The journey within: Lessons from Lech Lecha

Parshat Lech-Lecha

There is a whole lot of movement in Parshat Lech Lecha. We begin the parashah with God’s command to Avram to leave his homeland and go to a new place. Avram, Sarai and their nephew Lot leave Ur Kasdim and wind their way to Shechem in Canaan. But they hardly stay put once they are there. They move to a spot between Beit El and Ai, and then go to the Negev. A famine strikes and they move temporarily to Egypt. From Egypt they return to the Negev, then Beit El again, until finally settling
in Hevron.

Avram and Sarai are not the only ones on the move in our parashah. Lot settles in Sodom. Hagar runs away to the wilderness. What are we to make of all this relocation?

The Talmud claims that moving to a new place is one way we can circumvent our destiny (Rosh Hashanah 16b). This may be the source of the Hebrew adage: “meshaneh makom, meshaneh mazal” — change your place, and you change your fortune. I have moved many times in my adult life: from New York to Los Angeles to Jerusalem to Northern California to Boston, and then finally to Pittsburgh. These moves were not easy at all, but I learned about myself in each place, and my life was certainly enriched by those experiences.

Several world religions have a foundational narrative involving a holy man leaving his home and then, in unfamiliar surroundings, discovering God or enlightenment. Siddhartha, a wealthy prince, left his palace at age 29 seeking enlightenment and became the Buddha. Jesus left his birthplace of Nazareth to become a charismatic leader in Capernaum. And of course, Moses himself left Egypt to become a shepherd in Midian, where he encountered God and was given a mission to free the Israelites. Changing one’s physical environment seems to be a necessary step on the path to religious awakening.

This trope has endured in our culture. One of the more popular memoirs of the 21st century, “Eat, Pray, Love,” tells the story of Elizabeth Gilbert’s quest for healing after a painful divorce. She travels to Italy to indulge in gastronomic pleasures, then to India to try out asceticism at an ashram, and then finally to Bali, where she discovers the transcendence of love. The life lesson implicit in the book is that we can change our internal state by changing our external surroundings. I am skeptical about this method. Looking outwardly to heal what is within can be a form of avoidance. After all, we bring ourselves with us wherever we go. American writer Eudora Welty lived and worked for most of her 92 years in Jackson, Mississippi, in the same house that she moved into at age 16. In her memoir, “One Writer’s Beginnings,” she wrote: “A sheltered life can be a daring life as well.

For all serious daring starts from within.”

In many ways, I have lived by that creed. I prefer inner exploration to outdoor adventure. Trying to “find yourself” by running to a new place might cause loneliness rather than enlightenment. I believe that personal change happens most successfully when one focuses on it directly. Yet, psychological research does suggest that changing our environment can support internal transformation. For example, the concept of habit discontinuity posits that our behaviors are largely shaped by environmental context rather than conscious choice.

When we move to a new place, our habits are disrupted, catalyzing new routines and ways of thinking. A 1980s study of hospital patients demonstrated that those whose windows overlooked trees required less pain medication and recovered more quickly than those patients whose windows faced a brick wall.

Eudora Welty and the psychologists are both correct. The message of Lech-Lecha is not that relocation is a superpower. Rashi’s commentary on the command for Avram to leave his land is “Get thee out (literally, go to yourself) — for your own benefit, for your own good.” Departing from the plain meaning of the text, Rashi interprets God’s command not merely as changing your physical location, but as embarking on an internal journey. There is wisdom in the maxim meshaneh makom, meshaneh mazal.

But physical environments alone cannot magically transform us. Moving can be a catalyst. But ultimately, we must use a new environment to reinvent ourselves. We must be active participants in our own self-transformation. PJC

Rabbi Amy Bardack is the spiritual leader of Congregation Dor Hadash. This column is a service of the Greater Pittsburgh Jewish Clergy Association.