This is the d’var Torah I delivered at Congregation Neveh Shalom on Saturday, October 24, 2026.
Most of us have said something out of fear that we would never have said otherwise. We leave out a detail. Shift responsibility. Tell ourselves that a small dishonesty will prevent a bigger problem. Fear has a remarkable ability to make a questionable choice sound perfectly reasonable, especially when we are the ones who stand to benefit.
In Parshat Lech Lecha, God calls Avram to leave his homeland and journey toward an unknown future. Avram goes, bringing Sarai and their household with him. He builds altars and follows God’s promise. But then famine forces them toward Egypt, and the man who courageously left everything familiar becomes frightened of what strangers might do.
Now, for the first time, the Torah lets us hear him speak. His first recorded speech is to Sarai. He fears the Egyptians will kill him because they desire her. His solution? Ask her to say she is his sister, “that my life may be spared because of you.” (Genesis 12:13)
Our introduction to Avram’s voice is a request that his wife conceal their marriage to protect him. What happens to the promise of becoming a blessing when fear makes our own survival the only thing we can see?
Ramban refuses to excuse Avram. Commenting on Genesis 12:10, he calls Avram’s decision a serious sin, committed unintentionally, because his fear for himself placed his righteous wife in danger. The ancestor of our people is accountable for the harm his fear produces.
That’s an uncomfortable, necessary teaching. Fear can be understandable, and our response can still be wrong. We can deserve compassion and owe someone an apology. Being afraid does not relieve us of responsibility for whom we put at risk.
Perhaps this is why Torah lets us hear these words. We need ancestors whose struggles help us recognize our own. The same person can answer God’s call with courage and, moments later, ask someone else to carry the cost of his fear.
This week, when fear begins writing our script, let us pause before speaking. Whose safety have I considered? Whose voice have I left out? Am I asking someone else to bear what I am unwilling to face? Lech Lecha asks us to move forward. May we take that next step with enough courage to tell the truth and enough care to notice who walks beside us.
