If you knew me during my twelve years at Maimonides, you probably already know that I am not great at holding my cards close to my chest. I am pathologically transparent. So this week's parsha makes me a little uneasy with Eliezer's talent for selective storytelling.
While some commentaries see Eliezer as subtly sabotaging Avraham's plan to find a wife for Yitzchak, Rashi quotes a midrash that seems to praise his storytelling. Why else, asks the midrash, would the Torah lavish such real estate on this long, detailed retelling, when so many mitzvot appear only in brief hints?
Eliezer is introduced simply as "the servant, the elder of Avraham's house." His mission is enormous: Find a wife for Yitzchak, but not from the Canaanites; rather, from Avraham's homeland. The future bride must be willing to move to Canaan, and under no circumstances may Yitzchak go back to Charan. One misstep, and the mission collapses.
Eliezer prays for divine clarity, devises a test of kindness, and everything falls miraculously into place. Rivka passes every criterion. But then Eliezer retells the whole story to Rivka's family in full detail, yet with subtle but significant differences between what happened and how he describes it.
Abravanel counts ten of these differences. A few stand out: Avraham told Eliezer to go to "my land and my birthplace"; Eliezer instead says "my father's house and my family," emphasizing kinship over geography to honor his hosts. He omits the detail that G-d forced Avraham to leave that very land; why remind them that Avraham's exit from Charan was divinely mandated? The lesson: Avoid awkward dinner conversation. He tactfully skips over Avraham's insistence that Yitzchak never return there; again, probably not a great opener when negotiating a marriage.
When recounting Rivka's act of kindness, Eliezer upgrades it: She didn't only offer to draw water, she also gave the camels to drink, emphasizing not her promise but that Yitzchak comes from a home which would celebrate her accomplishments and honor her. And Eliezer rearranges the sequence; in the original, he gives Rivka jewelry before confirming her lineage. In the retelling, he confirms first, gifts later; showering a stranger with diamonds before checking who she is would be creepy.
Abravanel argues that every adjustment is deliberate and tactful. Eliezer tailors his words to his audience, protecting Avraham's honor and ensuring that the mission succeeds. It's diplomacy, not deceit, and this story is one we are to learn from, justifying its abnormal length.
But the story does allow us to ask: When does strategy become manipulation? Is full transparency always the highest ideal, or can faithful representation sometimes mean speaking selectively? Would it be truthful if we adjust tone, emphasis, and timing for the sake of relationship, dignity, or peace? We know this is one of the common themes which repeats itself until the close of Sefer Bereshit, pointing to its tricky execution.
Eliezer's example reminds us that sometimes blunt literalness can be careless rather than honest. Storytelling inevitably involves interpretation; truth doesn't always require us to dump all the raw data. At the same time, when Rashi quotes Rabbi Aha's statement יפה שיחתן של עבדי אבות מתורתן של בני בנים, is that an unequivocal endorsement of Eliezer's selective edits, or is it simply that this narrative powerfully opens the conversation about the boundaries between manipulation and diplomacy, without prescribing the perfect formula for getting it right?
In an age that prizes oversharing and radical transparency, where people turn their real lives into an edited sitcom with seasons, episodes, and more, Eliezer's story reminds us that faithfulness and full disclosure are not always the same thing.
