Our ancestor Jacob had that experience, big time, at the ford of the Jabbok (יַבֹּק), a river mentioned in Genesis.
The story, as told in Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer (chapter 37), a fascinating and somewhat enigmatic early medieval text, goes like this: Jacob is trying to cross the Jabbok. He's got places to be, people to see. But an angel stops him. "Hold on a minute, Jacob," the angel basically says. "Remember that promise you made?"
What promise? Back in Genesis 28:22, Jacob, on the run from his brother Esau, vowed: "Of all that You give me, I will surely give a tenth unto You." In other words, he promised to give a tenth – a ma'aser (מעשר), or tithe – of everything he acquired to God.
So the angel is there to remind him: "You haven't fully kept your word."
First, the angel calls Jacob out on his livestock. Jacob had amassed quite a herd while working for Laban in Paddan-Aram. According to Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer, Jacob owned 5,500 animals! That's a lot of sheep and goats. He hadn't yet tithed them, so he sets about to do so, giving 550 animals as his offering. A hefty tax bill, you might say.
But even after tithing his animals, the angel wasn't satisfied. There was still something missing. "You have sons," the angel points out. "You haven't given a tithe of them."
Whoa. A tithe of his sons? What does that even mean?
Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer describes Jacob setting aside his firstborn sons from each of his four wives (Reuben, Dan, Naphtali, and Gad). That left him with eight sons to choose from for the tithe. He starts counting with Simeon and goes through Benjamin, who at this point is still in Rachel's womb. He then begins again with Simeon, counting Benjamin this time. The tenth child? Levi.
And that, Pirkei DeRabbi Eliezer tells us, is how Levi became "holy to God," as Leviticus 27:32 states: "The tenth shall be holy unto the Lord." This echoes the traditional understanding of the Levites' special role in Temple service.
What are we to make of this story? It’s not just a quirky anecdote. It’s a reminder that fulfilling our promises – especially those we make to the Divine – is a serious matter. It’s about accountability. And perhaps even more profoundly, it suggests that everything we have, even our children, ultimately comes from and belongs to something greater than ourselves. It’s a powerful idea, isn't it? To consider how we can dedicate our resources, our time, and even our descendants to a higher purpose.