rabbah 47, gives us a rather graphic image. He says that Abraham, after circumcising everyone, gathered all the foreskins and piled them into a mound. Think about that for a moment! A mound of foreskins!

And then…the sun shone on them. And, well, they started to rot. They became wormy. (I did warn you it was graphic!) The odor, according to Rabbi Aivu’s interpretation, rose up to the Holy One, blessed be He.

But here’s where it gets really interesting. Instead of being disgusted, God found the odor to be like the incense of spices, like a burnt offering completely consumed by the altar's fire. The text even connects it to the “pleasing aroma to the Lord” mentioned in Exodus 29:41, referring to the daily burnt offering (olah) in the Tabernacle.

Wait, rotting foreskins compared to sweet-smelling incense? What's going on here?

The midrash, the rabbinic interpretation, doesn’t stop there. God, smelling this…unusual aroma, declares that when Abraham's descendants—that's us!—fall into transgression and commit evil deeds, He will remember this aroma. He will be filled with mercy and take pity on them.

Think about that. The physical remains of a mitzvah, even something as…unpleasant as this, become a source of divine mercy. It’s a powerful idea, isn’t it? That even the "leftovers" of our good deeds can have a lasting impact, influencing God's compassion for generations to come.

So, what are we to make of this bizarre and beautiful story? It’s not really about hygiene, is it? It’s about the enduring power of covenant, the ripple effect of obedience, and the surprising ways that God finds merit even in the seemingly unmeritorious. It suggests that even when we mess up, even when we fall short, the merit of our ancestors, the merit of past good deeds, can still speak on our behalf. As Ginzberg retells it in Legends of the Jews, this act of Abraham secures God's promise to remember the covenant with his descendants.

Next time you’re tempted to think that your small actions don't matter, remember Rabbi Aivu’s interpretation. Remember the mound of foreskins. Remember the aroma that rose to heaven, a testament to the enduring power of a single act of faith. Because even the strangest details of our tradition can hold profound lessons about divine mercy and the enduring legacy of good deeds.