Ever stumble upon a seemingly minor verse in the Torah and think, "There's gotta be more to this story?" That's exactly what happens when we delve into Genesis 36:24. It reads: "These are the children of Tzivon: Aya and Ana; he is Ana, who found the yemim in the wilderness, as he was herding the donkeys of Tzivon his father."
Okay, sounds simple enough. But then you notice something strange. The verse repeats "Ana, Ana." Why? What's so special about ANA that he gets name-checked twice?
As Bereshit Rabbah, the classic midrashic commentary on Genesis, points out, it's not just the repetition. Ana is listed both among Tzivon's brothers (Genesis 36:20) AND his sons! Were there two Anas? The Etz Yosef, a commentary on the Bereshit Rabbah, raises this very question.
The answer, according to the midrash, is… complicated. Prepare yourself for some ancient family drama! Apparently, Tzivon got a little too close to his own mother, and she bore Ana. This made Ana both the son of Tzivon AND the son of Se'ir – Tzivon's father – through Tzivon's mother! Talk about a family tree needing some serious pruning. So, Ana gets listed among Se'ir's sons because he was, in a way, the son of Se'ir's wife. But biologically, he was Tzivon's son.
But it's the phrase "who found the yemim in the wilderness" that really sparks our interest. What exactly did Ana "find"? Here's where the story takes a fascinating turn. The midrash asks: what does yemim mean?
Here, we get a glimpse into the rabbinic imagination. It wasn't some lost oasis or hidden treasure. Instead, the midrash suggests that Ana "found" something far more…unnatural. The Bereshit Rabbah tells us that fire and kilayim (mixed breeds) weren't created during the Six Days of Creation. However, God intended for them to exist. When were the mixed breeds created? In the days of Ana.
Rabbi Yehuda bar Simon says yemim refers to mules (hamyonas). The Rabbis further elaborate with himisu – half-breeds, specifically half donkey and half horse. They even provide a way to tell which parent was which: small ears meant the mother was a horse, large ears meant the mother was a donkey. Apparently, Rabbi Mana even instructed the household of the Nasi (a high-ranking official) to buy the ones with small ears, because their mothers were horses!
So, what did Ana actually do? According to this tradition, he took a female donkey, bred her with a horse, and voila! – a mule was born.
But here's where the story gets a bit cautionary. The Holy One, blessed be He, wasn't exactly thrilled. God essentially says, "I didn't create anything inherently damaging, but you did." And then, according to the midrash, God created something damaging specifically for Ana: a poisonous lizard. The text states that no one bitten by a rabid dog, a poisonous lizard, or a white mule ever lived. Ouch.
The midrash then shifts gears to discuss fire. Rabbi Levi, in the name of Rabbi Nezira, explains that the primordial light created on the first day of Creation shone for thirty-six hours. Twelve on Friday evening, twelve on Shabbat night, and twelve on Shabbat day. When Shabbat ended, God sought to hide the light, but honored the Sabbath by blessing it with light. That's why Genesis 2:3 says, "The Lord blessed the seventh day." But how did He bless it? With light!
As darkness fell after Shabbat, Adam, the first man, became afraid. He exclaimed, "Darkness will conceal me!" (Psalm 139:11). So, what did God do? He provided Adam with two flint stones. Adam struck them together, fire emerged, and he recited a blessing over it. Thus, "Night is light for me" (Psalms 139:11).
This story, according to Shmuel, is why we recite a blessing over a candle at the conclusion of Shabbat – because that's when its creation began. Rav Huna, in the name of Rabbi Yoḥanan, adds that we also recite a blessing over fire at the end of Yom Kippur, because we couldn't use it all day and now we appreciate its light once again.
So, what does this all mean? What starts as a seemingly simple genealogical verse blossoms into a complex tapestry of creation, transgression, and divine response. It's a reminder that even the smallest details in the Torah can hold profound insights into the nature of the world, the consequences of our actions, and the enduring power of light in the face of darkness. It invites us to consider the delicate balance of creation and the responsibility we have to use our ingenuity wisely. What will we "find" in the wilderness, and how will we use it?