Jewish tradition is just teeming with those kinds of moments. Take Jacob, for instance, as he's about to head down to Egypt to reunite with his son Joseph. The Torah tells us, "Israel, and everything that he had, traveled and came to Beersheba, and he slaughtered feast-offerings to the God of his father Isaac" (Genesis 46:1).
But… why Beersheba? What's the deal with this seemingly minor stop?
The rabbis, in their infinite wisdom, didn't let this detail slide by. Bereshit Rabbah, that incredible collection of rabbinic interpretations on the Book of Genesis, dives right in. Rav Naḥman suggests Jacob went to Beersheba to chop down cedars. Cedars planted by none other than his grandfather, Abraham! Remember? "He planted…[in Beersheba]" (Genesis 21:33).
Think about that for a moment. Jacob, on the cusp of a major life change, reconnecting with his family's roots – quite literally! He's going back to the very spot where Abraham, the patriarch, sowed seeds of faith and hospitality. It's a beautiful image, isn't it?
But the story doesn't end there. The rabbis, masters of the unexpected connection, take us on a bit of a detour.
We jump ahead to the construction of the Mishkan, the Tabernacle, in the wilderness. Remember that central bar, the one described as "inside the boards" (Exodus 26:28)? Rabbi Levi tells us this bar was a whopping thirty-two cubits long. Now, where on earth did they find a piece of wood that long in the middle of the desert?
The answer, according to tradition, is astonishing. These weren't just any random pieces of wood. These were acacia trees, already prepared and waiting! It’s not written "with whom [acacia wood] could be found" (Exodus 35:24), but rather, “with whom [acacia wood] was found.” As if they were expecting it all along.
These trees, according to Rabbi Levi, were chopped down from a place called Migdal Tzevaaya (a place in the Land of Israel) generations earlier. They were brought down to Egypt with Jacob and his family! And get this: "neither was a knot nor a crack was found in them." They were preserved, protected, specifically for this sacred purpose.
The story gets even more fascinating. The tradition tells us that even in the time of the Sages, acacia trees still grew in Migdela. However, because of the belief that the wood for the Ark and Tabernacle originated there, the people of Migdela refrained from using those trees. They even consulted Rabbi Ḥanina, a colleague of the Rabbis, who advised them: "Do not deviate from the custom of your fathers."
So, what’s the connection between Jacob chopping down trees in Beersheba and the acacia wood for the Tabernacle? It's a bit of a leap, admittedly. But it highlights a central theme in Jewish thought: continuity.
The actions of our ancestors resonate through time. What Abraham planted, Jacob harvested, and ultimately, that legacy became part of the very structure that housed the Divine Presence in the wilderness.
It makes you wonder, doesn't it? What "trees" are we planting today? What customs are we preserving? And how might they, generations from now, contribute to something sacred and enduring?