The Torah portion Vayera, and specifically Genesis 20:6, offers a fascinating take on this. God speaks to Avimelech, king of Gerar, in a dream after Avimelech takes Sarah, Abraham's wife, into his house, unaware that she is married. God says, "I, too, knew that in the innocence of your heart you did this, and I also prevented you from sinning against Me. Therefore, I did not allow you to touch her."
Seems straightforward. God intervened. But the Rabbis of the Midrash, those brilliant interpreters of our tradition, dive deeper. Bereshit Rabbah, a classic collection of rabbinic interpretations of Genesis, unlocks something truly profound here.
Rabbi Yitzchak offers a stunning reading of the Hebrew phrase "meḥato li," meaning "from sinning against Me." He doesn't just see it as "against Me." Instead, he interprets "meḥato li" to mean "your evil inclination [maḥaton] is Mine [li]." Wow. Your yetzer hara, that inner voice pushing you towards temptation, towards the less-than-ideal choice? God says, "That's Mine. It is under My complete control."
The Midrash then offers an analogy. Imagine a warrior riding a horse. The horse is galloping, full of energy, ready to run. But the warrior sees a baby on the ground and skillfully guides the horse, averting tragedy. Who gets the credit? The horse, just doing what it's trained to do? Or the rider, the one with the control, the foresight, the wisdom to change course?
Of course, it's the rider.
So, too, says the Midrash. "Therefore, I did not allow you to touch her – your maḥaton is Mine," meaning, your evil inclination, which causes you to sin [maḥti], that corrupts you, is given over into My hand. It is I who prevented you from sinning. I drew you away from sin. The praise is Mine and not yours."
It's a radical idea, isn't it? That even our temptations, our struggles, are ultimately within God's purview. That the times we don't give in aren't solely due to our own strength, but perhaps a divine hand gently guiding us, redirecting our energy.
As the Zohar, that foundational text of Kabbalah, so often reminds us, everything is interconnected. Nothing is truly separate from the divine.
It makes you wonder, doesn't it? About the unseen forces at play in our lives. About the moments of grace we might not even recognize. About the possibility that even our darkest impulses can be channeled, redirected, and ultimately, used for good. Perhaps our task isn't to eliminate the "horse" entirely, but to trust that the "rider" – that spark of the divine within us and around us – can guide it towards a more compassionate, more righteous path.