Jewish tradition is rich with insights into these liminal spaces, and one passage in Bereshit Rabbah (Genesis Rabbah) 50, really caught my attention. It's all about Lot's escape from Sodom, and it uses that dramatic moment to explore the nature of dawn itself.
"And it was as dawn broke, the angels urged Lot, saying: Arise; take your wife, and your two daughters who are present, lest you be destroyed in the iniquity of the city" (Genesis 19:15). The Rabbis, in their beautiful way, weren't content just to read the story. They wanted to unpack it, to understand the deeper layers of meaning.
So, the text dives into a discussion about the break of dawn. Rabbi Ḥanina suggests that the time from the first glimmer of light until the entire eastern horizon is illuminated is enough time to walk four mil. Now, a mil is an ancient unit of measurement, roughly equivalent to a Roman mile. He then claims the time between the fully illuminated eastern horizon and sunrise is also four mil, backing it up with the verse "As dawn broke… and the sun emerged upon the earth as Lot arrived in Tzo’ar" (Genesis 19:23).
But wait a minute! A question arises: was it really four mil from Sodom to Tzo’ar? According to the commentaries, like Etz Yosef, the distance was actually five mil. Rabbi Ze’eira offers a fascinating solution: the angel was smoothing the path, essentially speeding them along. How cool is that?
The text goes even deeper, probing the very definition of dawn. How do we know that the distance someone can walk between the first gleam of dawn to the fully illuminated horizon is four mil? The Bereshit Rabbah cleverly points out that the verse could have just said kemo ("as"), but instead it states ukhmo ("and it was as"). The extra vav, the "and," implies an equality between these two periods of time. In other words, both the period from the first gleam to the illumination of the east, and the period from the illumination of the east until sunrise, are of equal duration. It's this kind of intricate textual interpretation that makes studying these texts so rewarding.
But the Rabbis weren't done yet. Rabbi Yosei bar Avin cautions us against assuming the morning star is the first gleam of dawn. Why? Because the appearance of the morning star is variable. Sometimes it appears earlier, sometimes later. Instead, he describes the first gleam of dawn as “like two rays of light that ascend in the east and illuminate the world.” It’s such a poetic image, isn’t it?
Finally, the text circles back to Lot’s daughters: "And your two daughters who are present [nimtzaot]…" Rabbi Toviya bar Rabbi Yitzḥak makes a beautiful connection, stating that two great "finds" [metziot] would emerge from these daughters: Ruth the Moabitess and Naama the Ammonitess. These women, from outside the Israelite nation, would become pivotal figures in Jewish history. Ruth, of course, is the ancestor of King David. As Rabbi Yitzḥak points out, "I found David My servant" (Psalms 89:21) – where did I find him? It was in Sodom – meaning David was descended from these women connected to the story of Sodom.
It's a powerful reminder that even in the darkest of places, even in the midst of destruction, seeds of redemption can be sown. And sometimes, the most unexpected people – like Ruth and Naama – become the bearers of our greatest blessings. What does this passage tell us about the nature of time, redemption, and the hidden potential within us all? That's something to ponder long after the sun has risen.