Two Jewish Stories Hidden Inside Five Verses of Torah

To be Jewish is to place ourselves inside a story. It’s a very old story of ancestors and quests and villains and dubious heroes.

It’s a story that we hear, that we read, and we tell. A story that we sing and cook and dance. It finds its way into our feelings and our thoughts and our words and our mental images. Until the story becomes part of us and we become part of the story.

Here is the outline of the story—in five verses in Parshat Ki Tavo.

Arami oved avi.

“My ancestor was a lost Aramaean. He went down to Egypt, with just a few people, and stayed there for a while. But there he became a big and mighty nation. The Egyptians were bad to us, and oppressed us, and imposed heavy labor on us. We cried out to Divine Being, God of our ancestors, who heard our voices, saw our suffering, and our burden, and our oppression. Divine Being took us out of Egypt with a strong hand and an outstretched arm, with great awesomeness, with signs and with wonders. And brought us to this place, and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey” (Deut. 26: 5-9).

Do you recognize this story? It is the storyline of the Passover Haggadah. Do you know that the word Haggadah means “telling”? This is the outline of our national story. But it’s just the barest outline. And each time we tell the story—the version of it that we live—it comes out different.

In fact, the Haggadah itself tells the story in two very different ways.

Let’s look at the first three words of the outline.

Arami Oved Avi — ארמי אבד אבי

Arami: Aramean. A person from Aram Naharayim, the land between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers, in modern day Turkey.

Oved: Lost, perished, destroyed.

Avi: “Av” means ancestor. “Avi” means my ancestor.

Arami oved avi.

But who exactly is avi, the ancestor? In what way were they oved, lost? Did someone lose them? Or were they themselves lost? If so, were they lost spiritually or geographically? And in what way were they Arami, Aramean? Were they born in Aram, or did they embody Aramean culture?

The Haggadah develops two completely different answers, one right after the other.

Number one. The ancestor is Abraham, who grew up in Aram Naharayim. He comes from a long line of idol worshippers. They were spiritually lost—until the Holy One drew Abraham close. And let Abraham know that his descendants would move to Egypt, suffer, but eventually leave with great wealth. (Which, in context, means lots of sheep.) So, let’s say, “Blessed is the One who keeps the promise!”

Beautiful, isn’t it?

Number two. The ancestor is Jacob. For twenty years, he worked in Aram Naharayim for his uncle Laban. The Aramean is Laban, who wanted Jacob to lose everything. Jacob was Laban’s indentured servant. Rachel and Leah were the bait used to trap Jacob. Laban and Pharaoh embody the same archetype of evil, who pops up in every generation.

These are two completely different re-tellings of the same basic storylines. Two different versions of a Jewish national story.

In the first story, Judaism is a spiritual path. We are in an ongoing relationship with a loving God. This divine Spirit does not protect us from all of life’s challenges. Quite the opposite—it says there will be hard times. But they will not last forever. And through it all, the divine Spirit promises “I will be with you.”

In the second story, Jews are a people. We have an uneasy relationship with the other peoples around us. They constantly try to destroy us. But we overcome them using Jacob’s ingenuity, and God’s military might.

The two stories: Judaism as spiritual path and Jews as a people. Both stories follow the Torah’s outline of the Jewish national story. Both stories live in our feelings and thoughts and mental images.

But perhaps one appeals to you more. Maybe one is more consistent with your temperament, your life experience, your fears and hopes and calm places, your sense of history, and your ways of belonging.

How do you place yourself in this story?

What pattern of history have you adopted as your own?

How do you see this pattern in the present?

And what does your vision call you to do?

Originally offered as a sermon at Or Shalom Synagogue, August 29, 2026.