Lech Lecha - You
To live a life of kindness, you must first focus on yourself.
In this week’s parsha, we are introduced to Avram, the forefather of the Jewish people, who would later be known as Avraham. Tradition teaches that Avram discovered God entirely on his own, reasoning that God must be infinite, the Creator of all, and thus free from any personal needs. From this, Avram concluded that everything God does is purely an act of chesed (loving-kindness). Seeking to emulate God, Avraham became an exemplar of chesed and spread this revolutionary idea of a compassionate, need-free Creator. He began a movement, inspiring others to embrace this unprecedented belief.
Yet, surprisingly, this positive portrayal of Abraham is scarcely present in the written Torah itself. There is only a brief reference to “hanefesh asher asu b’Charan” — the group he gathered in Charan, which ultimately did not take root. Even his nephew Lot, Abraham’s prized student, eventually left him, settling in Sodom, a place whose corrupt values stood in stark contrast to everything Abraham represented.
It’s also puzzling that when God first speaks to Avram in the Torah, there is no indication of why He chose him. God’s favor toward Avram seems arbitrary, much like His selection of Noah. Moreover, if we examine God’s wording closely, He appears to encourage Avram to act in a self-centered way, with little focus on chesed. The parsha opens with the command “Lech lecha” — “Go for yourself” — and, as Rashi explains, this means “for your pleasure and benefit” (“lihaanatcha u’litovatcha”). It’s as if God is urging Avram to pursue his own interests!
Additionally, the parsha seems structured to emphasize the material rewards that Avram will receive through his relationship with God. The focus is on God’s promises of wealth (“v’avarechecha”), fame (“va’agadla sh’mecha”), and descendants who will form a great nation (“v’e’eascha l’goy gadol”).
In a striking example early in the parsha, Avram gains wealth by instructing Sarai (later Sarah) to pose as his sister, allowing local leadership to pursue her. Only God’s intervention spares Sarah from their advances. Shockingly, as Rashi notes, Avram engages in this deception not merely to protect his life (“v’chayita nafshi biglaleich”) but primarily to gain wealth (“limaan yitav li baavureich”)!
In the second section, this supposed man of peace becomes famous after starting a world war to save his nephew, Lot, from captivity.
In the third section, Avraham is promised children, who will develop into a great nation. He seems to reveal a quite selfish nature when he questions God about why he needs another child after Hagar bears his first child. Lu Yishmael yicheh lifanecha/Why do I need children, I have Yishmael! God must remind him to think about Sarah: aval Sara ishticha yoledet l’cha ben/Your wife Sarah, who hasn’t had a child yet, must birth you a child.
Abraham’s journey seems to be marked by struggles with self-centered tendencies, even as he aspires to live a life defined by chesed (loving-kindness). I believe the Torah presents this unvarnished picture because it tells the truth; it doesn’t try to whitewash Abraham’s behavior. His struggle is universal and relatable, told to us openly, without any cover-up. By showing Abraham’s human side — his occasional self-focus as he strove to embody kindness — the Torah gives us a powerful and honest lesson in the challenge of balancing self-interest with the genuine desire to give.
Inherently, most of us desire to be good people. But behaving with chesed means giving to others, which can easily conflict with our own needs. Many people struggle with this balance, often defaulting to looking out for themselves and, at times, becoming selfish in the process. So, what’s the solution to this jarring dilemma?
Some try to resolve this by going to the opposite extreme, believing that chesed requires complete selflessness. However, such an approach can lead to self-destruction, as illustrated in the well-known story of The Giving Tree, where total giving without self-preservation eventually leaves one empty and alone. From conversations with psychologists, I’ve learned that a recurring issue people confront in therapy is having a parent who sacrificed their essential needs entirely. This kind of martyrdom doesn’t build healthy relationships; rather, it creates an unhealthy cycle of resentment and dependency.
The Torah doesn’t highlight Abraham’s chesed because chesed without a sense of self is incomplete and, at times, dangerous. Chesed without selfhood can lead to martyrdom, depleting the giver and ultimately harming both the giver and the receiver.
The Torah teaches us a vital lesson here: we cannot build a true relationship — a “we” — without first developing a strong, healthy sense of “me.” Giving isn’t simply about being a “good person”; it’s about forming meaningful connections with God and with those who are special to us. The purpose of Chesed is to create an “us” from two distinct individuals. Ignoring our own needs ironically can make giving more about ourselves, creating martyrdom rather than genuine kindness.
This is why, as Rashi in Parshat Kedoshim explains, the literal meaning of chesed (loving-kindness) can also imply cherpa (disgrace) when taken to an extreme. Without balance, kindness can become draining and self-destructive. Just as the FAA instructs us to secure our own oxygen masks before helping others, we must cultivate our own strength and sense of purpose to give effectively. “Lech lecha,” God’s instruction to Abraham, teaches us this principle: go for yourself, and give to others without sacrificing your own well-being. God’s message to Abraham, and the Torah’s message to us, is that self-preservation isn’t selfishness; it’s essential for genuine giving. Abraham needed to learn this balance as he laid the foundation of the Jewish people, and his journey serves as a crucial reminder for us all as we build and strengthen our relationships with loved ones and with God.
Eliezer Hirsch