He evidently was a restless man who could not stay idle long. He was forever seeking new stimulation, new certainties; he abhorred all routine. He would go from Haran to Canaan, sometimes pushing as far as Damascus, in his search for worthy adversaries. He was an explorer of some stature who affronted kings and robbers, and enjoyed defeating them, exulting when he broke their pride.

Yet his greatest adventure was his encounter with God—an encounter which was a result of deliberate choice on both sides. They addressed one another as equals. According to the Midrash, God said to Abraham: Ani yekhidi veata yekhidi—I am alone and you are alone, alone to know and proclaim it. From that moment on, their dialogue took place under the implacable sign of the absolute: they were to be both partners and accomplices. Before, says legend, God reigned only in heaven; it was Abraham who extended his rule unto the earth.

Since clearly an interlocutor of God’s could not be a man of mediocrity, the Midrash confers upon Abraham a boundless wealth of titles and virtues: his were the powers of a sovereign ruler, the wisdom of a Just Man, the fiery language of a prophet or high priest. He spoke every tongue and mastered every art; he had access to secrets no living man before him had ever glimpsed, much less understood.

Why was he given the surname Haivri, the Hebrew? Ivri, says one source, comes from the word ever, which means “side”: Abraham stood on one side and the whole world on the other. According to another explanation, not without humor, Abraham was nicknamed the Hebrew simply because, with God, he . . . conversed in Hebrew.

And one begins to wonder, since God and he loved one another so much and collaborated so closely, why these tests? Why these ordeals and torture? Because God tests only the strong. The weak do not resist or resist poorly; they are of no consequence. But then, what good is it to resist, since God knows the outcome in advance? Answer: God knows, man does not.

Most commentators assume that Abraham was tested for his own good. To serve as an example to the peoples of the world and to earn him their leaders’ reverence. And also to harden him; to awaken in him an awareness of his own strength and potential.

Of course, this does not satisfy everyone: the idea that suffering is good for Jews is one that owes its popularity to our enemies.

And indeed there is another explanation, though not a very original one, that brings into the picture an old acquaintance, always present in moments of crisis and doubt: Satan. Source of all evil, supreme temptor. The easy, glib answer, the scapegoat. The crafty gambler, the unabashed liar. The servant who conveniently carries out the Master’s dirty work, accepting all blame and anathema in His place. The sacrifice of Isaac? God had nothing to do with it; it was all Satan’s doing. God did not want this test; Satan demanded it. The inhuman game was Satan’s scheme and he bears full responsibility. Satan: the ideal alibi.