Lech Lecha

Lech Lecha, the divine command to Abraham in Genesis 12:1, is often translated as "Go forth." But the Hebrew is richer and much more personal: "Go to yourself." It’s not a command about geography; it's an instruction about identity. Fleetwood Mac’s iconic song “Go Your Own Way” is playing in my mind. As Abraham packed up to leave his home, his version of that music could have provided emotional support during that challenging time; it is a tune about a spiritual journey, a search for personal meaning, and a profound change in his relationship with the familiar and the mettle to make it so.

For Abraham, the instruction was clear: leave your land, your birthplace, and your father’s house and go "to the land that I will show you." God’s command is challenging because it cuts three deep ties that give us stability: place, origin, and family. This requires more than just faith; it demands radical hope and courage.

We all know the comfort of the known and its hold on us. It keeps us in unsatisfying jobs and thinking that limits our potential. It stops us from doing what’s right. Our human nature resists Abraham’s intentional process, as he walks away from everything he knew and watches it fade into the distance. That distance opens the door for self-doubt to sneak in, whispering, "Just turn around." Like the Israelites in the desert longing to go back to the slavery of Egypt, or like that child who decided to pack a lunch and “run away from home," only to return when the excitement turns into a dark, chilly evening. It’s natural for us to fall back into the comfort of the familiar.

The Israelite lament for the "fleshpots of Egypt" is the anti-Lech Lecha. It’s the powerful, relatable voice of our primal instinct choosing immediate security over the demanding, uncertain path toward spiritual and political freedom. It validates the immense internal struggle that Abraham must have faced. He left behind a civilization where he was settled; the Israelites yearned to return to slavery, just for the guarantee of a full belly.

This is why Abraham's journey serves as a blueprint for finding meaning. It demonstrates that true purpose often exists outside our comfort zone, but it requires a conscious choice to cut ties with that limiting comfort.

If you hear that still small voice, what comes next?

The call Abraham heard was not random but an affirmation of a journey Abraham had already initiated in his soul. 

According to a Midrash, Abraham recognized God by smashing the idols in his father’s shop. He was already a spiritual and moral dissenter, choosing a new relationship with truth before God spoke. The Reform Siddur Mishkan Tefillah (Shabbat Morning, p. 187) contains prose about the door that leads to wondrous opportunities—that door was unlocked from the inside, symbolizing the core values already within you. But it takes courage to pass through it.

How can we apply this to our own relationships and find meaning? The sage Maimonides offers an answer through his understanding of Teshuvah, often translated as repentance or "return."

Maimonides explains that Teshuvah involves changing one’s actions, reputation, or identity, and place (Hilchot Teshuvah, 2:4), echoing Lech Lecha. We are called throughout our lives to undertake this journey: to leave the "place" of our old habits, to abandon the "father's house" of self-defeating narratives, and to walk toward a new, improved self.

Our "land I will show you" is a spiritual place, not a physical one; it is about becoming who we are meant to be. The courage lies not in taking the first step, but in maintaining the commitment to keep moving forward even when the destination—a healthier relationship, a more meaningful career, a more integrated self—is still unclear.

Abraham was not forced; he had the free will to say no. However, he chose to listen not only to God's external voice but also to the internal voice of possibility. That voice is waiting for us, urging us to prioritize meaning over comfort and the potential of who we could become over who we are now. All we need to do is listen. 

Rabbi David Levin