The ancient rabbis pondered this very feeling when they explored the verse, "And [Abraham] went to Ḥaran" (Genesis 11:31). What does it really mean to go somewhere?
Bereshit Rabbah, that magnificent collection of rabbinic interpretations of the Book of Genesis, delves into this simple phrase. The rabbis ask, how long did it take Abraham to get there? One opinion suggests it all happened in a single day!
Rabbi Berekhya, quoting Rabbi Yitzḥak, offers a fascinating analogy. He says it’s like someone who "went to Caesarea, and until now has the provisions he set out with." In other words, they haven't really moved forward at all. They’re still living off the initial energy, the initial impetus. They arrived, but haven't integrated, haven't grown. Haven't truly gone anywhere. It's a powerful image, isn't it? Have you ever felt like that? Like you're just existing on the fumes of a past decision?
Then we have Rabbi Neḥemya, who offers a linguistic insight. He teaches that any word needing a lamed (ל), a Hebrew preposition meaning "to," at its beginning, often has a heh (ה) placed at its end. Think of places like Sedoma (Sodom), Se’ira (Seir), Mitzraima (Egypt), and Ḥarana (Haran). Rabbi Nehemya points out that both the lamed and the heh can signify "to." The rabbis are suggesting something deeper here: that the destination is already inherent in the journey. The potential for arrival, for transformation, is baked right into the starting point.
But wait! The rabbis raise an objection. What about the verse, "The wicked will return to the netherworld [lishola]" (Psalms 9:18)? This word, lishola, already has both a lamed at the beginning and a heh at the end! Doesn’t that break the rule?
Rabbi Abba bar Zavda clarifies: this refers to the lowest compartment in the netherworld. Both letters, in this case, emphasize just how far down, how utterly lost, the wicked will be. It's not just to the netherworld, but to its deepest, darkest pit. The double preposition emphasizes the totality of their descent.
So, what can we take away from this rabbinic wrestling with a seemingly simple phrase? Perhaps it’s this: that true journeys involve more than just physical movement. They require internal transformation, a shedding of the old provisions, an embrace of the destination. And sometimes, as in the case of the truly wicked, the journey leads us to a place we never intended to go. It reminds us that every journey, whether physical or spiritual, has the potential to change us, to lead us either closer to, or further from, our true selves. What journey are you on right now, and where is it truly leading you?