The verse we're focusing on is from Genesis 35:2: "Jacob said to his household, and to all who were with him: Remove the foreign gods that are in your midst, and purify yourselves, and change your garments." Simple enough. But it's the rabbinic unpacking of this verse that's truly revealing.
The text immediately zeroes in on Jacob's instructions to his household. Rabbi Kruspedai, quoting Rabbi Yoḥanan, makes a rather bold statement: "We are not expert in the minutiae of idol worship, like Jacob our patriarch." What does that even mean? It suggests that Jacob possessed an almost unparalleled understanding of the subtle ways idolatry could manifest.
To illustrate this point, the text references Mishna Avoda Zara (3:3), which deals with laws concerning idolatry. The Mishna states that if you find vessels with images of the sun, moon, or a dragon, you should discard them in the Dead Sea. But Jacob, according to Rabbi Yoḥanan, went even further! He insisted that his household change their garments, disposing of any clothing with any images whatsoever. The fear? That these garments might have been made for idolatrous purposes. It wasn't just about avoiding obvious idols; it was about eliminating anything that could even remotely be associated with idolatry. Rabbi Yoḥanan even goes so far as to say, "All garments are included in the category of idols," deriving this from Jacob's actions. This seems to contradict the relatively more lenient stance of the Mishna. Were they really that concerned about the influence of idolatry? Absolutely.
Now, let's move on to Genesis 35:4: "They gave to Jacob all the foreign gods that were in their possession, and the rings that were in their ears, and Jacob interred them beneath the terebinth that is near Shekhem." This verse leads us to a rather dramatic anecdote.
Rabbi Yishmael ben Rabbi Yosei, a real historical figure, was on his way to pray in Jerusalem. He encountered a Samaritan near Mount Gerizim – a mountain considered sacred by the Samaritans, who had their own version of Israelite religion. The Samaritan questioned why Rabbi Yishmael was going to Jerusalem, suggesting that it would be preferable to pray on Mount Gerizim, which he called a "blessed mountain," rather than in the "ruins" of Jerusalem. Remember, the Samaritans had a long and complicated relationship with the Jews of Jerusalem, often marked by religious and political rivalry.
Rabbi Yishmael's response is… well, let's just say it's colorful. He compares the Samaritan to "a dog that is eager for a carcass." Ouch! Why such a harsh comparison? Because, according to Rabbi Yishmael, the Samaritans knew that idols were buried under Mount Gerizim – specifically, the idols that Jacob had interred! That's why they were so eager to have him pray there.
The story doesn't end there. The Samaritans, suspecting that Rabbi Yishmael was planning to steal the idols, decided to kill him! He barely escaped with his life, fleeing in the night. This little story, tucked within the larger narrative, reveals the intense, sometimes violent, religious tensions of the time. It also underscores the belief that these buried idols still held power, even after all that time.
So what can we take away from this? It's clear that for Jacob, and later for the rabbis interpreting his actions, the fight against idolatry was not just a theological concept; it was a constant, vigilant struggle. It required not only the rejection of overt idols but also a deep awareness of the subtle ways idolatrous influences could creep into daily life. And the story of Rabbi Yishmael ben Rabbi Yosei reminds us that these beliefs could have very real, and very dangerous, consequences.
It makes you wonder, doesn't it? What "idols" – not necessarily literal statues, but perhaps values, beliefs, or attachments – do we unwittingly harbor in our own lives today? And what would it take for us to recognize them, confront them, and bury them deep beneath the metaphorical terebinth of our own Shekhems?