Rabbi Rael Blumenthal

The Medrash (תנחמא ויקהל א) teaches us:

אַתְּ מוֹצֵא שְׁלֹשָׁה שֵׁמוֹת נִקְרְאוּ לוֹ לְאָדָם, אֶחָד מַה שֶּׁקּוֹרְאִים לוֹ אָבִיו וְאִמּוֹ, וְאֶחָד מַה שֶּׁקּוֹרְאִין לוֹ בְּנֵי אָדָם, וְאֶחָד מַה שֶּׁקּוֹנֶה הוּא לְעַצְמוֹ. טוֹב מִכֻּלָּן מַה שֶּׁקּוֹנֶה הוּא לְעַצְמוֹ.

You find that a man is known by three names: the name by which his father and mother call him, the name by which other men call him, and the one he earns for himself. The most important name is the one he earns for himself.

This drama plays itself out throughout Sefer Bereishis, in the naming of people and places. Noach provides comfort. Avram becomes Avraham – a father of many nations. Yitzchak is named for the laughter of his parents.

By far, however, the strangest name given in the Torah occurs this Shabbos. To the best of my knowledge, we meet a person named for a food. Or rather, the color of a food.

Esav returns home, tired and hungry. Chazal tell us that this was the funeral of Avraham, and Yaakov and Esav were teenagers – fifteen years old. Esav sees the red lentil soup that Yaakov has prepared and demands הַלְעִיטֵנִי נָא מִן־הָאָדֹם הָאָדֹם הַזֶּה – Give me that red stuff!

Then comes the strange end of the pasuk – עַל־כֵּן קָרָא־שְׁמוֹ אֱדוֹם – So he called his name Edom. A person named for a food?! But the name stuck. It is the nation of Edom, rather than Esav that arises.

Yaakov uses this opportunity to bargain Esav for his birthright, to which Esav replies:

הִנֵּה אָנֹכִי הוֹלֵךְ לָמוּת וְלָמָּה־זֶּה לִי בְּכֹרָה – I am going to die. Why would I need a birthright?

This exchange would set the stage for the relationship between these brothers for years to come, and indeed for all of history. But Chazal, however, see in this story, a hidden narrative that seems a little unfair:

The Gemara (Bava Basra 16b) explains:

אמר רבי יוחנן חמש עבירות עבר אותו רשע באותו היום בא על נערה מאורסה והרג את הנפש וכפר בעיקר וכפר בתחיית המתים ושט את הבכורה בא על נערה מאורסה

Rabbi Yochanan says: That wicked Esau committed five transgressions on that day that Avraham died: He engaged in relations with a betrothed girl, he murdered a person, he denied the principle of God’s existence, he denied resurrection of the dead, and he despised the birthright.

That’s a heavy statement. I’ve taught some rough teens, and being fifteen is not a simple stage of life. But even for the most challenging of young men, that’s an impressive itinerary for one day of sinning. How could we possibly understand such behavior?

A deeper question is to ask is what inspired Rabbi Yochanan to read these crimes into a seemingly more innocent episode.

Perhaps the solution to this enigma lies in the curious name change in the story: עַל־כֵּן קָרָא־שְׁמוֹ אֱדוֹם – So he called his name Edom.

Who called Esav Edom? There were only two people present. How did the name stick? The Daas Zekeinim of the Baalei HaTosfos explain: Esav called himself Edom.

On that day, Esav, whose name means “complete man”, decided that his identity was now Edom – the red guy. Rabbeinu Bachaya explains: “Since my hair is red and my land is red... I guess the red food should be mine as well. I’ll take it.”

Rabbi Yochanan is teaching us that the roots of moral and ethical decay are not based in desire and temptation. Of course, people are fallible and flawed. But society does not crumble from those who cannot control there Yetzer Hara. Rather, Rabbi Yochanan explains: the cruelest evils in the world are perpetrated by those who willfully neglect nuance. If all “red things” are the same, no further thinking is needed.

At it worst, this is the tendency to reinterpret all facts to suit a narrative. Without subtly and nuance there is no hope for reexamination.

Of course, this is not just an issue that Esav faced. We all make generalizations that fit our agendas. We ignore details and brush over subtleties that should affect our decisions and behaviors. We miss the details, because it’s easier, but in doing so, we miss out on the most important parts of life.

This is Esav’s failure; and this is how we can understand Rabbi Yochanan: There are two ways to live life: either everything is important, or nothing is important.

The Chafetz Chaim explains that this also accounts for Esav’s statement: “I’m going to die – why do I need a birthright?!” For tzadikim, the thought of death, a reminder of the temporality and fragility of life spurs them to action. The knowledge of our mortality induces a sense of urgency – carpe die.

But a rasha is someone for whom the knowledge of mortality serves only to convince them that nothing is worthwhile. And if nothing is meaningful, then who cares?

The Torah is teaching us here: If all you can see is what lies on the surface, you’ve already missed out on your birthright.

In a world that has lost it’s sense of nuance, subtleties are disregarded, and unless something is painted in red, we fail to notice it.

Yaakov, on the other hand, is named for one who grabs onto the heal – מצוות שאדם דש בעקביו – The opportunities that others disregard. For Yaakov, everything is meaningful.

His name, too, is later changed; to Yisrael. One who fights with God and Men and prevails. But he never loses his name Yaakov.

It is this trajectory that makes us Jews. The secret to our success lies in our ability to see beyond, within, and around. And in doing so, to learn to value everything.