Parashat Lech Lecha: The Significance of Bread and Wine
Why are Wine and Bread the Centerpieces of Judaism?
Why Do I Have a Love–Hate Relationship with Bread and Wine?
I’ve never been much of a wine drinker or a bread lover. My complicated relationship with both started early. When my sister and I were about ten and twelve, our parents hosted a lively party and asked us to help clean up afterward. In our childish curiosity, we decided to ‘help’ by finishing all the leftover wine and champagne in the glasses. Before long, we were both dizzy, nauseous, and ended up throwing up – our first and last drunken adventure. Ever since, I’ve gone easy on alcohol.
Decades later, as director of Midreshet B’erot Bat Ayin, I read student applications that often include the same line under “involvement with alcohol”: “I have a little wine during Kiddush.” I always smile knowingly. This is surely the best approach – to keep wine sacred and measured. The Torah itself offers mixed messages about wine. After the flood, Noach became “a man of the soil” and planted a vineyard (Bereishit 9:20). Rashi points out that he degraded himself by choosing to grow grapes for intoxicating drink before cultivating basic food. Yet, in the same Sefer Bereishit, we meet Malki-Tzedek, the king of Shalem, who brought out bread and wine to greet Avraham after his victory – transforming these two simple foods into emblems of holiness and Divine sovereignty (Bereishit 14:18-19). Bread and wine, when elevated, become channels of sanctity; when misused, they lead to downfall.
I’ve also had my ambivalence toward bread. On one hand, bread represents the very essence of nourishment – “the staff of life.” On the other hand, today’s processed wheat, stripped of its purity, has left several people with gluten sensitivity and allergy. Like many women, I eat little bread during the week, but on Shabbat, I delight in the sacred act of partaking of my homemade sourdough challah. That first bite after HaMotzi feels like reuniting with something ancient and true. The sages identify both wheat and grapes with the Tree of Knowledge (Babylonian Talmud, Berachot 40a). Bread, born from toil – kneaded, risen, baked – reminds us that sustenance and spirituality both require transformation through effort. When Adam was cursed to “eat by the sweat of his brow,” bread became the food of struggle and refinement. For the Woman who first caused that descent by offering Adam the fruit, baking challah became a tikkun – her way of rectifying what was broken. By transforming coarse dough into fragrant loaves of Shabbat holiness, she partners in the ongoing work of redemption. Each loaf of challah becomes a whisper of Beit Lechem – the House of Bread – where Mashiach will finally emerge, the perfected man born from a woman’s sacred multidimensional labor.
How Can Wine Become a Portal for Entering the Realms of Holiness?
Wine and bread are the twin centerpieces of Jewish celebration. In Judaism, bread represents stability and sustenance – the foundation of every meal. At all seudot mitzvah (religious celebrations), including circumcisions, bar mitzvahs, and weddings, wine is used ritually, and wheat bread is served. We are encouraged to partake of the bread together and to unite in the Grace after Meals, acknowledging that all nourishment flows from Hashem.
Wine accompanies us through the gateways of holiness. It sanctifies the covenant of circumcision, ushers in Shabbat and festivals, seals a marriage beneath the chuppah (wedding canopy), and was even poured as an offering in the Beit Hamikdash (Bamidbar 15:5, 15:10). Unlike my childhood experience with wine, these sacred rituals reveal wine’s potential to elevate us – to serve as a portal into new and higher spiritual realms. While the juice of other fruits diminishes in status from its original form, grapes increase in value when transformed into wine. This elevation is reflected in the higher blessing we recite over it, “Borei pri ha-gafen.”
Wine also symbolizes the inner dimension of Torah. The numerical value of the Hebrew word יַיִן/yayin – “wine” – is seventy, identical to that of the word סוֹד/sod, meaning “secret.” From this, the Sages teach that wine can open access to the inner secrets of Torah (Babylonian Talmud, Eruvin 65a), provided one masters the art of drinking without losing clarity (Rashi, ad loc.). The sharp, awakening taste of wine mirrors its spiritual effect – it stirs the depths of our soul and draws forth our inner essence. Wine, when approached with reverence and awareness, becomes the secret of secrets – a vessel through which the hidden light of holiness is revealed.
How Does the Encounter with Malki-Tzedek Reflect Avram’s Inner Transformation?
Parashat Lech Lecha opens with the call, “Go for yourself” – a summons to self-discovery. Avraham’s life is a progression from external journey to inner becoming. When Avram returned victorious from rescuing Lot, the Torah describes a striking scene:
ספר בראשית פרק יד פסוק יח וּמַלְכִּי צֶדֶק מֶלֶךְ שָׁלֵם הוֹצִיא לֶחֶם וָיָיִן וְהוּא כֹהֵן לְאֵל עֶלְיוֹן:
“Then Melchizedek king of Salem brought out bread and wine; and he was Kohen of G-d Most High” (Bereishit 14:18)
This brief yet profound moment carries deep symbolic weight. Bread and wine – the simplest and most sacred of foods – represent the full spectrum of life: bread as sustenance and stability, wine as joy and spiritual elevation. After the struggle and chaos of war, the encounter with Malki-Tzedek ushers in peace and blessing. Through bread, Avraham reconnects to the grounding force of sustenance; through wine, he rises to joy and sanctity. The king of Shalem’s blessing affirms that Avraham’s mission transcends victory – it is about transforming human experience into Divine service.
Rashi asks why the place where this encounter occurred is called Emek Shaveh, “the Valley of Equality,” also known as “the Valley of the King.” He explains that it was there that all the nations gathered in unanimous agreement (הֻשְׁווּ/hushvu) to appoint Avraham as their prince and spiritual leader (Rashi, Bereishit 14:17). Rabbi Chayim of Czernowitz elaborates that the king of Sodom and the other rulers went out to meet Avraham there to crown him as a “prince of G-d,” recognizing his moral and spiritual greatness. In that sacred valley, amidst bread, wine, and blessing, Avraham’s transformation was revealed: he became not only a conqueror of kings but a servant of the Most High (Be’er Mayim Chayim, Lech Lecha, Chapter 14). Just as Malki-Tzedek’s gifts symbolize balance between the material and the spiritual, Avraham’s evolving identity embodies harmony between action and faith, earth and heaven.
Where Did the Bread and Wine Offering Take Place in Parashat Lech Lecha?
Bringing bread and wine situates nourishment at the very heart of Avraham’s return – not as luxury but as sacred care for bodies drained by battle and souls ripened by faith. Yet these same staples also hint at the future minchah (grain offering) and nesachim (wine offering) in Jerusalem, revealing how ordinary food becomes a channel of holiness. Malki-Tzedek, identified as Shem the son of Noach (Rashi, Bereishit 14:18), offered Avraham bread and wine to honor his spiritual triumph. This prefigures the offerings that Avram’s descendants would later bring in Yerushalayim, revealing a thread of continuity from Avraham’s personal journey to the eternal service in the Temple. Ramban deepens the scene by identifying Shalem with Yerushalayim – the chosen midpoint of the inhabited world – and reading the episode as a quiet prophecy: here, in the place aligned with the Mikdash above, Avraham’s descendants will bring tithes and offerings and bless the Divine Name. Thus, bread and wine nourish twice – they restore strength in the moment and foreshadow a nation’s enduring service in the city of righteousness (Ramban, Bereishit 14:18).
When Malki-Tzedek “brought out bread and wine,” Avraham perceived within this act the voice of the One who continually “brings forth” nourishment for all beings, teaching us to attribute our meals to Hashem’s ongoing gift, not to human prowess. Avraham, in his humility, redirected the kings’ praise away from himself, declaring that “the greatness and the honor are not mine but belong to Malki-Tzedek, the Righteous One of the world,” meaning Hashem, the perfect King who provides all sustenance. By recognizing that all victory, power, and every form of nourishment – symbolized by bread from the right and wine from the left – flows from Hashem alone, Avraham acknowledged that human effort is merely a vessel for Divine abundance. This awareness granted him eternal spiritual service, for he attributed all success to the Source of life itself (Be’er Mayim Chayim, Lech Lecha, Chapter 14).
?What Can Bread and Wine Teach Us About Our Own Journey
When we set bread and wine on our tables, we echo Avraham’s encounter and learn to receive sustenance as blessings rather than spoils. Rabbi Chayim ben Attar contrasts the king of Sodom’s empty-handed greeting with Malki-Tzedek’s generous hospitality, directing us to choose nourishment that is both halachically pure and ethically given (Ohr HaChayim, Bereishit 14:18). In this light, Shabbat’s Kiddush and HaMotzi become our weekly apprenticeship in holy eating – grounding ourselves with bread, elevating ourselves with wine, and letting our gratitude ripen into generosity.
Each of us is called to our own Lech Lecha – to leave behind familiar terrain and walk toward our higher self. Along this path, we too are offered “bread and wine” – moments of nourishment and elevation. Bread sustains us in our daily responsibilities, while wine reminds us to celebrate the holiness that permeates life’s ordinary rhythms. When we bless over wine and bread on Shabbat, we echo Malki-Tzedek’s gesture, transforming our tables into altars of gratitude. This weekly ritual invites us to ask – what sustains us, and what elevates us? How do we recognize the Malki-Tzedek moments in our lives – when someone appears to bless us with both physical and spiritual renewal? In this way, we, like Avraham, learn to receive blessings with awareness and to share them forward with joy.
