There are stories that seem to follow you. They come back around and each time you hear it or think of it the person you are now takes a different piece of the story to focus on.
For me, it’s my bar-mitzvah portion; lech lecha. (Go forth)
In the story Avram (he was not yet Abraham yet) is told by god:
“Go from your land, from your birthplace and from your father’s house, to the land which I will show you.”
In Judaism we are taught words matter, and that each word in the bible is important in its own right. I don’t quite buy that. It does feel like something an author might say as they were writing a story and needed to fill pages. But it can present a good exercise and pushes us to think about the words, and what is being said between the lines. In doing so, we bring ourselves to the words and take from it a meaning that changes over time as we experience the world and it influences who we are.
So, what lesson do we take here? Why say the same idea 3 times? And how has this sentence changed for me over the years?
This story is one of the only lessons I remember clearly from my time at Jewish day school. Mar (Mr.) Goldstein taught us this in grade 6. I can remember exactly which classroom and roughly where my desk was.
The lesson goes like this: God wants Avram to understand the magnitude of the action that he’s being asked to do. God starts with something big, “go from your land”.
‘Ok’, Avram thinks to himself ‘sure, whatever. It’s land. There’s lots of land. I can always find more land.’
‘From your birthplace.’ God continues. Closing the circle and upping the pressure.
‘Well, sure, ok,’ Avram thinks a bit more. ‘I have connections here, but it’s just where I was born, doesn’t mean it’s where I have to live. It’s just land.’
Finally, God gets to the big one, ‘From your father’s house.’
And there it is, it’s not about land, it’s about what that land is and represents. Actual, real, tangible connection. Family, life, people that keep you safe and love you. And god is asking you to walk away from all of it.
When I was younger that section of the story was what I focused on. As I look back upon my actions over the years, there’s no question that reading guided a lot of my thinking. Constantly working through the steps, trying to predict the ramifications of decisions. It felt natural to try and weigh through every option, to think about each piece you’re giving up.
The reason I say the story follows me is because this was the exact parsha (portion) that was being read the day before I got on a plane and moved to Winnipeg.
Go now from your land, from your birthplace, from your father’s house. Sure, I had long moved out of my parent’s house, but Toronto was that safe place. As I thought about the job, I thought about what I was giving up. My family and friends were all in and around Toronto. Some of my closest friends were getting into relationships, some had kids I liked to be around, some were pregnant with their first child. I would not be there for the birth of that kid. My grandmother was getting older, there was a chance she’d die while I wasn’t close by. I had a good home, friends, loved ones, I knew the streets and routes and stores.
But I left, not for the promised land as shown by a god, but because I wanted a new challenge.
“To the land which I will show you.” I never really thought much of the end of the sentence until more recently. What drives someone to give up safety and love?
In the biblical story, Avram is being asked to give up his life and connections for the unknown. God is asking for a leap of faith, to follow blindly to somewhere for a chance at something better…at something new.
The thing is that once you’ve accepted the first part, it doesn’t matter what the challenge is, you just want to jump in. The unknown isn’t easy, that’s the point of the first part of the sentence. It means losing things; giving up a portion of your life and safety. But pushing yourself can also lead to your promised land. That place that brings you happiness. That place that connects you to something bigger.
The story isn’t a fairy tale, you’re not guaranteed not to have hardship. You’re not guaranteed to even succeed. You’re guaranteed a chance at something better, a chance to push yourself and see what you can become.
Writing these blog posts isn’t easy for me. I love writing, I love talking about philosophy, but sharing it in this form is scary. I worry my words aren’t eloquent enough, or that I will get something wrong in a way that undermines what I’m writing. I worry…and I think through what could happen.
Starting big, getting smaller, getting more personal. But then I remember what’s on the other side.
Maybe I can be a better writer. Maybe I’ll focus my thoughts a little clearer. Maybe I will be someone new as I keep going and striving for it.
I don’t believe in gods, but I do believe we have a little voice that too often we silence. A voice pushing us to try something new, to get out of our comfort zone, but too often that scares us and we stay in our land.
As the biblical story progresses Avram becomes Abraham. A name change to signal a change in who he was. Perhaps, down the road, I’ll be someone else, perhaps a name change will be in order, but I’m not that interested in the name I’ll carry, but who I’ll be.
