It all begins with Jacob, now also known as Israel, standing at a crossroads. God speaks to him "in the visions of the night," a phrase that already sets a mystical tone. "Jacob, Jacob," God calls, a double calling that emphasizes the importance of what's about to be said. And Jacob replies, simply, "Here I am."
Then comes the crucial message: "I am God, the God of your father; do not fear to go down to Egypt, as I will make you a great nation there" (Genesis 46:3). It's a promise tinged with both comfort and unease. Egypt? The land of potential slavery and hardship? Yet, God assures him, “I will go down with you to Egypt and I will also take you up again and Joseph will place his hand over your eyes” (Genesis 46:4).
Now, here's where the midrash gets interesting. It expands on this promise. The midrash in Bereshit Rabbah quotes God as saying, “I am the God Beit El… and I will also take you up again” – you and all the righteous like you.” The text then considers the meaning of “And Joseph will place his hand over your eyes…” Rabbi Ḥagai, quoting Rabbi Yitzḥak, suggests this means that Joseph would take care of Jacob, providing for all his needs, sparing him from having to worry about his own livelihood. Another interpretation, offered by Yefeh To’ar, is that Joseph would close Jacob’s eyes after his death, implying that while God will eventually bring Jacob back to the Land of Israel, it won't be in his lifetime.
Think about that for a moment. A promise of future redemption, but not necessarily in the way one might expect. It's a theme we see echoed throughout Jewish tradition: delayed gratification, faith in the face of adversity, and the understanding that God's plan unfolds on a timeline that isn't always ours to comprehend.
Despite the uncertainties, Jacob trusts. "Jacob arose from Beersheba, and the sons of Israel conveyed Jacob their father, and their children, and their wives, in the wagons that Pharaoh sent to convey him" (Genesis 46:5). They gather their belongings, their livestock, all that they've acquired in the land of Canaan, and they journey to Egypt. “They took their livestock, and their property that they had acquired in the land of Canaan, and they came to Egypt: Jacob, and all his descendants with him” (Genesis 46:6). “His sons, and his sons’ sons with him, his daughters, and his sons’ daughters, and all his descendants, he brought with him to Egypt” (Genesis 46:7).
The text emphasizes the entirety of Jacob's family, his "descendants," joining him. But then, Rabbi Yehuda bar Ilai makes a subtle but significant point: "Daughters of sons are considered like sons. Sons of daughters are not considered like sons." This seemingly simple statement touches on the complex laws of Jewish lineage and inheritance, the idea that Jewish identity traditionally passes through the maternal line. It’s a reminder that even within these grand narratives, there are layers of legal and social considerations at play.
So, what do we take away from this brief glimpse into Bereshit Rabbah? It's a story about faith, about trusting in a divine promise even when the path ahead is unclear. It's about family, about the bonds that tie us together, and about the subtle nuances that shape our understanding of identity and belonging. And perhaps most importantly, it's a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there's always the promise of future redemption, a promise that echoes through the generations.