The Talmud tells us that anyone who refers to our forefather Avrohom by his earlier name, Avram, has committed a sin (Berachos 13a). The kabbalists explain that our names are not merely labels but representations that describe the essence of our souls. Therefore, to call our patriarch by anything other than his new name constitutes a negation of his spiritual transformation and a rejection of our spiritual mission as his descendants.

The Talmud suggests that, according to this reasoning, the same should apply to Yaakov after the Almighty changed his name to Yisroel. However, because the Torah itself continues to call him Yaakov, the Talmud concludes that there is no such prohibition. Both names remain relevant as accurate descriptions of Yaakov and, consequently, either name may be used.

But why? The Talmud offers no explanation for why HaShem would have changed Yaakov’s name to Yisroel if He intended the former name to remain relevant. Furthermore, the wording of the verse is nearly identical to that in which Avrohom receives his new name: No longer will your name be called Yaakov; rather, Yisroel shall your name be called (Bereishis 35:10). Why does the Almighty declare that the name Yaakov should no longer be used, then continue the use of that name?

The name change from Yaakov to Yisroel is prophesied earlier, when Yaakov wrestled with the sar shel Eisav, the guardian angel appointed over the nation that would descend from Yaakov’s wicked brother. As he traveled toward his first encounter with his brother in 20 years, Yaakov was forced to engage in spiritual combat with the divine emissary representing Eisav’s power and influence throughout the generations.

By defeating the malach of Eisav in battle, Yaakov not only assured the ultimate victory of his progeny over the descendants of Eisav, but also elevated himself to a spiritual level higher than that of a purely spiritual being. By doing so, Yaakov attained a level of spiritual self-completion that rendered further physical service irrelevant. As Yaakov, he had nothing more to accomplish. To remain in this world, he needed a new goal, a new spiritual purpose requiring a new name. He became Yisroel, and began to direct his efforts toward the fulfillment of a new mission.

Rashi explain that the name Yisroel derives from the word sar, meaning “ruler,” alluding to Yisroel’s ultimate dominion over the world that would characterize the arrival of the messianic era. However, Rav Moshe Alshich interprets Yisroel as deriving from the word yashar, meaning “straight,” in contrast to the name Yaakov, from okav, meaning “crooked.”

This interpretation helps us understand the words of the Sforno, who explains that Yaakov’s original name applies to the contention between him and his brother, Eisav. In dealing with crooked people, one may sometimes have to apply tactics that may themselves appear to be less than upright. Although we dare not adopt the ways of the wicked even in our efforts to vanquish them, occasionally we must draw so near to the boundary between propriety and impropriety that the outside observer may question the virtue of our own actions.

As long as the influence of Eisav remains dominant in the world, the children of Yaakov have no choice but to employ the name Yaakov and all that it implies – as with Yaakov’s apparent manipulation of Eisav to prevent him from misusing his birthright, and as with his temporary deception of their father, Yitzchok, to prevent the disastrous bestowal of the blessings Eisav would have exploited to destroy his brother. Even a saint cannot always retain the image of saintliness when battling unconscionable evil.

However, when the dominion of Eisav is ultimately overthrown and the influence of Eisav is uprooted from the world, then the name Yaakov will no longer be necessary. The necessity of battling against evil will be gone, and all will recognize the uprightness of Yaakov’s descendants and their singular devotion to the service of their Creator. Only the straightness of Yisroel will remain, and the appearance of crookedness imposed upon him by his brother will be nothing more than memory.

Whenever the Torah elaborates upon seemingly trivial details or events, the attentive student of Jewish philosophy becomes especially attentive.

Consequently, the episode of Yitzchok (Isaac) in the land of the P’lishtim (Philistines), by virtue of the amount of space devoted to it in scripture, cries out for explanation.

The narrative of Bereishis 26 tells us that, responding to a famine in the land of Canaan, Yitzchok followed in the footsteps of his father and traveled to the more fertile land of the P’lishtim to await times of renewed prosperity.  HaShem blessed Yitzchok with such extraordinary wealth that the P’lishtim became jealous of him and stopped up the wells that had been dug in the days of Avrohom.  Avimelech, the king of the P’lishtim, ordered Yitzchok to depart.

Yitzchok camped in the neighboring land of Gerar, and re-dug the wells his father had dug there, calling them by the same names his father had given them.  But the shepherds of Gerar quarreled with him over the wells, claiming the water was theirs.  Yitzchok yielded and dug new wells, but the shepherds of Gerar disputed these, too.

Only when Yitzchok distanced himself and again dug new wells did the shepherds of Gerar no longer quarrel with him.  But instead of remaining where he was, Yitzchok traveled further into the land of his birth, to Be’er Sheva.  There, HaShem appeared to him and declared, Do not be afraid, for I am with you.  Yitzchok settled there and dug new wells.

The sages tell us that water, the source of all physical life, is an allegory for Torah, the source of all spiritual life.  If so, the wells in our parsha’s narrative may be understood to symbolize Yitzchok’s efforts to provide spiritual life to all mankind by creating a greater connection between the physical world and the “waters” of Torah.

According to this interpretation, Yitzchok first attempted to continue the work of his father by living among the P’lishtim as his father had.  But where Avrohom had lived peacefully among the P’lishtim, Yitzchok’s presence among them became the cause of strife, so that they stopped up the wells that had been dug in the days of his father — that is, they rejected the spiritual lessons Avrohom had once taught them because of the resentment they felt toward Yitzchok.

So Yitzchok moved to Gerar, at the outskirts of the P’lishti community, seeking to carry on his father’s work where the lessons of spirituality had been forgotten, by re-digging the wells his father had dug and calling them by the same names.  But again, his efforts produced only discord.

So Yitzchok moved away from the Plishtim entirely and dug new wells of his own.  This time he encountered no resistance but, or so it seems, he achieved no great success either.  And so Yitzchok returned to his own land, perhaps recognizing that, after three attempts and failures to serve HaShem in the style of his father, it was time to strike out in a new direction, to define himself as a servant of the Almighty according to his own talents and abilities rather than continuing to pursue a course identical to his father’s.

We know that Avrohom perfected his service according to his attribute of chesed — selfless loving-kindness.  And as much as he may have sought to continue along the path charted by his father, Yitzchok had and entirely different character, defined as gevurah — spiritual self-discipline.  Where Avrohom had defined his service in terms of his relationship with other people, Yitzchok defined his service in terms of his relationship with G-d.  In pursuit of his own unique spiritual self-perfection, he reached the point where it was time to strike out on his own.

But Yitzchok knew the importance of building upon the accomplishments of previous generations and respecting the traditions of those who have come before.  Perhaps he questioned his own decision, wondering if he had chosen wisely in charting his own path.

And so G-d appeared to Yitzchok and declared, Do not be afraid, for I am with you.  Although he had departed from Avrohom’s style, by staying loyal to the essential values Avrohom had instilled in him, Yitzchok remained a true servant of HaShem.   Thus assured, Yitzchok ceased his wanderings and dug “wells” if his own.  Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, Avimelech came to Yitzchok and declared, We have seen that G-d is with you.

Astonishingly, after Yitzchok moved away, the P’lishtim recognized what they had not when he had lived in their midst.  By following the callings of his soul, by respecting the teachings of his father while defining himself according to his own unique abilites and character, Yitzchok achieved so profound a sanctification of G-d’s name that he could inspire the P’lishtim to attach themselves to his spiritual nature even after he had removed himself from among them.

And indeed, on that very day, Yitzchok’s servants came to him announcing that they had found water.  By striking the perfect balance between the tradition and individualism, by finding his own path without foresaking the path of his father, by clinging to the traditions of the previous generation while simultaneously developing his own sense of self, Yitzchok brought forth a fresh wellspring of spiritual energy, sending out ripples to every corner of the world.  In this way, Yitzchok brought mankind one step closer to its final redemption, while providing his children with the formula for how to carry on in each and every generation.

As a high school rebbe, I often find comfort in the following midrash:

On one occasion, Rabbi Akiva looked up from his lesson to discover his students dozing.  (If even Rabbi Akiva couldn’t always keep his students engaged, who I am to think I can?)

Rabbi Akiva employed a curious solution.  “In what merit did Queen Esther rule over 127 provinces?”  he asked.  “Because her ancestor Sara lived for 127 years.”  This seems to have roused his talmidim from their stupor and returned them to their study (Bereishis Rabbah 58:3).

I’ve tried Rabbi Akiva’s solution a few times.  I’m sure it will surprise no one that his method produced far less success for me than it did for him.  And although it may be easy to attribute my failure to yeridas haDoros, the decline of the generations, perhaps a more relevant lesson can be found elsewhere in the parsha.

So much of the parsha is devoted to Eliezer’s repetition of his instructions from Avrohom, concerning which the sages offer their famous comment that HaShem finds the conversation of the patriarchs’ servants more pleasing than the teachings of their children.  For his sincere service to his master, Eliezer earned the appellation eved Avrohom (servant of Abraham), only one step removed from the highest possible praise, eved HaShem.

It seems inconsistent, therefore, that the Torah alludes to an ulterior motive at the very outset of Eliezer’s recapitulation.  When he recounts the history of his search to Rivka’s family, Eliezer explains how Avrohom assured him of HaShem’s guidance when Eliezer expressed his fear that, “Perhaps the woman will not follow me.”  Rashi observes that the word perhaps, ulai, is written so that it may also be read, eilai — to me, suggesting that Eliezer had hoped to wed his own daughter to Yitzchok.  If so, how can we understand the sages’ praise of Eliezer as a selfless eved?

To make matters more difficult, why does the Torah allude to Eliezer’s self-interest here, now that he is repeating the story, rather than earlier in the parsha, when he actually stated his question to Avrohom?

In fact, the second question answers the first.  The Kotzker Rebbe explains that when Eliezer originally expressed his question to Avrohom, he genuinely believed that he was asking in the best interests of Yitzchok.  Eliezer had convinced himself that he truly sought Avrohom’s guidance should he fail in his mission to find Yitzchok a suitable wife.

It was only when he recounted the episode to Rivka’s family that Eliezer realized his real motives.  Only from a vantage point of objective distance could Eliezer finally see that his well-intentioned request had truly been prompted by personal bias.

And so we find no inconsistency in the sages’ portrayal of Eliezer.  He was indeed a true eved.  But even a true eved is not immune to the seductive influence of self-interest, and even a true eved may be unable to recognize personal bias at the moment when it afflicts him.  The same Eliezer for whom the way was miraculously shortened, for whom the waters rose to identify Rivka as Yitzchok’s match, for whom the curse of Ham transformed into a blessing, this same Eliezer who so loyally served Avrohom could not identify in himself the self-deception that sought to undermine Avrohom’s plans to find Yitzchok’s bashert.

So too, perhaps, the students of Rabbi Akiva. Rav Mendel Weinbach explains that Rabbi Akiva intended to impress upon his talmidim a sense of responsibility not only to themselves but also to future generations.  What would have happened had Sara not devoted every moment of her 127 years to her service of HaShem?  Without her merit, Esther would not have become queen.  And had Esther not become queen, she would not have been positioned in the house of King Achashverosh to save the Jewish people.

Rabbi Akiva admonished his students by impressing upon them that, even if each might be willing to forgo his own portion in the World to Come, future generations might need the merit of their learning just as Esther had needed Sara’s merit so that she could save the Jewish people.  You may be prepared to sacrifice a measure of your own reward, Rabbi Akiva suggested, but are you prepared to sacrifice your children and grandchildren as well?

Indeed, Rabbi Akiva’s rebuke to his talmidim reminds us how easily we make excuses for our own lack of mesiras nefesh (self-sacrifice) and how cheaply we are prepared to sell the priceless benefits of our portion in the World to Come.  The momentary attraction of slackening in our divine service, of taking the line of least resistance even at the expense of our own heavenly reward, seems so reasonable that we our own rationalization for what it is – the most subtle tactic of the yeitzer hara.

Like Eliezer, however, the students of Rabbi Akiva could be shaken out of their lethargy, both literally and figuratively.  The words of their rebbe penetrated their momentary carelessness and roused them to return to their study of the Divine Word.  How inspiring that those students allowed themselves to be so easily inspired!

But we are not merely careless.  We are committed to our carelessness, determined to sink into the drowsiness of indifference and ignore our rebbes’ reproof, whether that reproof comes from the rabbi or the rosh yeshiva, or even from the Torah itself.  We offer a whole litany of excuses why we don’t need reexamine our ways, indulging the routine of habit just like, the Mesillas Yesharim tells us, a blind man walking in darkness. 

We all have moments, however, when a window of opportunity opens, when our resistance to self-awareness drops, if only for a moment, and we can look back and take stock of ourselves.  And, as those fleeting moments become fewer and fewer, they become ever more precious.

If we are honest with ourselves then, in the light of objectivity, we all know what’s at stake.  No matter how difficult it is to be consistent models of kindness, of character, of diligence, of kiddush HaShem before our children’s eyes, we appreciate the potential cost and risk.  If we make excuses for our laxity, if we exempt ourselves from our service, then we will have failed not some distant generation, as Rabbi Akiva warned his talmidim.  Rather, we will be failing the next generation, our own children whom we brought into the world and with whose spiritual development HaShem has entrusted us.

The 127 years of Sara’s life, years equal in beauty and righteousness, did not end with Sara’s death.  The blessings of Sara’s tent continued in the next generation through the merit of Rivka, and Sara’s own merit transcended a thousand years to the generation of Esther.  The benefits of her effort and her service are beyond measure, and they teach us that ours can be, too, if we strive to live as she did.

Although the Almighty designed the world as a place for every man to earn his eternal reward through the proper application of his own free will, G-d is only willing to tolerate man’s wickedness up to a point before He intervenes.  And so, when the moral corruption of the city of Sodom surpassed the bounds of tolerability, G-d decreed the city’s destruction in a violent overthrow of fire and brimstone.

Before acting, however, the Almighty engages in a curious discussion with His heavenly hosts.  “Shall I conceal from Abraham what I intend to do?”  G-d asks.  “For Avrohom will become a great and mighty nation, and through him all the nations of the world will be blessed.  Indeed, I have made Myself known to him, so that he will command his children and his household after him, that they will guard the way of HaShem, doing charity and justice, in order that HaShem will bring upon Avrohom everything He has promised” (Bereishis 18:17-19).

The beginning and the end of G-d’s reflection seem to have no connection.  What does Avrohom’s future as a great nation have to do with the need to inform him of G-d’s iminent actions?  Furthermore, G-d’s description of Avrohom’s righteousness seems to imply that Avrohom’s instruction of his household is motivated by his own desire to receive the reward G-d had promised him.  If so, what merit is there in that?

Let me offer an answer to the second question first.  And, in the style of Jewish discourse, let me answer the question with a question:

What is it that we can give to G-d?  Since His is infinite and eternal, without either need or want, He certainly does not need our service or our obediance.  He gains nothing through our compliance with His will.  Rather, the Almighty desires that we keep His laws as the means of earning our eternal reward.  If so, the one thing we can give to G-d is the opportunity to give us the reward He wants us to have by earning it through the observance of His commandments. 

This is the true motivation of our patriarch Avrohom:  to keep G-d’s laws not to receive G-d’s reward for his own benefit, but as an act of giving, thereby providing the Almighty with the only thing He truly desires — the oppotunity to bestow the greatest possible blessing upon the world and all mankind. 

Moreover, Avrohom was not satisfied to keep the commandments himself, nor even to shape the values of the world around him.  Rather, Avrohom’s ultimate mission was to instill the values of G-dliness in his children by teaching them to guard the way of HaShem, doing charity and justice, so that an awareness of the Divine Will would never again be lost to the world as it was after the days of Adam and Noah.

How does this explain why HaShem could not conceal His plans from Avrohom?  In general, we understand that G-d conceals His presence to allow us free will in choosing good over evil.  In such a world, wickedness may sometimes thrive and flourish, compelling man to seek out G-d’s justice.  But when destruction rains down from the sky, when G-d Himself wreaks vengeance that makes no distinction between the wicked and righteous, how then can mankind believe in the absolute justice of the Almighty?

For Avrohom to succeed in teaching G-d’s justice, he himself must fully understand G-d’s justice.  And if the destruction of Sodom will appear to be less than just, then G-d must reveal His plan to Avrohom so that Avrohom can discern the justice inherent in the act.

Possessed of an unassailable understanding of Divine Justice, Avrohom could succeesfully transmit the G-dly virtues of charity and justice to his descendants, making it possible for them to grow into a great nation through which all the nations of the world would be blessed.  In this way, the purpose of creation would be achieved as all mankind would have the opportunity to earn the reward that G-d wants all human beings to receive.

King Solomon says:  The one who hates gifts will live.  He does not instruct us to refuse gifts, but to hate them.  For indeed, if no one accepted gifts, than no one would be able to give.  Rather, by seeing gifts not as gifts but as opportunities to allow others to give, we will always be givers instead of takers, living and modeling the virtues of charity and kindness, and spreading G-d’s blessing throughout the world.