From Ayeka to Lech Lecha: Finding Our True Selves

Discover how bechira shapes our connection to Hashem—a thought for Parashas Lech Lecha. Print and enjoy over Shabbos.

Nov 08, 2024

There is a famous Rashi at the beginning of Bereishis that quotes a Midrash: Rabbi Yitzchak asks why the Torah begins with the story of Creation rather than the first mitzvah given to Israel, "This month shall be unto you the first of the months"1. The Midrash answers that if the nations of the world accuse Israel of unjustly seizing the land of the seven nations of Canaan, Israel can respond: "All the earth belongs to HaKadosh Baruch Hu; He created it and gives it to whom He pleases. He first gave it to them, and then, by His will, gave it to us".2

I have a similar question. Chazal tell us3 that the world exists on a 6,000-year timespan: 2,000 years of Tohu v'Vohu (emptiness), 2,000 years of Torah, and 2,000 years of Mashiach. The beginning of the 2,000 years of Torah starts in this week’s parashah, when Avraham is 52 years old. Why does this period begin with Avraham and not with the giving of the Torah at Har Sinai?

The answer, while simple, is profoundly deep. Without Avraham Avinu, reaching Har Sinai would have been impossible. It was Avraham’s actions that set us on the path to Har Sinai. To understand this, let’s backtrack a bit in history to Adam HaRishon.

The Midrash teaches that when Adam was created, the Malachim mistook him for a divine being, wanting to recite Kedusha to him. Hashem then put Adam into a deep sleep to show them he was only human. Rav Yerucham Levovitz explains4 that Adam’s stature was so elevated that even the Malachim saw no imperfection in him. Yet, Adam was unique in having bechira—free choice—a gift that distinguished him from all other creations. This ability to choose gave him a sense of self that allowed him to serve Hashem wholeheartedly and in the most real way.

To live with true bechira and self-awareness, we must recognize the Elokus—the Godliness—within each of us, which is expressed in our individuation. Just as Adam embodied this divine spark, we too are endowed with it, as it says in Tehillim, "Vat'chasreihu me'at me'Elokim"—“You have made him a little less than God.”5 This Elokus is not something external or distant; it’s embedded within the unique essence of each person. The process of finding ourselves, of answering Ayeka, is rooted in this awareness: we are each a vessel of divinity, each possessing a unique role in Hashem's creation.6

Adam’s yearning to emulate Hashem and to be close to Him drove him to eat from the Etz HaDaas. Through that act, he lost his original bechira, but his desire for closeness remained. Sometimes, however, this yearning became misguided. The generation of the Dor HaPelaga, for instance, was not trying to rebel against Hashem; they sought to restore a unified sense of self, believing it would help them connect to Him. But their focus became overly centered on themselves as a collective, pushing Hashem out. Similarly, Rav Yerucham explains, Kayin’s sin stemmed from a holy yet misdirected jealousy—a desire to draw closer to Hashem.

This desire for closeness also appeared with Rebbe Akiva and his talmidim, who entered the Pardes7 with the hope of connecting deeply with Hashem. Only Rebbe Akiva emerged in peace. True bechira, as Adam embodied, means yearning for real connection with Hashem in a wholehearted and balanced way.

In contrast, servitude, or avdus, is the surrender of self-choice, where one’s own will is put aside for something greater. Avdus becomes embedded in a person’s very being, erasing personal identity. This was the curse Noach placed on Cham, and it was also the curse Adam received after eating from the Etz HaDaas. With that act, he lost his original sense of self, marking the beginning of the 2,000 years of Tohu.

Rav Kook explains in Orot HaKodesh8 that the deep, authentic essence of each person—and of the collective—can only be revealed when connected to holiness and purity. Humanity’s fall began with Adam, who lost touch with his true self by listening to the serpent. This estrangement led to a lack of self-awareness; when Hashem asked him, "Ayeka" (“Where are you?”), he couldn’t answer, for he had lost his real self. Educators and scholars, focusing only on the external, similarly lose sight of the authentic self, filling thirsty souls with superficial ideas while the self fades into obscurity. When there is no “I,” there is no true relationship, no “You.”

Our ultimate redemption, embodied in the spirit of Mashiach, is not external; it is as close as our own breath. We must seek Hashem out of wholehearted awe and a real love for our true self. By removing all foreign distractions and every trace of falsehood, we realize that Hashem brought us out of Egypt to be truly ours. Only by rediscovering our deepest “I” can we come to know Hashem fully.

Many people experience confusion, wondering what path will fulfill their potential. An inner voice often asks, “Who am I, really?” Rav Kook explains that this uncertainty arises from neglecting the inner self, which is meant to light up our lives. When we focus solely on outer appearances, we disconnect from our essence.

Rav Kook describes the world as existing on two levels: external and internal, visible and hidden. The outer level is immediately apparent, while the inner, concealed level is not visible or tangible. Each person has both a physical body and a spiritual essence—a soul, our true essence, while the body serves as its vessel. External reality, alone, lacks real meaning; a person may appear one way outwardly while feeling entirely different inside. The Torah cautions, “Do not follow after your heart and your eyes,” warning us not to judge by appearances alone. True understanding, Rav Kook teaches, always lies in the hidden, inner realm.

When we pursue only the external, we lose sight of our inner light, our essence. Even well-intentioned lives can fall into darkness when disconnected from this core.

Rav Kook writes elsewhere: “When one forgets the essence of the inner soul, when one diverts his mind from contemplating his inner life, everything becomes mixed and doubtful. The primary repentance, which immediately illuminates the darkness, is for a person to return to himself, to the root of his soul. In doing so, he returns to God, the Soul of all souls, and ascends ever higher in holiness and purity”9.

Rav Avraham Grodzynski explains10 that within avdus (servitude), there are two types. One is the servitude of Cham’s descendants, ingrained deeply within, allowing no room for growth. The other is the servitude of Shem’s descendants, which is a form of humility—a voluntary surrender of ego and self for another, a path to spiritual refinement. Cham’s servitude stifles, while Shem’s servitude fosters growth.

When Hashem told Avraham, "Lech Lecha," He was instructing him to respond to "Ayeka" by going deep within himself. Only by truly knowing himself could he make room for humility and for Hashem’s presence. When a person genuinely connects with their inner self, they’re freed from arrogance and coarseness. This deep sense of self brings a humility that honors the worth in everyone, leaving no room for superiority—only a real respect for each person’s unique existence.

It was from this strong sense of self that Avraham became the Ish Chesed. His kindness was not superficial or meant to gain favor; it came from deep within his own sense of self. This was real kindness. Chesed cannot emerge from a place of avdus (servitude); it must come from a place of ani (self).

I heard from my rebbe, Rav Gerzi, that this concept of individuation is embedded in the very way we relate to our forefathers in tefillah: Elokei Avraham, Elokei Yitzchak, Elokei Yaakov. Each of the Avos came to their own unique place of self, each finding a distinct connection to Hashem. In their individuation, they gave space to one another, allowing each to discover his own path to Hashem. Elokei Avraham represents Avraham’s journey and relationship with Hashem, Elokei Yitzchak reflects Yitzchak’s, and Elokei Yaakov honors Yaakov’s. They each honored their individuality within their Avodah, embodying the message of bechira and the importance of each soul’s unique contribution.

Avraham came to restore our lost sense of self, showing that before any evil entered the world, everything was inherently good. Hashem created Adam as Yashar. Rashi explains that yashar means "what is right in one’s own eyes"—like bringing an offering not out of obligation but out of a wholehearted desire to do so.11

Sefer Bereishis is called Sefer HaYashar because it reveals the real, original nature of humanity: a state of self-awareness where actions are chosen freely, not performed merely because one is commanded. Once we have this foundation, we are ready to journey toward Har Sinai.

When Avraham performed his acts of chesed, he showed his guests that his kindness came not from duty but from genuine desire. This inner drive is what makes such actions godly; it is the essence of the Torah. In contrast, Noach lacked this inner yearning; he followed Hashem’s instructions dutifully but without deep personal engagement. Because it did not come from within, he was unable to convey Hashem’s message effectively to his generation.12

Had we begun the 2,000 years of Torah directly at Har Sinai, without this process, the years of Tohu would have remained unrectified. We would have observed the Torah externally, not as an expression of our inner selves or from our own free choice.

Rav Nachman of Breslov writes13 that Avraham was Echad—alone: "This means that Avraham served God as if he were the only person in the world. He believed in his unique purpose, disregarding the ways of others who turned away from God or tried to hinder him—even those close to him, like his own father, who could have held him back. Avraham acted as if he alone existed, entirely focused on his service to Hashem." This strength came from his bechira, his sense of self.

Rav Tzadok of Lublin wrote, "Just as one believes in God, one must believe in himself".14 When he says "just as," he implies causality: belief in Hashem inspires belief in oneself. Believing in a Divine Creator who continually engages with creation means my existence, as it is, is Divinely willed.

The Bas Ayin wrote15 that Avraham was the first to recognize Hashem as Melech, the King of the world. A king is truly a king only over subjects who share a connection with him. When we yearn for closeness to Hashem from a grounded sense of self, we can truly call Him our King.

Rav Nachman continues: "Anyone who desires to serve Hashem genuinely can only succeed by adopting this mindset: to feel as though they alone are in the world, unaffected by others who might hinder them—whether it be a parent, spouse, children, or anyone else who may mock or discourage their path. They must embody the quality of 'Avraham was one,' seeing themselves as uniquely alone in the world for this purpose."

Avraham Avinu was told that his descendants would be enslaved in Mitzrayim, yet they would retain a strong sense of self, always knowing who they were. They would have the servitude of Shem’s descendants, using their suffering to rise higher spiritually.

Thus, from the beginning of the second set of 2,000 years, when Avraham was told "Lech Lecha," through the trials of Bnei Yisrael in Mitzrayim, until they reached Har Sinai, they were working toward the tikkun of Adam HaRishon’s sin.

Lech Lecha serves as the answer to Hashem’s question, Ayeka.

Now, we can receive the Torah with complete bechira. Our free choice is restored as we refine ourselves and become fully aware of who we are. This self-awareness, though it may be a painful process, is essential to achieve shleimus (wholeness). When we stood at Har Sinai, we obliterated evil from its root and achieved the tikkun. This is why Hashem begins the Ten Commandments with the word Anochi—"I am Hashem." We know this truth deep within, just as Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov recognized it from their own inner sense of self. Like them, we put aside all else, acknowledging Hashem as the Creator. The Anochi of Hashem aligned with the Anochi of Bnei Yisrael. They stood k’ish echad, united as one, echoing Avraham’s echad, solely focused on Hashem.

The remaining commandments flow from this foundation. "Do not serve other gods" means do not lose this alignment, for losing it weakens our bechira and our sense of self. Without this inner grounding, our connection to Hashem and to Eretz Yisrael diminishes, and we risk becoming focused on externals, leading to assimilation. But when our sense of self is restored, our connection to Hashem and Eretz Yisrael soars.

Similarly, the mitzvah to honor our parents or to keep Shabbos are actions we fulfill only through bechira. Honoring our parents connects us to our roots and reminds us of the values and legacy passed down to us, but it requires a conscious choice. An eved—a slave—cannot truly honor his parents, as his first loyalty must be to his master. As Malachi tells us, "Bein yechabed av, v’eved adonav"—“A son honors his father, and a slave his master.”16 In contrast, when we act with bechira, we honor our parents by acknowledging the individuality and legacy they instilled in us. Observing Shabbos, too, is a profound exercise of free will—it’s a weekly act of stepping away from the distractions of the world to recognize Hashem as the true Creator. Each of these mitzvos strengthens our sense of self and reinforces our bechira, affirming our alignment with Hashem.

In contrast, negative commandments, like the prohibition against jealousy, are intended to protect our bechira. Jealousy distracts and entangles us in comparisons, pulling us away from our inner purpose and diminishing our ability to make choices based on who we truly are. It erodes our focus on our unique path, leading us to chase after what others have rather than embracing what Hashem has set for us.

All the mitzvos serve as a guide to preserve and empower our bechira, keeping us from falling back into the confusion that Adam encountered. They anchor us in our true selves, ensuring that our choices bring us closer to Hashem and to the ultimate purpose for which we were created.

In the end, the answer to Ayeka—“Where are you?”—is Lech Lecha. To find ourselves, we must embark on a journey inward, recognizing the Elokus within and choosing each step with awareness and intention. Our bechira is our path to self-discovery and a unique, personal connection with Hashem. When we live with this consciousness, rooted in who we truly are, we fulfill the legacy of Avraham and Bnei Yisrael, each contributing our part, drawing ever closer to shleimus and the ultimate Geula.

From Ayeka to Lech Lecha: Finding Our True Selves

Discover how bechira shapes our connection to Hashem—a thought for Parashas Lech Lecha. Print and enjoy over Shabbos.

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