Sometimes, the answer lies in the most unexpected places, like, say, a close reading of the book of Ezekiel and a bit of ancient commentary.

In Vayikra Rabbah 25, we find a fascinating, and perhaps a little startling, discussion sparked by the verse: “You were licentious with the sons of Egypt, your neighbors, great of flesh” (Ezekiel 16:26). Now, Rabbi Levi bar Sisi doesn't just take this at face value. He asks, "What does 'great of flesh' even mean?"

Does it mean Egyptians had one leg, and Israelites had three? Obviously not. The brilliance of rabbinic interpretation lies in digging deeper, searching for the hidden meaning.

Rabbi Levi proposes a different explanation: “It is, rather, that they were all uncircumcised.” Circumcision, the brit milah, is a fundamental marker of Jewish identity. It's a physical manifestation of the covenant between God and Abraham. So, in this context, "great of flesh" becomes a euphemism for being uncircumcised, for not being part of that covenant. As it says in Leviticus (Vayikra) 18:29, “The uncircumcised male who will not circumcise the flesh of his foreskin.”

But the interpretations don't stop there. Oh no. Rabbi Berekhya and Rabbi Simon, citing Rabbi Shmuel ben Rabbi Naḥmani, offer another, shall we say, anatomical possibility. “Great of flesh” could simply refer to… well, let’s just say a generous endowment.

Awkward? Maybe a little. But hold on, because it gets even more interesting.

The discussion then shifts to a verse from the Book of Joshua: “He circumcised Israel at the hill of the aralot" (Joshua 5:3). The term aralot here refers to foreskins. Rabbi Levi takes this phrase and runs with it. He cleverly suggests that the "hill of the aralot" is, quite literally, the place on the body that resembles a hill when covered by the foreskin – the uncircumcised penis.

So, what are we supposed to take away from this somewhat graphic, ancient debate? Is it just a historical curiosity, a glimpse into the minds of rabbis grappling with scripture?

I think it's more than that. At its heart, this passage invites us to consider the ways we define ourselves and others. Is it through physical markers like circumcision? Or something else entirely? What does it mean to belong? What does it mean to be different? And are those differences something to be celebrated, or something to divide us?

Perhaps, just perhaps, the rabbis of Vayikra Rabbah are reminding us that the real measure of a person lies not in the flesh, but in the heart. Now that's something to think about.