Parshat Lech Lecha – Setting Out on the Path - The First Conscious Step of Faith — Leaving the Known

From Survival to Calling

The Torah turns a quiet but decisive corner with the words, “ וַיֹּאמֶר ה’ אֶל־אַבְרָם לֶךְ־לְךָ מֵאַרְצְךָ וּמִמּוֹלַדְתְּךָ וּמִבֵּית אָבִיךָ אֶל־הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר אַרְאֶךָּ ” — “And God said to Avram: Go forth from your land, from your birthplace, and from your father’s house, to the land that I will show you.” (Bereishit 12:1)

Until this moment, the human story has been one of endurance. Adam and Chava are exiled from Eden. Noach survives the flood. Humanity stumbles, endures, and begins again — but always in reaction, never in purpose. Here, for the first time, God’s words to a human being are not about survival, but becoming. The Torah’s first command is not “Keep” or “Build,” but “Go.”

Ramban teaches that this moment marks the beginning of Avraham’s nisayon — the first of ten spiritual tests through which his faith takes shape. Unlike Noach, who was given clear instructions — “Make for yourself an ark of gopher wood… enter the ark…” (Bereishit 6:14, 7:1) — Avraham is given no details, no map, no outcome. He is asked to trust movement itself.

Sforno explains that holiness is never static. “The Divine presence,” he writes, “rests only where there is progress.” To live close to God means to keep walking even when the destination is unseen. The call of Lech Lecha is therefore not a geographical relocation but a spiritual transformation — a shedding of identity formed by fear, habit, and comfort.

Every word of God’s command deepens the challenge:

“ מֵאַרְצְךָ ” — leave your familiar ground, the culture that shaped you.

“ מִמּוֹלַדְתְּךָ ” — leave the environment that defined you.

“ מִבֵּית אָבִיךָ ” — leave even the emotional inheritance that keeps you bound to the past.

Only then, “ אֶל הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר אַרְאֶךָ ” — to the land that I will show you. The land, says the Netziv, is not merely a place; it is a perception. The destination is revealed only after departure. Avraham must first loosen what has defined him in order to see what is possible.

Avraham’s journey is thus the Torah’s next stage of human growth — the move from divine initiative to human participation. Creation and flood were acts of God — He formed, He judged, He renewed. Now, God waits for humanity to respond, to take responsibility, to choose. In Avraham, the Torah introduces not the man who survives the storm, but the one who walks beyond it.

And here the Torah’s ancient story meets our own. Every one of us, in our own way, begins again at this same threshold — the moment we decide to stop merely surviving and start becoming. Like Avraham, we are called to leave the patterns that once protected us and to risk walking toward wholeness we cannot yet see. The world of Noach was preserved by divine compassion; the world of Avraham will be healed through human courage. And so begins the path of faith — not the safety of being carried, but the wholeness that comes from walking.

Healing, the Torah suggests, begins the moment we move.

The Journey Within — Lech Lecha

The words “Lech lecha” carry more than one meaning. Literally, they mean “Go for yourself,”  but the Hebrew also allows a deeper reading — “Go to yourself.” Rashi explains that God’s call to Avraham was “for your own benefit and for your own good” (לטובתך ולהנאתך) — not a test meant to break him, but a process meant to reveal him. Every step away from the familiar would bring him closer to his truest self.

The Zohar (I:77b) deepens this meaning: “Lech el atzmecha” — go toward your essence. Avraham’s physical departure — leaving his land, birthplace, and father’s house — mirrors the inner work of peeling back the layers that had covered his soul. To walk with God, he first had to walk back to himself.

The Torah emphasizes the simplicity of his obedience: “ וַיֵּלֶךְ אַבְרָם כַּאֲשֶׁר דִּבֶּר אֵלָיו ה’ ” — “And Avram went, as God had spoken to him.” (Bereishit 12:4) No discussion, no negotiation — just trust. The movement itself becomes the revelation. The Midrash (Bereishit Rabbah 39:9) imagines God saying: “Every step you take will uncover a new part of the land — and a new part of yourself.” Avraham’s geography becomes his psychology; the land he discovers mirrors the soul he rediscovers.

The Baal Shem Tov teaches that every true journey of faith begins with dislocation. We cannot awaken while clinging to the very patterns that keep us asleep. Growth demands leaving the false certainties that once kept us safe — the roles, narratives, and comforts that defined who we were.

And so, as Avraham journeys outward, he also journeys inward. Along the way he builds altars —“ וַיִּבֶן שָׁם מִזְבֵּחַ לַה’ הַנִּרְאֶה אֵלָיו.” — “And there he built an altar to the Lord who appeared to him.” (12:7)

Each altar is a moment of re-centering — a pause in the journey to remember who he is becoming. These are not monuments to conquest, but markers of connection — the moments when outer motion meets inner meaning.

Like Avraham, we heal not by escaping who we were, but by walking through it until something truer emerges. The journey of faith is the same as the journey of healing: both require leaving the familiar safety of what once held us together, and trusting that the path itself will reveal who we are meant to become.

Every generation must answer this same call. God still whispers Lech lecha into the quiet corners of our lives — when comfort hardens into complacency, when routine dulls wonder, when fear replaces faith. The question is not “Where are you going?” but “What must you leave behind?”

Sometimes what we leave is external — a place, a habit, a structure. Sometimes it is internal — an identity shaped by pain or a story that has outlived its truth. In both cases, the healing begins with the step itself.

Faith, then, is not an escape from the world, but a return to the self within it. The journey of Lech Lecha teaches that to find God, we must first become willing to walk toward the parts of ourselves we have long avoided — and to believe that even the unknown road can lead us home.

The Stages of Faith — Walking, Not Knowing

Faith in Lech Lecha is not born in a single moment of revelation but in the long road that follows. After hearing God’s call, the Torah describes Avraham’s response with quiet power: “ וַיֵּלֶךְ אַבְרָם כַּאֲשֶׁר דִּבֶּר אֵלָיו ה’ ” — “And Avram went as the Lord had spoken to him.” (Bereishit 12:4)

There is no map, no timetable, no reassurance. The command is simply to go. Faith begins here — not as certainty, but as willingness.

But the story does not stop at the first step. If the first stage of faith is willingness, the second is endurance — the long obedience that transforms belief into character. The Torah allows us to watch this evolution unfold: Avraham builds an altar in Shechem (12:7), calls out to God in Beit El (12:8), journeys toward the Negev (12:9), and even endures famine in Egypt (12:10). Each episode expands his capacity to trust, to adapt, and to keep walking when purpose is not yet visible.

By the time he returns to Beit El, the Torah notes: “ וַיִּקְרָא שָׁם אַבְרָם בְּשֵׁם ה’ ” — “And there Avram called again upon the name of the Lord.” (13:4) Something has shifted. The man who once responded to God’s voice now carries that voice within him. His faith is no longer reactive; it has become relational.

The Sefat Emet writes that emunah is not the feeling of security but the act of walking forward when security is gone. Halichah tamid — continual movement — is the heartbeat of spiritual life. Revelation, he says, is not a flash from heaven but the awareness that grows through integrity in motion. Each step taken in honesty becomes its own form of prayer.

We see this growth in Avraham’s moral choices. When strife arises between his shepherds and Lot’s, he does not cling to control. Instead, he says: “ הִפָּרֶד נָא מֵעָלָי… אִם הַשְּׂמֹאל וְאֵימִנָה.” — “Please separate from me… if you go left, I will go right.” (13:9)

Here faith matures into humility — the ability to release what one loves without fear of losing blessing. Avraham learns that spiritual strength is not domination but trust: the belief that peace itself is a form of divine protection.

Finally, God tells him: “ קוּם הִתְהַלֵּךְ בָּאָרֶץ לְאָרְכָּהּ וּלְרָחְבָּהּ.” — “Arise, walk through the land — its length and breadth — for I give it to you.” (13:17)

The reward for walking in faith is not arrival but expansiveness. Each act of trust widens Avraham’s inner world; his steps carve pathways of blessing across the earth. The one who once walked in uncertainty now walks in partnership.

The journey of Lech Lecha turns faith into motion, motion into relationship, and relationship into moral maturity. Through walking, Avraham not only discovers himself — he becomes the vessel through which blessing enters the world.

After the stillness of Noach’s ark, Avraham restores movement to the human story. He teaches that the path to healing is not built by knowing where we are going, but by continuing to walk, with courage and integrity, until faith becomes part of who we are.

Blessing and Responsibility — Becoming a Source

When God calls Avraham, the promise is not only personal: “ וַאֲבָרְכָה מְבָרְכֶיךָ… וֶהְיֵה בְּרָכָה.” — “And I will bless you…  and you shall be a blessing.” (Bereishit 12:2)

These are among the most revolutionary words in the Torah. For the first time, divine favor is not given as protection but as purpose. The blessing Avraham receives is not meant to remain with him — it is meant to pass through him.

The Ramban notes that Avraham’s mission is not individual reward but universal calling. His task is to carry blessing outward — to become the bridge through which divine goodness reaches the world. In Noach’s generation, the covenant was one of survival: God promised that the world would not again be destroyed. In Avraham’s time, that covenant evolves into one of mission: the world must now be transformed. “Never again” becomes “Go forth.”

The Chassidic masters teach that this shift marks a spiritual law: when a person begins walking toward their true calling, blessing begins to flow through them. Lech lecha is not only movement through space — it is movement through stagnation. The act of going, of choosing growth over comfort, opens the channels of divine flow. Healing that begins within naturally seeks expression beyond the self.

True wholeness is never private. The one who has walked through pain becomes the bridge for others to cross.

Avraham becomes the first human being to understand blessing not as possession but as responsibility. To be blessed is to become a source — to hold what is given in trust for the sake of others. The Midrash (Tanchuma, Lech Lecha 6) says that Avraham’s tent was open on all four sides, symbolizing a faith that never closes itself off. Wherever he went, life flourished around him; hospitality, justice, and kindness became his language of holiness.

Avraham’s home becomes the world’s first classroom in empathy — a place where presence itself was healing.

The Torah captures this beautifully: “ וַיַּעְתֵּק מִשָּׁם הָהָרָה… וַיִּבֶן שָׁם מִזְבֵּחַ לַה’ וַיִּקְרָא בְּשֵׁם ה’.” — “And he moved from there to the mountain… and there he built an altar to the Lord and called upon the name of the Lord.” (Bereishit 12:8)

Avraham’s movement through the land becomes a movement of sanctification. Every place he touches turns into a site of prayer and generosity.

The transition from Noach to Avraham is the Torah’s great moral leap. Noach preserved the world through righteousness; Avraham expands it through love. Noach kept the ark afloat; Avraham builds a home open to all directions.

To walk in Avraham’s path is to understand that faith that heals must also bless. The measure of faith is not how much we receive, but how much flows through us. The more we walk toward purpose, the more the world around us begins to heal — one step, one act of kindness, one open tent at a time.

The Tests Along the Way — Faith in Motion

Avraham’s journey begins with promise, but it does not unfold without struggle. Almost immediately after answering God’s call, he encounters famine, conflict, and danger: “ וַיְהִי רָעָב בָּאָרֶץ, וַיֵּרֶד אַבְרָם מִצְרַיְמָה.” — “And there was a famine in the land, and Avram went down to Egypt.” (Bereishit 12:10)

The Torah does not hide these difficulties; it sanctifies them. Every disruption becomes part of the journey itself — not proof of failure, but the terrain through which faith is formed.

The Rambam (Hilchot Teshuvah 2:2) teaches that true transformation requires the test of persistence — the ability to continue walking even when the way forward is unclear. Teshuvah, he writes, is not a single moment of return but a continual act of endurance. Avraham embodies this kind of steady faith. He does not wait for certainty; he keeps moving through hunger, exile, and fear, trusting that the same God who called him to go will walk beside him in the unknown.

Pirkei Avot (5:3) lists ten tests that Avraham endured, each refining his trust and expanding his heart. The Midrash connects these ten tests to the ten utterances with which the world was created — “And God said…” Each divine word brought the world into being; each human response of faith renews it. In this way, Avraham’s life becomes a second creation — the rebuilding of the moral world through human choice.

Through each test, Avraham learns not only to trust God, but to hold others more gently. His faith refines his compassion. The man who began by walking alone becomes the one who prays for strangers, pleads for Sodom, and shelters travelers beneath his tent.

We see this compassion joined with conviction after Avraham rescues Lot from captivity and refuses reward from the king of Sodom: “ הֲרִימֹתִי יָדִי אֶל ה’… אִם מִחוּט וְעַד שְׂרוֹךְ נַעַל.” — “I have lifted my hand to the Lord… that I will not take even a thread or a sandal strap.” (14:22–23)

Avraham’s strength is not in conquest but in integrity. He teaches that faith does not mean avoiding hardship — it means remaining whole inside it.

The Seforno notes that Avraham’s greatness lies not in miracles but in steadfastness. Holiness, he says, is not achieved through sudden revelation but through small, faithful steps taken over time. Avraham’s story is not that of a perfect man, but of a consistent one — a soul who keeps walking, rebuilding, and believing even when the results are not visible.

Through Avraham, the Torah redefines spiritual strength. It is not measured by power or success, but by endurance — the quiet courage to remain faithful when the promise feels distant. Creation began with divine speech; it continues through human perseverance.

To live with emunah — faith — is to walk like Avraham: to keep moving when the map has faded, trusting that every step through uncertainty is still part of the road home. And perhaps this is where faith becomes love — for it is only through staying, through walking with and for others, that endurance becomes relationship.

The Parenting Thread

Avraham’s tests are not only divine; they are profoundly human — none more so than the test of parenthood.

For parents, Lech Lecha is not only a story of faith — it is a story of letting go. Every child, at some point, must walk their own path — not in rebellion, but in becoming. The call of “ לֶךְ־לְךָ ” — “Go for yourself” — is not just God’s command to Avraham; it is the sacred whisper every parent must one day learn to say: Go. Become who you are meant to be.

The courage to release is one of the purest tests of love. It asks us to trust that what we have planted in closeness will continue to grow in freedom — to allow our children to step away from our shadow without leaving our hearts.

Avraham’s journey is not an escape from home but an emergence into purpose. He moves from son to father, from follower to leader, from recipient of blessing to its bearer. His leaving is not rejection — it is transformation. The Torah shows us that separation, when rooted in faith, is not a breaking but a birth.

The Midrash (Bereishit Rabbah 39:1) teaches that when God told Avraham to go, He was saying: “Separate yourself — not to distance, but to discover.” True love, the kind that endures, makes space for discovery. It holds tightly enough to give security, and gently enough to allow becoming.

We see this pattern later in Avraham’s life as well — when he must send Yishmael away (21:14) and, even more painfully, when he walks with Yitzchak toward Mount Moriah (22:6). In each case, love and faith intertwine in heartbreak and trust. The parent who once heard “Go forth” must one day pass that same call to the next generation.

For parents, this is both the ache and the privilege of raising a child: to guide them until they can walk, and then to bless their steps as they walk beyond us. The act of letting go is not the end of connection; it is the expansion of it — the moment our children begin to carry forward the faith and love we have given them.

Every time we release with love, we extend the covenant — transforming our own faith into another’s freedom.

In this sense, every generation must live its own Lech Lecha. Our children’s journeys are continuations of ours — different paths, same covenant. The first Lech Lecha began when God said “Go” to Avraham. It continues every time a parent says, with faith and tenderness, “Go — and I will still walk beside you.”

Closing Reflection – The Path Is Found by Walking

The Torah’s story of faith begins not with arrival, but with motion. After receiving God’s call, Avraham does not ask for guarantees or signs. He simply goes. “ וַיִּסַּע אַבְרָם הָלוֹךְ וְנָסוֹעַ הַנֶּגְבָּה ” — “And Avram journeyed on, continuing toward the south.” (Bereishit 12:9)

No miracles, no explanations — just movement. A life defined by journey rather than destination.

In Bereishit, God asked, “Ayeka — Where are you?” In Lech Lecha, the question deepens: “Will you go?”

The first question locates; the second transforms. Faith begins when we stop waiting for clarity and start walking toward it — when we allow healing to unfold not through control, but through movement.

The path of Lech Lecha teaches that revelation is not given in advance. It emerges beneath our feet as we walk. Each step forward becomes its own form of creation — not because we know where we’re headed, but because we trust that meaning will meet us along the way.

And then comes the promise: “ וַאֲבָרְכָה מְבָרְכֶיךָ… וֶהְיֵה בְּרָכָה.” — “I will bless those who bless you… and you shall be a blessing.” (Bereishit 12:2)

Avraham is not only promised blessing; he becomes the channel of it. His courage to walk opens the road for others.

Blessing, in the Torah’s vision, is never the end of the journey — it is the continuation through others.

That is the hidden teaching of Lech Lecha: the one who dares to walk the path of faith and healing does not walk for themselves alone. By choosing growth over comfort, they become a living invitation — a person through whom others find the courage to begin their own journey.

Faith, then, is not only personal endurance. It is shared becoming — the quiet miracle by which one healed soul helps another take its first step.

The promise is not waiting at the end of the road; it is born through the walking — and multiplies each time we help someone else rise and walk beside us.

Have a Wonderful Shabbos!!!

Yaakov Lazar

Faith begins with motion