The Torah contains many subtle literary allusions which demand the reader’s attention. One such example is at the beginning of the Akeidah, the binding of Isaac. A two-word phrase, lech lecha, is used when God says to Abraham “Go to the land of Moriah” and offer Isaac as a sacrifice. This same phrase is found only one other time in the Tanakh, at the beginning of Abraham’s journey, when he is told lech lecha, “go forth from your native land,” to journey to the land of Israel and build a great nation.
The juxtaposition between these two passages is perplexing. At the initial lech lecha, Abraham is promised a glorious destiny; if anything, this is a moment of joy. On the other hand, the Akeidah is agonizing; God is asking Abraham to sacrifice his beloved son Isaac and ruin his own legacy. The two lech lechas are very different: one is a lech lecha of blessing, the other a lech lecha of bitterness. What could be the meaning of this connection?
The Yalkut Shimoni offers the view that both of these events are actually tests of Abraham’s faith. The Mishna says that Abraham’s faith was tested ten times; and the Yalkut Shimoni explains that Abraham’s leaving home is the first test, and the Akeidah is the tenth test. According to this view, the two lech lechas serve as bookends, delineating the first and last of Abraham’s tests.
This too requires further thought. It seems wrong to consider the initial lech lecha to be a test. Yes, in order to leave home, Abraham had to have strong faith in God’s promises. But Abraham is told that when he arrives in his future homeland, his descendants will build a great and famous nation. This isn’t a difficult ask. Every day people move to new cities to advance in their careers; there are many nomads in pursuit of greater success. The first lech lecha doesn’t seem like much of a test at all.
I think the message is the following: without the second lech lecha, the first lech lecha is impossible. At the Akeidah, Abraham shows an unwavering faith, even when it seems absurd; he moves forward with courage and determination. Abraham shows himself to be a person who will meet every challenge and transcend the most difficult of circumstances.
True tests are the foundation of personal growth. Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch notes that the Hebrew word for a test, nisayon, is the same as the Hebrew word for raising up (nissa,) because a test builds one’s character; the bitterness of a challenging time is itself the silver lining that carries the blessing of courage and determination.
In order to pursue their destiny, his descendants will need that same faith and courage that Abraham exhibited at the Akeidah. In order to receive the blessings of a great future, the Jews will need to pass the test, time and again.
In other words, the first lech lecha is impossible to achieve without the second lech lecha.
When Abraham is first told to journey to his homeland and build a nation, he may not have been aware of how difficult that ultimately would actually be; it is only at the final test that the difficulty of that original journey becomes apparent. Then we realize that even the first lech lecha is a test. A destiny that will stretch for thousands of years is going to require a lot of determination.
During the 2,000 years of exile, Jews had to rely on their character to survive. Rabbi Azriel Hildesheimer, at the opening of the Berlin Rabbinical Seminary in 1873, quoted a phrase from the Roman orator Cicero: “Omnia mea mecum porto,” “I am carrying all my things with me.” This means that what is inside the person, their intellect and character, is far more valuable than anything else they may possess. Hildesheimer connected this phrase to a Talmudic passage that says “Blessing rests only on a thing which is hidden from sight.” Rabbi Hildesheimer explains that “the only blessing is that which is invisible, that is, of the spirit and the idea,” is significant; and that the lesson of Jewish history is that “the scorned, sold and mortgaged Jewish servant, who has been driven out at the whim of others, was continuously reminded, again and again, that his only true belonging was that which he carried with him constantly, which no one could separate him from.”.
For much of exile, Jews survived because they knew that what mattered most was their own character. They had low expectations of the world and high expectations of themselves. The old-fashioned Jew of exile carried within themselves exceptional strength, one borne from a lifetime of tests, trials, and tribulations.
For a while, many assumed the old-fashioned Jew was a thing of the past. In the last 200 years, two Jewish dreams came true, or so it appeared. We dreamt of acceptance, and it happened. Jews became part of the mainstream of Western countries and achieved exceptional success; they got into the best universities and held positions of power.
We dreamt of a Jewish state, and it happened. The State of Israel meant that every Jew could now find refuge, and the Jewish people were now a nation like all other nations. Seemingly overnight, Israel blossomed into a successful democracy with a strong army and a powerful economy.
Jews were no longer living in a time of tests.
Three weeks ago, both of those dreams dimmed. Israel was subjected to one of the greatest setbacks in its history, and her leadership was caught unprepared. In the country that is meant to be the Jewish safe haven the most vicious pogrom of the last 78 years occurred. On the international stage, Israel became the Jew among the nations, the focus of vitriolic attacks.
At the same time we learned that antisemitism runs rampant right here, in the goldene medinah; and not just at the hands of street thugs. Actually, the roots of this new surge of antisemitism can be traced to elite universities and institutions, where learned professors have recycled old tropes, and once again the Jews are the scapegoat for all of the world’s ills.
Once again, we have learned a lesson the old-fashioned Jew took for granted: we will need to pass the test ourselves. One does not receive a state on the silver platter, not then, not now. In every generation, Jews will have to fight for their survival. Jewish destiny is never a given.
What has inspired me at this challenging time is how quickly the spirit of the old-fashioned Jew has come back. The leadership of Israel has failed, but the grassroots are carrying the country. It seems like every person who had ever served in the Israeli army reported for duty; the army had a 180% response to the call-up, which sounds like a statistical impossibility. Everyone has been volunteering, supporting, and helping each other. Around the world, Jews have been working non-stop to strengthen the Jewish state. We are stepping up to meet the challenge.
When I visited Israel last week, I met with two Rabbis, one whose son was killed in battle, and the other her son is among the missing. When I spoke to both of them, they expressed their absolute determination to keep going and ensure that the future is better than the present.
I marvel at these rabbis’ inner strength. But their remarkable spirit that has been a part of the Jewish people, since the Akeidah. We have always pursued our destiny, no matter what.
And we can be proud to say that right now we are passing the test once again.
Rabbi Chaim Steinmetz is the Senior Rabbi of Congregation Kehilath Jeshurun in New York.