Lech Lecha: Carried to the Land I Could Not See

לֶךְ לְךָ מֵאַרְצְךָ וּמִמּוֹלַדְתְּךָ וּמִבֵּית אָבִיךָ אֶל הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר אַרְאֶךָּ

“Go forth from your land, from your birthplace, and from your father’s house, to the land that I will show you.” (Genesis 12:1)

I know something of Abraham’s father’s house. As a child I lived in many “lands”: many homes, many moves, many new beginnings that never had the chance to take root. They were not lands I chose. They were paths I was placed on, directions decided by others, with no say of my own and no way to see where they led. My family did not accept me, and they abandoned me many times. Some things I had to leave behind. Others were never established at all. Like Abraham, I was sent toward a land I could not see.

The Midrash (Bereishit Rabbah 38:13) says Abraham’s father, Terach, was a maker of idols. Abraham grew up among people who were the opposite of who he was: a spiritual being who knew, deep inside, that there is only one God. Then God told him lech lecha, “go forth.” Chassidic teachers hear a second meaning in those words: “go to yourself.” God was not only sending Abraham away from his father’s house. He was sending him toward his own truest self.

I believe that is what my journey did for me, and perhaps what yours has done for you. Every leaving is also an arriving, one more step toward the person we were always meant to be. The roads that took so much from us may have been leading us, all along, home to ourselves.

I know what it is to be excluded, to stand outside a family that has already decided who belongs. I was not part of that establishment, and that made me different from everyone else in it. Perhaps that is why Abraham was treated so harshly in Ur Kasdim, the city in ancient Mesopotamia where he was born. A house built around idols cannot easily hold a child who will not bow to them.

My knowing came slowly, as it does for a child. But even before anyone taught me, I somehow knew right from wrong. What is right feels good and does no harm. What is wrong hurts. I believe that was the innocence God places in every soul before the world gets to it, and it was the first light my spirit had.

With no family structure around me, I saw what others didn’t see, or wouldn’t say. Being on the outside left me free to see differently. Maybe that is how Abraham’s heart was left open to a God no one else knew.

Still, I didn’t know where to look. When a child has been rejected, there is nowhere else to turn, because every other door seems to hold the same rejection. In a sense, I was blind. And yet I was never alone.

כִּי אָבִי וְאִמִּי עֲזָבוּנִי וַה׳ יַאַסְפֵנִי

“Though my father and mother have forsaken me, Hashem will gather me in.” (King David, Psalms 27:10)

Abraham was gathered in, too. He left Ur with nothing but a voice he trusted, and on that unknown road he learned that the One who called him was walking with him. I learned the same thing on mine.

My leaving was never a choice. It was being sent away, again and again, from homes that would not keep me. So what did all that leaving show me? That when I could not find my way to love, love found its way to me. The world is chaotic, but love lives in the spaces in between. I had to learn it the hard way. The love I was searching for outside of me was already within me, placed there by Hashem. And that love gave birth to the strength I needed to stand in this world, to trust Him, and to never give up. Love prevails. I am living proof.

To the land that I will show you

God did not tell Abraham where he was going. He only said, “to the land that I will show you.” Haven’t we all walked forward through the years thinking we knew where we were going, only to find the road turning beneath us? We make our plans, or we have no plan at all, and still life leads us somewhere we never expected. Yet underneath it all, God was there, showing us the land one step at a time. For me, as a child, there was never even a plan to lose.

When I look back on my childhood now, as the woman I am, I am comforted. I was being guided, perhaps by angels, perhaps by Hashem Himself, but all of it flows from the One Source, and I was always protected. I made it through, and not by my own control. A child that young has no control, yet here I am. As I grew, I came to know faith, the love of God, and the certainty that no matter where I was led, I would be safe. I would grow. I would be sustained. And through it all, I was. I was carried by hashgacha pratit, divine providence, even when I didn’t know it.

And I am still being carried. The fears have changed with the years, but they are strangely familiar. Who will care for me as I grow older? What will happen when the people I love are no longer beside me? Where will I call home? They are a grown woman’s questions, but beneath them is the same child, packing up again, unsure of the next door. Abraham was seventy-five when he heard lech lecha. The call to trust does not end with childhood. It comes in every season of life. The difference is that now I know who has been walking beside me all along. The God who carried that little girl through every move has not set me down. That knowing is my peace.

The palace of light

The Midrash opens its teaching on lech lecha with a verse from Psalms that could have been written for this journey:

שִׁמְעִי בַת וּרְאִי וְהַטִּי אָזְנֵךְ וְשִׁכְחִי עַמֵּךְ וּבֵית אָבִיךְ

“Listen, daughter, see, and incline your ear. Forget your people and your father’s house.” (Psalms 45:11)

Then Rabbi Yitzchak tells a parable:

אָמַר רַבִּי יִצְחָק מָשָׁל לְאֶחָד שֶׁהָיָה עוֹבֵר מִמָּקוֹם לְמָקוֹם, וְרָאָה בִּירָה אַחַת דּוֹלֶקֶת, אָמַר תֹּאמַר שֶׁהַבִּירָה הַזּוֹ בְּלֹא מַנְהִיג, הֵצִיץ עָלָיו בַּעַל הַבִּירָה, אָמַר לוֹ אֲנִי הוּא בַּעַל הַבִּירָה. כָּךְ לְפִי שֶׁהָיָה אָבִינוּ אַבְרָהָם אוֹמֵר תֹּאמַר שֶׁהָעוֹלָם הַזֶּה בְּלֹא מַנְהִיג, הֵצִיץ עָלָיו הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא וְאָמַר לוֹ אֲנִי הוּא בַּעַל הָעוֹלָם.

“This is analogous to one who was passing from place to place, and saw a building with a [candle] burning in it. He said: ‘Is it possible that this building has no one in charge of it?’ The owner of the building looked out at him and said: ‘I am the owner of the building.’ So, because Abraham our patriarch was saying: ‘Is it possible that this world is without someone in charge?’ The Holy One, blessed be He, looked at him and said to him: ‘I am the owner of the world.’” (Bereishit Rabbah 39:1)

Abraham went looking for the Owner of the world, and God’s answer turned him inward: lech lecha, go to yourself. The light he saw all around him was waiting to be found within.

What must the world have looked like to Abraham, lit up like that? Every sunrise spilling gold across the hills, every river catching the light, every tree reaching toward heaven, the whole of creation glowing with a Presence he could feel but not yet name. I think we have lost some of that awe to time. We walk past the morning sky, the wildflower, the ocean’s breath, as if they were ordinary. But nature is something to behold. It is a beautiful world, and it is still alight.

The Sefat Emet, quoting his grandfather the Chiddushei HaRim, teaches that doleket means not only “lit up” but “chasing after.” The whole world is chasing toward its Source. So what are we chasing after? Success, security, love, a place to belong? Perhaps underneath every one of those longings is the same one: the longing for God. If we knew what we were truly seeking, maybe we would recognize Him in everything we see.

Abraham saw the light and wanted to be part of it. That is the invitation to us too: to acknowledge the Light within you, within me, a Light no one and nothing can extinguish. And when we find it, it sends us back out with blessings to give: kindness, compassion, understanding, and a hand for anyone who needs one.

You will be a blessing

וֶהְיֵה בְּרָכָה

“And you will be a blessing.” (Genesis 12:2)

I find myself asking: how could God call Abraham a blessing before he had done anything at all? Surely something in his soul had already merited it. The Ramban asks the same question: why would God promise him so much without first telling us he was righteous? His answer is that Abraham had already lived his faith where no one could see. In Ur, the people mocked him, cursed him, and threw him into prison or the fiery furnace because he believed in one God. This story isn’t written in the Torah itself. It is preserved in the Midrash (Bereishit Rabbah 38:13), which tells how young Abraham smashed his father’s idols and King Nimrod cast him into the flames, and God saved him. But Hashem saw it all. Abraham’s blessing was not handed to a stranger. It was the fruit of a soul that stayed faithful through rejection.

Notice that God does not say “you are a blessing,” but “you will be a blessing.” The blessing was already planted in Abraham, but it would unfold on the road ahead. The same is true for us. What we have suffered is not the end of our story. Our blessing is still becoming.

Ur was my wasteland too. It was the place in my childhood where I met harm and rejection and was left again and again. Yet even there, something in me kept growing toward the light. Maybe each of us has an Ur, a place where the world was cruel and still could not uproot what God had planted in us.

And here is the comfort I most want to share: we are children of God, even when we don’t know it. Even when no one on earth claims us, He already has. The faith we kept when no one saw, the love we held on to when the world was cruel, are written above in Heaven. To know you are a blessing is to know that this love was given to you, and to let yourself receive it. Loving ourselves is not pride. It is agreeing with God about who we are. The hard part is keeping that love near and safe when the world rejects it. So believe in yourself as He believes in you, and hold fast to your bond with Him. There can be no doubt. That is your strength.

Count the stars

הַבֶּט נָא הַשָּׁמַיְמָה וּסְפֹר הַכּוֹכָבִים

“Look up at the sky and count the stars, if you can.” (Genesis 15:5)

What makes me look up is the serenity and beauty the heavens give us just by being there. Picture the night sky far from city lights: a deep velvet blue stretching from one end of the earth to the other, scattered with more stars than any eye could gather. Some burn steady and bright, some flicker as if they are breathing, and a soft river of light pours across the middle of it all. It has been there every night of our lives, above every home I ever left, and it was never once taken from me. How often we walk beneath it without lifting our eyes.

God told Abraham to count the stars. I believe the stars are souls shining from above, always shining, always giving off their beauty. So Abraham was looking at the souls, and the souls were looking back at him. This is our universal family.

For a moment, imagine with me. I can see Ariana. I can see my mom. I can see Ariana’s Papa. All of blessed memory. Maybe it is imagination, but imagination is how the heart sees what the eyes cannot. The bond we shared did not end. It simply moved up into the light, and we look at each other still, in a cosmic dance filled only with love and beauty. Who do you see when you look up?

וְהֶאֱמִן בַּה׳

“And he trusted in God.” (Genesis 15:6)

Like Abraham, I never knew where the road would lead, and I was carried there anyway. The land I could not see turned out not to be a place at all. It was the woman I was becoming, held in His love at every step, as each of us is.

Perhaps that is the lesson of lech lecha for all of us. Whatever roads we’ve been sent down, whatever we’ve chased, the journey comes down to one direction: go to yourself. Go inward, to the soul God placed in you, where Love has been waiting all along, and where Hashem is already there. And now the call that came to Abraham comes to each of us:

הִתְהַלֵּךְ לְפָנַי וֶהְיֵה תָמִים

“Walk before Me and be whole.” (Genesis 17:1)

Hebrew Words

Lech lecha: “go forth,” literally “go for yourself,” and in Chassidic teaching, “go to yourself”

Hashem: “the Name,” a reverent way of saying God

Hashgacha pratit: divine providence, God’s personal care for each person

Doleket: “lit up,” and also “chasing after”

Ur Kasdim: “Ur of the Chaldeans,” Abraham’s birthplace in ancient Mesopotamia

Torah: the Five Books of Moses, and more broadly all of Jewish teaching

Midrash: classic rabbinic teachings that draw out the deeper meaning of the Torah’s verses

Bereishit Rabbah: “Genesis Rabbah,” the oldest Midrash collection on the Book of Genesis, compiled in the Land of Israel around the 5th century

Chassidic: of the spiritual movement founded by the Baal Shem Tov

Tamim: “whole,” complete or wholehearted

About the Teachers

Rabbi Yitzchak was a sage of the Talmudic era in the Land of Israel, whose teachings are preserved in the Midrash.

The Ramban (Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman, also called Nachmanides, 1194 to 1270) was a great Spanish sage, physician, and Kabbalist. His Torah commentary joins plain meaning with mystical depth. Near the end of his life he moved to the Land of Israel.

The Sefat Emet (Rabbi Yehudah Aryeh Leib Alter of Ger, 1847 to 1905) led the Ger Chassidim in Poland. His Sefat Emet (“Language of Truth”) is a beloved collection of teachings on the inner point of God in every person and every moment.

The Chiddushei HaRim (Rabbi Yitzchak Meir Alter, 1799 to 1866), the Sefat Emet’s grandfather, founded the Ger dynasty and was known for his brilliance and fierce devotion to truth.

The Baal Shem Tov (Rabbi Israel ben Eliezer, about 1698 to 1760) founded the Chassidic movement in Ukraine. He taught that God’s presence fills every place and that sincere joy and prayer can bring anyone close to Him.

King David (about 1000 BCE) was the shepherd who became king of Israel. Tradition credits him with many of the Psalms, the Bible’s book of prayer and song.

Sources

Genesis 12:1 to 2, 15:5 to 6, 17:1

Psalms 27:10, 45:11

Bereishit Rabbah 38:13, Abraham and his father’s idols, and the fiery furnace

Bereishit Rabbah 39:1, the parable of the palace alight, translated in The Sefaria Midrash Rabbah (2022), on Sefaria

Ramban on Genesis 12:2, translated by Charles B. Chavel, on Sefaria

Sefat Emet, Lech Lecha 5632, on Sefaria

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