Small tidbits and Sparks of wisdom

When the Torah tells us that “there was a famine in the land, and Avram went down to Egypt to sojourn there” (Bereishis 12:10), it opens one of the most morally complex episodes in the life of our forefather. At first glance, this story seems to clash with everything we expect of Avraham Avinu — the man of perfect faith, the pioneer of monotheism, the one who left everything behind at G-d’s command.

Now, when famine strikes, the same Avraham leaves the very Land that G-d had promised to sustain him. He acts without explicit Divine instruction and heads toward Egypt — the epicenter of moral decay in the ancient world. Worse still, upon approaching the border, he asks his wife Sarah to identify herself as his sister, saying, “Say, I pray thee, thou art my sister, that it may go well with me for thy sake.” To the simple reader, this appears almost unthinkable: that Avraham would risk Sarah’s honor to preserve his life.

The Ramban’s Sharp Judgment

The Ramban (Nachmanides) does not shy away from confronting the issue. He writes plainly that Avraham sinned — grievously — in two respects: first, by abandoning the Land of Promise in time of hardship, showing a lapse in faith; and second, by endangering the moral welfare of his wife. Ramban explains that in Egypt, the level of corruption was so severe that the Egyptians preferred to commit murder rather than adultery. It was “easier,” he writes, for them to kill a husband and take his wife than to seduce her openly. Therefore, by presenting Sarah as his sister rather than his wife, Avraham sought to avoid being murdered, but he also inadvertently exposed her to great risk.

Ramban even adds that this sin had lasting consequences — that the exile to Egypt, and the future suffering of Avraham’s descendants under Pharaoh, were in some sense a measure for measure rectification of this episode. The seeds of Egyptian exile were sown in Avraham’s descent there.

The Torah’s Integrity

And yet, the Torah does not conceal this story, nor does it soften the edges. This is what sets Torah apart from all human literature. Nations and religions tend to glorify their founders, erase their flaws, and polish their image into myth. The Torah does the opposite. It tells the truth about its heroes.

“The Torah does not seek to portray our great men as perfectly ideal figures; it deifies no man.”

It shows their faults and errors not to shame them, but to teach us the true nature of righteousness — that it exists within struggle, not beyond it. The greatness of our forefathers lies not in their infallibility but in their courage to act, to trust, to learn, and to grow even when the path is unclear. The Torah’s refusal to idealize its heroes is precisely what gives it credibility.

Sarah’s Modesty and Strength

The Midrash tells us that Sarah was so modest she did not even realize how beautiful she was until Avraham mentioned it on the journey to Egypt. Her beauty was not external vanity but an expression of her inner purity. She embodied tzniut — inward dignity that radiated outward. The danger in Egypt, therefore, was not merely physical; it was spiritual. Pharaoh’s palace represented the depths of human corruption, a place where holiness was mocked and women were treated as objects of conquest.

When Sarah was taken into Pharaoh’s house, G-d struck Pharaoh with plagues, demonstrating that Divine protection rests with the righteous even when human prudence falters. The very act that seemed to endanger Sarah became the vehicle through which G-d revealed His power over Egypt — a foretaste of what would later occur in the Exodus.

Growth Through Failure

Some later commentators, such as the Netziv (Ha’amek Davar), offer a more nuanced view. They do not deny Ramban’s critique but frame it differently. Avraham’s decision, though imperfect, was the act of a pioneer walking a path that no human being had ever walked before. His entire life was one long test — not a test of whether he would sin, but whether he would keep walking toward G-d despite uncertainty. Each challenge revealed a deeper level of faith.

According to this view, Avraham’s descent to Egypt was permitted as part of his training ground in Divine Providence. He learned that even when his own calculations fail, G-d’s plan endures. The Ramban’s criticism, then, becomes part of the Torah’s larger educational process: to teach that even the greatest tzaddik can err, and that Divine Providence still guides the outcome toward redemption.

The Model of Humanity, Not Divinity

This honesty extends beyond Avraham. Moshe’s anger, Yosef’s youthful arrogance, David’s moral failure — all are recorded without censorship. The Torah shows no perfect men, only striving ones. Even Moshe’s anavah (humility) gains meaning because we also see his outburst at Mei Merivah; his humility was not inborn, but acquired through inner battle.

“The Torah relates events not because they are necessarily worthy of emulation, but because they took place.”

The purpose is not to whitewash, but to bear witness — to show that holiness is carved out of struggle.

Faith in the Real World

Avraham’s greatness is precisely that he walked before G-d in the real world — a world of famine, danger, and moral decay. His story teaches that faith does not mean avoiding fear; it means facing it and still moving forward. His errors, if we can call them that, were errors born of human limitation, not rebellion.

By not hiding his missteps, the Torah teaches us that Divine service is not perfection but perseverance. The Avraham who left Ur Kasdim for the unknown, who built altars in foreign lands, who prayed for Sodom, who bound his son in obedience to G-d — that Avraham remains the model of emunah because his faith endured through frailty.

He is our father not because he never stumbled, but because he always returned — haloch v’nasoa hanegbah — he kept going southward, forward, upward, toward G-d.