Before You Go Forth, Listen
Rabbi Noam Raucher, MA.Ed — Executive Director, FJMC International
Have you ever had a moment when life itself seemed to whisper to you — softly but unmistakably — “It’s time”? A moment when something inside you knew that things could no longer stay the same, even if you couldn’t yet see what came next? That moment — that sacred interruption — is where we meet Abram in this week’s parashah, Lech L’cha.
God says to him: “Go forth from your land, from your birthplace, and from your father’s house, to the land that I will show you.” No thunder. No spectacle. No angelic chorus. Just a voice — a call. And somehow, Abram hears it. That might be the real miracle of the story: not that he went, but that he heard. Most of us don’t miss our calling because it’s not there; we miss it because we haven’t learned to listen.
The Talmud in Sukkot 46a–b offers a beautiful teaching about this kind of listening. Rabbi Zera observes that when it comes to God, “a full vessel can still receive, but an empty one cannot.” He explains it through the verse, “If you will listen, you will be able to listen.” In other words, the more you practice listening — truly listening — the more capacity you develop to hear what life, loved ones, God, or the cosmos are trying to tell you. But if you stop listening, if your heart turns away, that capacity fades. This is spiritual physics: attention creates more attention. Presence begets presence.
Listening, in this sense, isn’t passive. It’s a discipline, a spiritual workout. It means quieting the noise of our egos, our schedules, our need to be right or in control. It means becoming, as Rabbi Zera says, a full vessel — not filled with distraction, but filled with awareness, curiosity, humility, and gratitude. That’s the only way to hear the still, small voice that is always calling us forward.
You see this beautifully in the film Field of Dreams. Ray Kinsella, played by Kevin Costner, is an ordinary man — a husband, a father, a farmer — when one day he hears a voice in his cornfield: “If you build it, he will come.” No one else hears it. No one else believes it. He thinks he’s losing his mind. But Ray listens. He doesn’t know what the voice means or where it will lead him, but he listens anyway. He takes a leap of faith, plowing under his crop to build a baseball field in the middle of nowhere. And in that act of listening — of trusting — Ray begins his own Lech L’cha.
Just like Abram, Ray’s call is both outward and inward. What he’s really building isn’t just a field; it’s a bridge to his own heart — and to his father’s. The voice that guides him isn’t some external mystery; it’s the echo of everything unresolved, unhealed, and unfinished within him. And by following it, he finds redemption, reconciliation, and peace. That’s what happens when we attune ourselves to the voice of life — when we risk listening even when it doesn’t make sense.
I’ve had my own Lech L’cha moments. My divorce was one of them. It wasn’t a moment I chose or wanted. It came with confusion, heartbreak, and fear. But beneath all that noise, something quieter began to emerge — a voice that said, “Go forth. There’s more of you to become.” I couldn’t hear it at first. I was too full of pain, too caught in the static of loss. But over time, as I learned to listen again — to my children, to my friends, to my own soul — that voice became clearer. It didn’t promise comfort. It promised growth. It asked me to move, to trust, to begin again.
That’s what Lech L’cha is about — not just a journey across land, but a journey across consciousness. Not a command to leave, but an invitation to listen. For men especially, this is difficult work. We’re trained to act, to fix, to do — not to sit in stillness and listen for what life might be asking of us. But Rabbi Zera reminds us: if you listen, you will be able to listen. The more you practice attunement — to your partner, your children, your friends, your own heart — the more of life you’ll be able to receive.
So maybe this week’s Torah portion isn’t calling us to pack up and move somewhere new. Maybe it’s inviting us to stop, to breathe, and to listen for the voice that’s already calling — the one that whispers from deep inside: “It’s time. Go forth.” If you can hear it, even faintly, that’s where your journey begins. Like Abram, like Ray Kinsella, we all have fields to build and unknown lands to enter. But the first step isn’t movement. It’s awareness. The first mitzvah is not to go — it’s to listen. And when we do, we might just discover that the voice we’ve been hearing all along is our own soul — calling us home.
Reflective Questions for Deep Listening
- The Call: When in your life have you sensed a quiet invitation — a whisper from life, God, or your own inner voice — that you nearly ignored? What helped you notice it?
- The Noise: What kinds of “noise” tend to drown out your capacity to listen — stress, pride, distraction, fear — and what would it take to turn the volume down?
- The Practice: Rabbi Zera says, “If you listen, you will be able to listen.” What daily practices — conversation, prayer, silence, music, nature — help you strengthen your ability to hear?
- The Relationship: How might deeper attunement — to yourself, to others, to the quiet rhythm of life — change the way you love, parent, work, or lead?
