Avraham sat outside his tent recovering from his circumcision. The Bris Milah was performed at an advanced age as the ultimate display of allegiance and commitment to God. On the third day of his recovery, the Ribbono Shel Olam, God comes to visit Avraham and performs the mitzvah of Bikur Cholim (visiting the sick).

Now the Lord appeared to him in the plains of Mamre, and he was sitting at the entrance of the tent when the day was hot (Genesis 18:1)

The great Chassidic master, Rav Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev (1740-1810), asks why the verse states, “Now the Lord appeared to him.” Shouldn’t it read, “Now the Lord appeared to Avraham”? After the incredible sacrifice of the first patriarch, why not refer to him by name?

The Rebbe provides a mystical insight and explains that the letters of a person’s name are the utensils into which his or her personalistic holiness is gathered and contained. Each letter of one’s name is a kli (utensil) into which one’s conferred and acquired holiness is stored. But sometimes a person can do something of such great importance or accomplish something of such great magnitude that the letters of his name simply cannot contain all their acquired holiness. After Avraham had undergone circumcision, following his departure from his homeland and way of life and then sitting in the heat of day looking for opportunities for Hachnosas Orchim, hospitality, he had become so great that the letters of his name could not contain his personalistic holiness. Therefore, the Torah omits Avraham’s name, symbolizing his self-transcendent experience. Our first patriarch had simply grown beyond his name.

The power of a name is that it often captures our essence. In fact, the Arizal explains that parents are blessed with a spirit of prophecy when they name their child as the name has to fit the character and potential of the little baby. Yet, not even the parents know who this little person is or who he or she will become.

But names can also be limiting. At times we get used to being known by a certain name and identity, and we stop trying to grow and evolve. We must maximize our name and fill its letters with holiness and accomplishment, but at times, we must transcend our names and work to become someone new. Our first patriarch changed from Avram to Avraham and then from Avraham to “him.” He had accomplished so much until no name could describe or contain his holiness.

We go through life with many names. When we are born, our parents partner with God to find a suitable name which captures our yet unknown essence. As we get older, we acquire different names. I become a son, daughter, husband, wife, father, mother, friend, brother, and sister. And as the journey progresses, I acquire different names, perhaps, reflecting my career or accomplishments. Each of these names is important and meaningful. But I must be self-aware enough to know when the name I currently carry and am known by is holding me back and limiting my self-actualization. At times, the identity of my youth is not befitting my more mature years. Too many times in life, we live with the same identity long after we have truly outgrown it. I would never wear shoes which are two sizes too small, yet I live with an identity, with dreams and aspirations which are dated and need to be updated, reevaluated, and resized. My name is beautiful, but sometimes I outgrow it. It is in those moments that I must find the courage to find a new name and potentially live with no name as I create and cultivate my new identity.

“Now the Lord appeared to him in the plains of Mamre, and he was sitting at the entrance of the tent when the day was hot. And he lifted his eyes and saw, and behold, three men were standing beside him, and he saw, and he ran toward them from the entrance of the tent, and he prostrated himself to the ground.” (Genesis 18:1-2)

Avraham, just a few days post-circumcision, waits outside his tent eager to find guests to invite into his home. The Ish Ha’Chessed, this man who embodies kindness and selflessness, cannot focus on his own pain and discomfort, rather he seeks to transcend his personal circumstances in an effort to give to others. Alas, there are no guests to be found. It is hot and all have sought shelter from the blistering sun. God summons three angels and Avraham runs to greet them. But these angels are not simply sent to allow Avraham to fulfill the mitzvah of hachnosas orchim (hospitality); they each have a mission. One angel is sent to announce the birth of Yitzchak, another to heal Avraham and one to destroy the city of Sodom. Why couldn’t God simply send one angel to accomplish all three tasks?  Rashi explains, “for one angel cannot perform multiple tasks.”

The Lubavitcher Rebbe (Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, 1902-1994) makes a subtle, yet profound observation. Herein lies the fundamental distinction between man and angel. An angel can only do one thing. An angel can only have one mission and when it finishes that mission, its existence is complete. An angel can’t pivot or change. An angel can’t decide to do something different than the intended purpose for which it was created. “One angel cannot perform multiple tasks or agencies” – why? Because angels are incapable of transformation. Their existence, while exalted and holy, is one-dimensional and limited. But we can change, we can pivot. We can embark down one path in life and upon realizing that it is incorrect can change course. We can make mistakes and then correct them. We can begin one task then choose to do and to be something else. Angels are holy but we are even holier.

There are times when we realize that something is broken or flawed within us. I know that there are things I must change, but I soothe myself with the excuse of “this is who I am.” From the words of the Rebbe we see that only angels can use that excuse, man cannot. Angels can say “this is who I am” for they are truly limited, one-dimensional beings who can only perform the particular task for which they were created. But we can be who we choose to be. We can change, transform, reinvent, and remake. Unlike angels we must face adversity and challenge and at times as a result of our life difficulties we become hardened and resistant to change. Let us remember, God had to send three angels to accomplish three distinct tasks, yet one Avraham Avinu was able to effect so much change all on his own.

The power of change is an awesome gift, may we find the courage and strength to use it wisely.

Even the pious Avraham Avinu could not sway God to forgive the people of Sodom. They had become so depraved, immoral and unholy that God felt compelled to destroy the cities. But all was not lost. Lot and his family were whisked out of the city by guardian angles and given the opportunity to begin life anew. As they were readying themselves to take leave of Sodom, the angel outlines a simple set of instructions:

And it came to pass, when they took them outside, that he said, “Flee for your life, do not look behind you, and do not stand in the entire plain. Flee to the mountain, lest you perish.” (Bereishis 19:17)

Lot and his daughters complied, but his wife Iris did not.

“And the Lord caused to rain down upon Sodom and Gomorrah brimstone and fire, from the Lord, from heaven. And He turned over these cities and the entire plain, and all the inhabitants of the cities, and the vegetation of the ground. And his wife looked from behind him, and she became a pillar of salt.” (Bereishis 19:24-26)

The commentaries spend much time analyzing why Iris became a pillar of salt. It is clear that she violated the angelic directive but why was this the punishment? Rashi and others understand this punishment to reflect some degree of Divine reciprocity. As the Midrash explains, she refused to give salt (to accompany the bread) to the strangers who visited her home and when punished became a pillar of salt. But I would like to veer in a different direction (within this same story). The Torah is a book of laws. The Torah is not a history or a story book. As such when the Torah shares stories with us it is to teach us moral, ethical and/or legal lessons. What is the lesson from this episode? What are we to learn from Iris, the wife of Lot and what is the contemporary message?

Rav Shmuel Weinberg (1850-1916), the Rebbe of Slonim provides an incredible insight:

“When the angel said to them, ‘Al tabet acharecha, do not look behind you’ this was referring to the failures of the past. The wife of Lot looked back and what occurred? She became a pillar of salt.”

The Rebbe is teaching us an incredible lesson. Embedded in this story is perhaps one of the most important life principals. If you want to build a future, you must let go of the past. If you want to move forward, you must stop looking in the rearview mirror. Memory is a gift, but if used incorrectly can become a handicap. We all fail and in the aftermath of failure we must dust ourselves off, learn the hard lessons and move forward. We cannot live in the past because we cannot change the past. We can’t replay the mistakes and missteps of our past over and over because there is nothing more we can do to correct them. The only way to build a new future is to stop looking back and start moving forward.  

God was giving Lot and his family the opportunity to start again and make a new life for themselves. But Iris looked back, she couldn’t detach from her past, she was tethered to it and therefore couldn’t move on. She turned into a pillar of salt. Why salt? Salt is a preservative, it keeps things in their present state, it prevents change and evolution. Iris couldn’t evolve or change because she was always looking back. Thus, she became stagnant, present-preserving salt.    

There are painful moments in our past. There are failures and mistakes which have changed who we are and the direction of our lives. But each and every day God gives us the gift of a new beginning. We can always start over. Keep your eyes on the magnificent mountains of accomplishment ahead, keep your eyes on the beautiful possibilities that await you. And as you journey forward hear the message of the angel, the message of the Torah ringing in your ears: “don’t look back.”