Eliezer’s Mission: Lessons in Agency, Kindness, and Unity

The Torah dedicates an entire, unusually detailed chapter — Genesis 24, the longest in Sefer Bereishit — to the story of Eliezer, Avraham’s servant, who travels to find a wife for Yitzchak.  On the surface, the story could have been told in a single verse:

“Avraham sent his servant to Aram to bring back a wife for Yitzchak.”

 Why, then, does the Torah recount every nuance — Eliezer’s prayer, Rivka’s act of kindness, the gifts, the dialogue with her family? Our member Rabbi Paul Bloom explains.

Clearly, this narrative carries profound lessons, not only about the formation of the Jewish people but also about our own identity and mission as servants of a higher calling. Three central insights emerge from Eliezer’s journey — each deeply relevant to our time.

The Power of the Messenger

Remarkably, the Torah never once refers to Eliezer by name in this entire chapter. He is always called “Eved Avraham” — the servant of Avraham.  Why? Because Eliezer succeeds in doing something rare and extraordinary: he completely erases his ego. His personal opinions, ambitions, and emotions vanish; only the mission remains.

When Eliezer sees himself not as an independent actor but as the shaliach — the faithful agent — of Avraham, his abilities become limitless. As long as he operates as an individual, he is constrained by human limitations. But as the extension of a great man, representing Avraham’s vision and faith, he can accomplish miracles. Indeed, his mission was humanly impossible: to travel to an unknown land, find an unknown woman, persuade her family to let her go willingly, and bring her back to marry Yitzchak. Such a task could succeed only through divine assistance — and that assistance was available precisely because Eliezer saw himself as a shaliach shel Avraham, not as Eliezer the man. This principle — koach ha’sheliach, the power of the agent — continues to shape Jewish life.

 Chabad emissaries across the world embody it. Ask any shaliach what his role is, and he won’t say, “I’m the rabbi of this city.” He’ll say, “I am the Rebbe’s shaliach.” By defining himself as a representative of a higher mission, his strength multiplies a thousandfold. We see the same principle in the soldiers of the Israel Defense Forces today.  The moment a young man or woman dons the uniform of the IDF, they are no longer acting as private individuals. They become sheluchei Am Yisrael — emissaries of the Jewish people — defending our nation against forces of darkness and destruction. Their strength, courage, and miracles flow from that consciousness: I am fighting not for myself, but for Klal Yisrael and for Hashem. And just as Eliezer’s success was a divine partnership, so too we pray that Hashem continues to protect His shluchei Yisrael, bringing them home safely and triumphantly.

The Test of Chesed: What Defines the Future of Israel

Eliezer’s test for Rivka is simple and profound. He does not ask about lineage, beauty, or intellect. He asks for water.  And when Rivka not only draws water for him but also offers to water his camels — a backbreaking act of kindness — he knows instantly that she is the one.

The entire future of the Jewish people, he understands, must rest on chesed — selfless generosity, sensitivity, and care for others.  Rivka’s greatness lies not only in what she gives, but in the eagerness and abundance with which she gives. That trait — the impulse to help, to see the needs of others before one’s own — becomes a defining characteristic of Am Yisrael.

On a deeper, mystical level, our sages explain that Yitzchak represents gevurah — strength, discipline, and exactness — while Rivka represents chesed, boundless kindness.  Only through their union can the Jewish people come into being, for our destiny depends on the synthesis of these two forces: justice tempered by compassion, strength guided by love.

The Symbolism of the Gifts: Unity and Integration

When Eliezer meets Rivka, he gives her jewelry — a golden ring weighing a beka, and two bracelets weighing ten gold shekels.  Why does the Torah record such details? Rashi, quoting Bereishit Rabbah, explains that each item carries symbolic meaning. The beka alludes to the machatzit ha’shekel — the half-shekel that every Jew gave to the Mishkan and later to the Beit HaMikdash. That contribution represented the unity of the nation: every Jew, regardless of wealth or status, was equal in this offering.  Through the half-shekel, every individual became part of the communal sacrifices, connecting personally to the spiritual life of the nation.

We see the same spirit of unity today. In Israel, people who only recently were divided by politics or ideology now stand shoulder to shoulder — comforting the bereaved, supporting soldiers, baking challot for Shabbat with notes of love and prayer, organizing care packages, and praying together for victory and protection.  This achdut, this profound sense of belonging to one another, is the living echo of the beka mishkalah — each person contributing their part to the wholeness of Am Yisrael.

The two bracelets, says Rashi, represent the Shenei Luchot HaBrit — the two Tablets of the Covenant.  Why two? Because they symbolize the two dimensions of Torah: the commandments between man and God, and those between man and man.  Eliezer was teaching Rivka — and all of us — that chesed alone is not enough. True righteousness requires both devotion to God and sensitivity to people.
 Only when the two tablets — faith and morality — are bound together does Jewish life achieve its full strength and beauty.

The Enduring Message

Eliezer’s story is not just about the origins of our people; it is a mirror for our own times.
 We, too, live in days of divine mission. Every Jew is called to be a shaliach — an agent of something far greater than themselves.  Whether serving in the army, volunteering, praying, teaching, or comforting — each of us, when we act as part of Am Yisrael and in the name of Hashem, draws on a reservoir of strength beyond imagination.

Eliezer’s humility, Rivka’s kindness, and the symbols of unity and Torah that bind them — together form the foundation of who we are.  May we, like them, fulfill our missions faithfully, act with boundless chesed, and remain forever united as one people, guided by the twin lights of Torah and love.

“Yevarech Hashem et amo ba’shalom — May Hashem bless His people with peace.”

Rising After the Fall -- Avraham’s Model for Resilience: Chayei Sarah 5786

How do we raise ourselves up after loss—not merely to survive, but to rebuild life with meaning? It is a question that runs through the human story. There are times when events—personal or national—unsettle our sense of certainty. Eventually, routine returns; we go back to work, to family, to community. Yet the deeper challenge remains: How do we move forward with faith, purpose, and hope?

Sefer Bereishit offers several models of recovery. Noach survives the Flood but cannot rebuild; from an ish tzadik he becomes an ish ha’adamah, a man of the earth, weighed down by the destruction he has seen. Lot, too, emerges from catastrophe only to lose his moral bearings. Both are tragic figures—survivors who could not begin again.

Avraham Avinu shows another way.

At the start of Parshat Chayei Sarah, Avraham returns from the Akeidah only to face another heartbreak: the death of Sarah. The Midrash, quoted by Rashi, links the two—upon hearing of the Akeidah, Sarah’s soul departs. Avraham thus faces a double trauma: the near loss of his son and the actual loss of his wife.

And yet the emotional blow is only part of the picture. As Avraham nears the end of his life, God’s great promises still seem unfulfilled. He had been promised both a land and a nation—yet he owns no land, and his entire future rests on one son, Yitzchak, who is still unmarried. The divine vision appears to have stalled, the covenant incomplete. At such a moment, many would have given up. They would have cried out: What was it all for?

But Avraham responds differently. As Rabbi Sacks zt”l (whose fifth yahrtzeit fell this week) observed, Avraham understood that God’s promises are not fulfilled by waiting but by acting. He does not sit back in despair or passive faith. Instead, he takes initiative—buying a burial cave in Chevron, the first tangible foothold in the Promised Land, and finding a wife for Yitzchak, ensuring the continuity of the next generation. Through quiet, determined deeds, Avraham transforms faith into action and promise into reality.

Even the Torah’s small details reflect his inner strength. The word livkotah—“to weep for her”—is written with a small kaf, hinting that Avraham mourns, but not excessively. He grieves deeply, yet he does not allow sorrow to paralyze him.

Avraham’s greatness lies in this balance—the ability to weep and to act, to accept loss yet still believe in the future. His story reminds us that faith is not passive trust but courageous partnership—a readiness to build, to hope, and to help bring God’s promises to life in our own time. May we too continue that legacy and play our part in shaping the ongoing story of Am Yisrael.

Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi Joel Kenigsberg

Lavan the Deceiver – Nature or Nurture?

Was Lavan always bad, or did something happen in his life to turn him to the side of evil?  Our member Rabbi Steven Ettinger speculates: 

Lavan, brother of Rivka and father to Rachel and Leah, is certainly one of the more controversial biblical figures. In one respect, he is our uncle and forefather. His sister Rivka directed Yaakov to seek a wife from his home, so she knew he would stay there for an undetermined duration while Eisav’s wrath cooled—and would know he would influence and mentor him. However, we also know that Lavan cheated Yaakov tens of times. Lavan’s most egregious swindle was to switch Leah for Rachel—an action that resulted in Yaakov’s indentured servitude for an additional seven years. Lavan was considered such a threat to the very existence of our people that the Torah describes him as a person that wanted to destroy our father (Devarim 26:5). He is consistently referred to as “Lavan ha’Arami” (“Lavan the deceiver”).

If this is truly who he was, if this was his character, how could Rivka have sent Yaakov to him? Perhaps, this was not his nature. Maybe some event changed him, an experience which taught him that the way to advance or the way to protect himself and to get what is his was through deceit and misdirection. Ironically, this turning point, this critical time in his development, may have been his interaction with the house of his sister’s new family.  In other words, Lavan learned it from the house of Avraham (via his servant)—and Rivka may have been totally unaware of this.

Let us pay careful attention to Eliezer’s interactions with Rivka and her family—with close attention to Lavan:

1. Eliezer sets out on the journey laden with the ten of the finest camels and the entire (and considerable) wealth of Avraham’s house (Bereishit 24:10).

2. He speaks to Hashem in order to set up a test to find the right woman for Yitzchak (24:12-14)

3. Rivka enters and passes the test (24:15-21)

4. Eliezer gives her expensive gold jewelry (24:22).

She reveals who her family is and brings him home. Lavan then comes out to meet Eliezer.

5. Lavan comes out of the house, sees the jewelry and then is enthusiastically and generously hospitable (24:30-32).

Eliezer explains who he is, why he is there, recounts the story (including the sign from Hashem) and asks that he bring Rivka back as a wife for his master’s son.

6. Betuel and Lavan agree (24:51). Eliezer offers nothing and they receive nothing.

7. Despite arriving with the camels and a significant display of wealth, Eliezer gives Rivka gold and silver vessels and garments, but only migdanot (presents) to Betuel and Lavan (24:53). Soo they are soon on their way back to the house of Avraham on the camels (in fact, Rivka even departed with her maid) (24:61).

Bottom line: Eliezer came, he showed off immense wealth, he perhaps implied that they would profit if they agreed to allow him to take Rivka, they agreed – and he took the girl (who actually received all of the fine gold jewelry which presumably she would take with her) and the wealth. Betuel and Lavan got played!

Lavan must have been furious! He was conned. What’s more, he was conned by the virtuous Avraham, he was conned by a wealthy man, and he was conned by family (Sarah was Betuel’s aunt). He was taught lessons that he carried through his life. Is there any wonder he became “Lavan the deceiver”?

Now fast forward many years. Yaakov arrives in Aram and he wants a wife! For Lavan the irony must be delicious. What could be better?  His sister—his rich sister and now part of the family who deceived him so many years earlier—has delivered her precious son to his doorstep. Oh, are they going to pay! They are going to pay top dollar!

The story that plays out is almost a mirror image of ours. Yaakov is by a well. He meets Rachel there.  He discovers that she is from the very family he seeks. She brings him home to meet the family. Lavan gives him the same enthusiastic and generous welcome.  Except, there is one big difference. Yaakov has no camels, no obvious wealth.

Lavan hugs/frisks him—but he feels no hidden cash or jewels.  He kisses him—but there’s nothing concealed in his mouth. Lavan will not be thwarted, his strategy must shift. He knows Yaakov is there to marry and wants to marry Rachel. Lavan is going to make him pay, with everything he is and everything he has. The deceiver emerges, the revenge trap is sprung.  “Shall you work for me for free? Tell me what you want!” (29:16). Yaakov is drawn in and is hung out to dry by his own initiative – working seven years for Rachel (29:18), which turns to fourteen years after the deception. Fundamentally, Yaakov pays for the fact that Eliezer/Avraham themselves might be said to have acted deceitfully.

Perhaps Lavan was orignally a good person, perhaps not. Perhaps Eliezer was following the correct social norms, perhaps not. It is difficult to ignore the parallels between the two stories. In parashat Chayei Sarah the family seems to have expectations of significant wealth—gold, silver, camels—as payment. But they receive nothing. This might justifiably engender bad feelings and give rise to a grudge.  In Parashat Vayetze, Lavan clearly expects payment and makes sure to extract it.

Lavan could have been compassionate, he did not have to treat Yaakov so harshly. He did not have to take advantage of his passion and his situation. This may be why Lavan is cast in such a negative light.  However, it might not entirely be his fault. Perhaps it was not his nature. Rather, it was a learned behavior.

Avraham’s Prayer—Seeing the Spark in Sodom: Vayeira 5786

 This piece by Rabbi Joel Kenigsberg was first published in this week's Hanassi Highlights.

When God reveals to Avraham His plan to destroy the city of Sodom, Avraham does the unthinkable: he argues back. We are told “Vayigash Avraham”—“Avraham stepped forward”—a term elsewhere used to describe battle. Avraham, the man of faith, goes to war with Heaven itself.

But why? Why fight for Sodom, a city whose cruelty and corruption were beyond repair?

At first glance, Avraham seems to be pleading for the righteous minority. “Will You destroy the righteous with the wicked?” he asks. Yet as the dialogue unfolds, something deeper emerges. Avraham doesn’t just ask that the righteous be spared; he pleads for the entire city to be saved - “Perhaps there are fifty righteous people within the city; would You not forgive the place for their sake?”

This is not a technical argument about justice. It’s a vision of hope. Avraham sees potential not only in the innocent few but even in the wicked many. As the Taz notes, Avraham didn’t need to argue for the survival of the righteous—Hashem would never punish them unjustly. What Avraham was really praying for was Sodom’s redemption, not its survival alone.

To understand this, it’s helpful to contrast Avraham’s approach with that of Noach. Chazal fault Noach for failing to pray for his generation. Rashi quotes the statement of our Sages that Noach was “mikatnei Emunah”—lacking in faith. The Kedushat HaLevi explains that Noach’s flaw was not a lack of faith in God but really a lack of faith in himself and, by extension, in others. Noach didn’t believe he could change his world. Avraham, by contrast, had faith on three levels: in God, in himself, and in humanity.

Sodom was everything Avraham opposed—a society that outlawed kindness and punished compassion. Yet he still believed that even in Sodom there might be a spark of holiness waiting to be rekindled. Ultimately, God revealed that it was too late for the inhabitants of Sodom, but Avraham’s struggle stands as a testament to his faith in human potential.

Avraham taught us that to believe in others is to help them believe in themselves. That belief—seeing people not as they are but as they could be—remains his legacy. To live as children of Avraham is to look at others with eyes of possibility - to see the Divine spark even in those who seem distant, and to help bring it to light.

Shabbat Shalom

Rabbi Joel Kenigsberg

Together: The Test of Our Generation

We are living through exceptional times—times that future generations will one day study as a turning point in Jewish history. We are witnessing events that pierce the heart and stir the soul. Rabbi Paul Bloom explains.

On one hand, we are surrounded by heartbreak and horror—unspeakable atrocities committed against Am Yisrael, acts that defy comprehension. The suffering of individuals, families, and communities has reached depths that words cannot capture. And yet, within this darkness, something extraordinary has emerged: the radiant light of unity. Across Israel and throughout the Jewish world, Am Yisrael has come together in a spirit of generosity, volunteering, and love unlike anything many of us have ever witnessed. The strength of this unity—the achdut of the Jewish people—has become a wellspring of hope and resilience for our nation.

Three Words That Define Our Strength

This unity has deep roots. It is embedded in three words that appear in the Torah’s description of the supreme test of faith in Jewish history—the Akeidat Yitzchak, the Binding of Isaac. What are these words? The Torah tells us: “Vayelchu sheneihem yachdav”—And the two of them went together (Bereishit 22:6). Father and son, Avraham and Yitzchak, walking side by side toward the greatest test of their lives. Each knew that something incomprehensible was about to occur, yet they went together—united in faith, in purpose, and in an eternal bond.

The Akeidah was a test of emunah that stretched the limits of human endurance. Yet, as the Zohar teaches, it was not only Avraham who was tested—it was also Yitzchak. And in some ways, the test for Yitzchak was even greater. Avraham heard directly the Devar Hashem—the clear word of God. As a prophet, he had absolute certainty of what he was commanded to do. Yitzchak, however, did not. He heard the command only through his father. His faith was not just in God—but in his father, in mesorah, in the unbroken chain of transmission that defines our people. That, says the Zohar, was the moment when the foundations of Torah sheb’al Peh, the Oral Torah, were laid. For Yitzchak’s trust in his father mirrors our trust in the sages, in the chain of mesorah through which we hear the word of God echoed across generations. “Vayelchu sheneihem yachdav”—they went together: faith transmitted, unity forged, generations bound in all eternity.

A Covenant Misplaced

But the Akeidah has another dimension, one that carries a painful contemporary relevance. The Torah introduces the episode with the words, “Achar hadevarim ha’eileh”—“After these things” (Bereishit 22:1).   After which things? The Midrash and classic commentaries, including the Rashbam and the Ralbag, explain that the Akeidah followed a significant episode—Avraham’s covenant with Avimelech, the Philistine king.

Avimelech ruled over Eretz Pelishtim, the coastal strip of the Land of Israel—what we know today as the Gaza region. Avraham entered into a covenant with him, promising peaceful coexistence and effectively conceding part of the land of Israel. But, says the Rashbam, this was a mistake. The land had been promised to Avraham’s descendants by God Himself. It was not Avraham’s to give away, even as a gesture of diplomacy or goodwill.

The Midrash Tanchuma teaches that as a result, Avraham’s descendants suffered for generations. When Yehoshua later entered the Land of Israel, he was unable to conquer the territory of Eretz Pelishtim—Ashdod, Ashkelon, Ekron, and Gaza—because of that covenant. It remained unconquered for centuries until the days of King David.

In this light, the Akeidah was not only a test of faith—it was also a form of atonement, a painful consequence of Avraham’s earlier misjudgment. He had trusted in a political covenant rather than in the eternal covenant of God.

A Lesson for Our Generation

We, too, have witnessed the tragic results of yielding parts of our land in pursuit of peace. The withdrawal from Gush Katif and the Gaza Strip was done with hopes of security and coexistence. Yet the bitter reality that has unfolded since then echoes the words of our sages: Eretz Yisrael cannot be secured through covenants with those who deny its divine promise. The lesson of the Akeidah is clear. The future of Am Yisrael does not depend on treaties or fences—it depends on faith, on courage, and on unity.

Our Test: Going Together

Just as Avraham and Yitzchak faced their supreme trial “together”, so too must we face ours. The unprecedented unity we witnessed over the past two years—families opening their homes to evacuees, soldiers risking their lives for their brothers, Jews around the world giving, praying, and standing with Israel—is the modern echo of “Vayelchu sheneihem yachdav.” Through our shared acts of kindness, our tefillot, our mitzvot, and our collective resolve, we are weaving the spiritual armor that protects Am Yisrael. Every mitzvah, every gesture of solidarity, every prayer for our soldiers, for those held hostage and their families builds unseen walls of protection—malachim born from unity and faith.

May the zechut of our togetherness—our faith and our unity—bring safety to our soldiers and comfort to the bereaved. And may the light of “Vayelchu sheneihem yachdav” continue to guide Am Yisrael toward redemption—together.

Are we Listening?

God gave the message. Avram heard and responded positively. But are we listening as attentively as our illustrious forebear?  Rabbi Paul Bloom explains.

The central theme of this week’s Torah portion, Lech Lecha, is the command for Avram to leave his homeland and journey to Eretz Yisrael, the land that Hashem promised to show him. The words "לךְ־לְךָ מֵאַרְצְךָ וּמִמּוֹלַדְתְּךָ וּמִבֵּית אָבִיךָ אֶל הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר אַרְאֶךָ" (“Go forth from your land, from your birthplace and from your father’s house, to the land that I will show you”) are the very first mitzvah ever given to a Jew. Rav Meir Yechiel of Ostrovtza points out that Hashem could have begun Judaism with any number of commands. Yet the first message to Avram, the first Jew, was to leave his familiar surroundings and settle in the special land that Hashem chose.

Why did Hashem choose this as the foundational mitzvah? R. Yehudah HaLevi, in Sefer HaKuzari, explains that Avram, already the most righteous person of his generation, had reached a spiritual level where he was ready to connect with the Divine in an even deeper way. Eretz Yisrael, the land uniquely suited for spiritual perfection, was the only place where Avram could reach his full potential. Even though Avram had already attained a high level of closeness to God outside of Eretz Yisrael, Hashem knew that only in the Land could he fully realize his destiny.

Avram’s life in chutz la’Aretz was not lacking in purpose. He was discovering Hashem, fighting against idolatry, teaching monotheism, and performing acts of kindness—just as many Jews in the diaspora today raise families, run businesses, study Torah, and lead communities. However, Hashem told Avram, “All this is good, but you are doing it in the wrong place. In My special land, you will achieve so much more.” The message of Lech Lecha is that Hashem’s call to live in Eretz Yisrael is timeless.

For years, people delayed making aliyah due to material concerns. Today, with a comfortable life possible in Israel, the real barrier is often spiritual complacency. Many feel they have everything they need in chutz la’Aretz: thriving communities, Torah learning, chesed organizations, kosher restaurants, and yeshivas. But Lech Lecha teaches us that while it’s possible to reach spiritual heights in chutz la’Aretz, even greater achievements await in Hashem’s chosen land.

7 October served as a wake-up call, prompting many Jews to consider aliyah more seriously than ever. It’s not an easy decision. Uprooting from the familiar, selling a home, leaving family and friends, and adjusting to a new life can be daunting. Yet the blessings Hashem promises to those who move to Eretz Yisrael, as outlined in this parsha, speak to our time as well: “I will make you into a great nation, I will bless you, I will make your name great, and you will be a blessing.”

Rabbi Zalman Sorotzkin comments in Oznayim LaTorah that this promise applies to Avram’s descendants as well. Am Yisrael can only reach its true greatness—militarily, economically, and spiritually—when we are in our Land. The Shechinah (Divine Presence) does not dwell in the diaspora; we need to open our eyes to the miracles Hashem performs in Israel daily.

The Netziv adds that Avram's example of acting immediately upon Hashem’s command to leave teaches us how to approach the mitzvah of aliyah. He didn’t wait for everything to be perfect; he set out immediately, leaving others to handle his affairs. For us, this can mean making small concrete steps: talking about aliyah, choosing careers suited for Israel, renting instead of buying in chutz la’Aretz, or investing in property in Israel. Such steps lock us into the journey toward aliyah, making it easier to follow through when the time is right.

Even with all the challenges, Rabbi Chayim of Volozhin teaches that the trials Avram endured were meant to strengthen his descendants. His steadfast commitment to aliyah instilled within each Jew the ability to heed Hashem’s call to move to Eretz Yisrael. The recent events have sparked a renewed desire for aliyah, reminding us that every Jew possesses the inner strength and spiritual "DNA" to make this journey.

In these times, it is imperative for Jewish leaders—rabbis, teachers, and mentors in diaspora schools and shuls—to emphasize the centrality of Israel in Jewish life. As role models, they have a responsibility to inspire their communities to recognize that the future of Am Yisrael lies in Eretz Yisrael. This message needs to permeate our educational systems and our daily conversations, instilling within each of us the drive to fulfill Hashem’s timeless command: “Lech Lecha”—go to the land He has shown us. I know for a fact that this constant message works. In my shul, in Highland Park, Congregation Ohav Emeth, the Rabbi constantly talked about the importance of  Eretz Yisrael and  Aliya. Over the years, this shul had by far the highest percent of aliya from any shul in the community 

Let me end with a beautiful thought from the Sefas Emes, who raises a question about the closing words of the first blessing in our Shmoneh Esrei, "Magen Avraham" — "the Shield of Abraham." Why do we ask Hashem to protect Avraham? Avraham Avinu has been gone for thousands of years; why would he need protection? The Sefas Emes, in a classic insight of his Hasidut, explains that we are not asking Hashem to shield Avraham himself. Rather, we are asking Him to preserve within ourselves that spark of Avraham Avinu — the essence that drove him to leave his homeland, come to Eretz Yisrael, and settle and conquer the Land of Israel.

We seek to retain the strength Avraham embodied, the unwavering commitment to avodat Hashem (serving God), enabling him to pass all his tests, from brit mila (circumcision) to the battles he entered, enduring hardship with an indestructible faith. Avraham’s life was built entirely on the will of Hashem, unshaken by the surrounding cultures and norms. This enduring spark, this legacy of resilience and faith, is the true blessing we ask for.

Ultimately, the question we must ask ourselves is: Are we listening to Hashem’s call?

The Song of the Morning Stars

 In this week's Torah reading, we read (at Bereishit 15:1 to 5) the following passage:

אַחַ֣ר  הַדְּבָרִ֣ים הָאֵ֗לֶּה הָיָ֤ה דְבַר־יְהֹוָה֙ אֶל־אַבְרָ֔ם בַּֽמַּחֲזֶ֖ה לֵאמֹ֑ר אַל־תִּירָ֣א אַבְרָ֗ם אָנֹכִי֙ מָגֵ֣ן לָ֔ךְ שְׂכָרְךָ֖ הַרְבֵּ֥ה מְאֹֽד׃

וַיֹּ֣אמֶר אַבְרָ֗ם אֲדֹנָ֤י יֱהֹוִה֙ מַה־תִּתֶּן־לִ֔י וְאָנֹכִ֖י הוֹלֵ֣ךְ עֲרִירִ֑י וּבֶן־מֶ֣שֶׁק בֵּיתִ֔י ה֖וּא דַּמֶּ֥שֶׂק אֱלִיעֶֽזֶר׃

וַיֹּ֣אמֶר אַבְרָ֔ם הֵ֣ן לִ֔י לֹ֥א נָתַ֖תָּה זָ֑רַע וְהִנֵּ֥ה בֶן־בֵּיתִ֖י יוֹרֵ֥שׁ אֹתִֽי׃

וְהִנֵּ֨ה דְבַר־יְהֹוָ֤ה אֵלָיו֙ לֵאמֹ֔ר לֹ֥א יִֽירָשְׁךָ֖ זֶ֑ה כִּי־אִם֙ אֲשֶׁ֣ר יֵצֵ֣א מִמֵּעֶ֔יךָ ה֖וּא יִֽירָשֶֽׁךָ׃

וַיּוֹצֵ֨א אֹת֜וֹ הַח֗וּצָה וַיֹּ֙אמֶר֙ הַבֶּט־נָ֣א הַשָּׁמַ֗יְמָה וּסְפֹר֙ הַכּ֣וֹכָבִ֔ים אִם־תּוּכַ֖ל לִסְפֹּ֣ר אֹתָ֑ם וַיֹּ֣אמֶר ל֔וֹ כֹּ֥ה יִהְיֶ֖ה זַרְעֶֽךָ

1.       After these things the word of the Lord came to Avram in a vision, saying: “Fear not, Avram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great.”

2.       But Avram said, “My Lord, what will you give me, for I continue childless, and the heir of my house is Eliezer of Damascus?”

3.       And Avram said, “Look, you have given me no offspring, and a member of my household will be my heir.”

4.       And look, the word of the Lord came to him, saying: “This man shall not be your heir; only your very own son shall be your heir.”

5.       And He brought him outside and said, “Look toward the heavens, and count the stars, if you are able to number them.” Then He said to him, “So shall your offspring be.”

 Our member Max Stern (whose surname appropriately means "star") has composed a cosmic song of praise based on another reference to stars in Tanach, this time from the Book of Iyov (Job 38:7):

 בְּרָן-יַחַד, כּוֹכְבֵי בֹקֶר;    וַיָּרִיעוּ, כָּל-בְּנֵי אֱלֹהִים

"When the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy".

Max adds: These are the stars which shed their light after all the other stars have ceased to shine, and while the sun yet delays to rise. Are these too the stars that Avram saw when he gazed into the sky--and would he have heard their song?

Max's composition, "Song of the Morning Stars". can be accessed here. This recording is performed by the Israel Sinfonietta (Beer Sheva) under the baton of Uri Mayer, conductor.