Let's dive into a fascinating passage from Bereshit Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations of the Book of Genesis, specifically section 55, and see what wisdom we can unearth.
The passage starts with the famous verse from Genesis 22:3, describing Abraham preparing for what he believes will be the sacrifice of his son, Isaac: "Abraham awoke early in the morning and saddled his donkey; he took his two young men with him, and Isaac his son; he chopped wood for the burnt offering, arose, and went to the place that God told him."
Now, Rabbi Shimon ben Yoḥai, a prominent figure in the Talmudic era, makes a striking observation. He says that both love and hatred can disrupt our usual behavior. Think about that for a second. Doesn't that ring true in your own life?
He illustrates this point beautifully, starting with Abraham. "Abraham awoke early in the morning and saddled his donkey…" Did he not have servants to do this kind of menial task? Of course, he did! But, Rabbi Shimon ben Yoḥai explains, love upsets one’s usual practice. Abraham was so eager, so filled with love for God and a desire to fulfill His will, that he took on the task himself. He couldn't wait.
Then, he flips the coin to show the other side. "Bilam arose in the morning, and saddled his donkey" (Numbers 22:21). Bilam, the prophet hired to curse the Israelites, also saddled his own donkey. Did he not have servants? Again, yes! But hatred, Rabbi Shimon ben Yoḥai argues, also upsets the natural order. Bilam's eagerness to curse Israel, fueled by animosity, drove him to do something he wouldn't normally do.
The text continues with further examples. Love upsets the natural order, as it is written: “Joseph harnessed his chariot, and went up toward Israel his father” (Genesis 46:29). Did Joseph not have several slaves? The explanation is that love upsets one’s usual practice. Hatred upsets the natural order, as it is written: “He [Pharaoh] harnessed his chariot” (Exodus 14:6). Did he not have several slaves? The explanation is that hatred upsets one’s usual practice.
But it doesn’t stop there. Rabbi Shimon ben Yoḥai goes on to paint an even grander picture, suggesting that these acts of preparation—these "saddlings" and "harnessings"—have cosmic implications. He says, "[God said:] ‘Let one saddling come and counteract the other saddling.’" Let Abraham's act of love counteract Bilam's act of hate. It was in the merit of Abraham’s actions that Bilam’s curses were negated. And let Joseph’s harnessing counteract Pharaoh’s. It was in the merit of Joseph’s actions that Pharaoh’s attack on the Israelites ended in failure.
It's a powerful idea, isn't it? That our actions, even the seemingly small ones, can have ripple effects that extend far beyond ourselves. The Zohar, a central text of Kabbalah, often emphasizes this interconnectedness of all things.
Rabbi Yishmael adds another layer: Let the drawn sword that Abraham our patriarch wielded, as it is stated: “Abraham extended his hand and took the knife to slaughter his son” (Genesis 22:10), counteract the drawn sword regarding which Pharaoh said: “I will draw my sword [and my hand will destroy them]” (Exodus 15:9).
The passage then shifts slightly, focusing on Abraham taking "his two young men with him." Rabbi Abahu notes that it was considered proper for a man of stature to travel with two attendants, citing both Abraham and Saul as examples.
Next, we have Rabbi Ḥiyya bar Yosei, who connects Abraham's chopping of wood to the splitting of the Red Sea. "In reward for the two choppings with which Abraham chopped the wood for the burnt offering, he was privileged to have the sea split before the children of Israel..." He draws a parallel between the Hebrew word vayvaka (he chopped) and vayibaku (was split). But Rabbi Levi cuts him off, saying, "Enough. Until here." He felt the comparison was too far-fetched. Rather, Abraham acted according to his ability, and the Holy One blessed be He acted according to His ability. It's improper to draw a comparison between man’s actions and God’s actions.
Finally, the passage concludes by noting that Abraham was rewarded both for "arising" and for "going." He received merit for each step of the journey.
So, what can we take away from all of this? Perhaps it's a reminder that even the smallest acts of love and devotion can have a profound impact. And conversely, that hatred and ill will can have equally destructive consequences. It's a call to be mindful of our actions, to consider the ripple effects they may create, and to choose love over hate whenever possible. As we find in Midrash Rabbah, even rising and walking with intention is worthy of reward. What "saddling" or "harnessing" will you choose today?