One fascinating passage in Bereshit Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations of the Book of Genesis, dives right into this thorny issue. Specifically, it tackles Jacob's blessing – or perhaps, a warning – about his descendants becoming "a nation and an assembly of nations." The rabbis ask: What does that really mean?
Rabbi Yoḥanan, as quoted by Rabbi Yudan, Rabbi Aivu, and Rabbi Mashyan ben Nagari, offers a striking interpretation. God tells Jacob, essentially: "Your descendants are destined to become like other nations." Just as those nations might sacrifice on private altars even when it’s technically not allowed, so too will Jacob's descendants.
Now, hold on. Sacrificing on private altars? That sounds… wrong. We know that sacrifices were supposed to be brought in the Temple in Jerusalem. So, what’s going on here?
The rabbis aren't suggesting that God approves of this behavior. Instead, they are acknowledging a reality: that there will be times when the Jewish people, like other nations, will stray from the ideal.
The text goes on to provide examples. Rabbi Ḥanina points to Elijah on Mount Carmel (I Kings 18). Remember that dramatic showdown with the prophets of Baal? Elijah builds an altar using twelve stones, representing the tribes of Israel, and offers a sacrifice. But the Temple was standing! So, why the private altar? It’s a moment of national crisis, a desperate plea to God to reveal Himself.
Rabbi Simlai brings up the story of the tribe of Dan (Judges 18:29), who named their city after their forefather. From the moment Dan received his name, the text implies, this duality – a nation, yet an assembly of nations – was part of their destiny.
And Rabbi Yoḥanan himself, citing Deuteronomy 33:19, speaks of a time when the descendants of Zebulun will "call peoples to the mountain" and "slaughter offerings of righteousness." He emphasizes that it doesn't say "prohibited offerings," but "offerings of righteousness." The idea is that even in these unconventional acts, God can still find a way to perform righteousness and accept the offering.
The passage then pivots to a legalistic discussion. Rabbi Shimon interprets the phrase "a nation and an assembly of nations" as obligating each tribe to bring a communal sin offering (a par he'elem davar shel tzibur) if they sin unwittingly based on a ruling of the Sanhedrin (Mishna Horayot 1:5). Rabbi Yehuda broadens this, suggesting that even if a tribe sins based on the ruling of its own court, they are still obligated to bring the offering. In other words, the phrase emphasizes the collective responsibility of the community, even within its individual parts.
So, what’s the takeaway here? Is it a free pass to do whatever we want? Absolutely not. But it is a recognition that Jewish history is complex, messy, and full of unexpected turns. It's an acknowledgement that sometimes, in moments of crisis or confusion, our ancestors took paths that deviated from the norm. It is a testament to the enduring covenant between God and the Jewish people, even when that covenant is tested. The Bereshit Rabbah reminds us that even in those moments, even in the "private altars," there's still a possibility for connection, for righteousness, and for a renewed sense of purpose.