We find ourselves pondering this in Bereshit Rabbah 49, where Rabbi Eleazar raises a fascinating question. How do we understand instances in the Torah where individuals seem to be in direct communication with God?
He points to the story of Hagar, who, after encountering an angel, "called the name of the Lord who spoke with her" (Genesis 16:13). But Rabbi Yehoshua, citing Rabbi Nechemiah in the name of Rabbi Idi, offers a different perspective: that Hagar’s interaction was actually through an angel.
Then, the text throws another curveball: What about when God speaks directly to Rebecca? Rabbi Levi, echoing the previous sentiment, suggests that this, too, was mediated by an angel. But Rabbi Eleazar, this time citing Rabbi Yose b. Zimra, proposes a different idea altogether: that it was Shem, son of Noah, who acted as the intermediary!
It makes you think, doesn't it? About the different ways we can interpret sacred texts, and the levels of meaning they might hold.
The passage then shifts gears, delving into the power of names and memory, both good and bad. It pivots to the famous verse, "Shall I conceal from Abraham what I am doing?" (Genesis 18:17). But it's not just about God's decision to inform Abraham of the impending destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. It's about something deeper: the importance of remembering the righteous.
Rabbi Yitzchak begins with a poignant observation: "The memory of the righteous is for a blessing, and the name of the wicked will rot" (Proverbs 10:7). He argues that when we mention a righteous person, we should offer a blessing. Why? Because "the memory of the righteous is for a blessing." Conversely, when we mention a wicked person, we should pronounce a curse, because "the name of the wicked will rot." It’s a powerful idea – that our words have the power to either uplift or degrade, even after someone is gone.
Rabbi Shmuel bar Naḥman offers a vivid image: The names of the wicked are like weaving implements – taut when used, but slack and useless when forgotten. Have you ever heard anyone name their child Pharaoh? Sisera? Sennacherib? These names, he says, have fallen into disuse, they have "rotted away." Instead, we have Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Reuben, and Simeon – names that carry blessing and remembrance.
The text even provides examples of how this was practiced. Rabbi Yonatan, upon reaching the verse in Esther that mentions Nebuchadnezzar, would say, "Nebuchadnezzar, may his bones be crushed!"— fulfilling the verse, "The name of the wicked will rot." Rav, on Purim, would say, "Cursed is Haman and cursed are his sons!" Rabbi Pinḥas, on the other hand, remembers Ḥarvona for good, as it was Ḥarvona who suggested hanging Haman.
But here's where it gets even more interesting. Rabbi Shmuel bar Naḥman points out that when God mentions the name of Israel, He blesses them. As it says, "The Lord who remembers us, blesses" (Psalms 115:12). Rav Huna, citing Rav Aḥa, then asks a crucial question: We know this applies to the entire nation, but what about each individual?
The answer, they suggest, lies in the very verse we started with: "Shall I conceal from Abraham what I am doing? And Abraham will become a great and mighty nation." The Torah, they argue, could have simply said, "Because the outcry of Sodom and Gomorrah is great" (Genesis 18:20). But God chose to include the verses praising Abraham. Why? Because, "I have mentioned the righteous man, shall I not bless him? ‘Abraham will become a great nation.’"
It's a beautiful idea, isn't it? That even God, in a sense, is bound by this principle of honoring the righteous. It suggests that our actions, our memories, and the way we speak about others have profound consequences, reaching even the Divine. It makes you wonder: what names will we choose to remember, and how will we speak of them?