Understanding Avraham in Moments Big and Small

This week, I had the privilege to spend four days in St. Louis, learning, connecting, and visioning with my Conservative Movement friends and colleagues at the Rabbinical Assembly convention. We spent our time studying Jewish text, singing and davening together, dreaming about the future of our movement, brainstorming, listening, and mourning the losses that our movement suffered during two years of pandemic. 

These four days were so special because I was able to reconnect with some of my favorite teachers and mentors from Rabbinical school; I was able to study and be a student in a way I haven’t been able to in a long time; and perhaps most importantly, I was being taken care of on so many different levels– physically, spiritually, emotionally. All week long, I had the experience of being a beloved guest– welcomed in, cared for, invited to focus fully on what we were all there to do. And even though the convention schedule was packed, and I felt pretty tired, I left St. Louis feeling that my cup had been filled. That my spiritual well was once again overflowing with nourishing life-giving waters. In this context, to be a guest meant that I was able to put worry and busyness aside, and was instead able to be present in ways I have been deeply missing. To be away, but to be away in the company of dear friends and mentors, was energizing, and heartening. And I can’t  wait to share everything I learned there with you all, to bring it back home. 

And this experience of being a guest, of being so fully embraced and taken care of, reminded me of a crucial moment in this week’s parsha. At the very beginning of our portion, Avraham is greeted by three guests:

G-d appeared to him by the trees of Mamre; Avraham was sitting at the entrance of the tent as the day grew hot. Looking up, he saw three figures standing near him. Perceiving this, he ran from the entrance of the tent to greet them and, bowing to the ground, He said, “My lords!” If it pleases you, do not go on past your servant. Let a little water be brought; bathe your feet and recline under the tree. And let me fetch a morsel of bread that you may refresh yourselves; then go on—seeing that you have come your servant’s way.” They replied, “Do as you have said.” Abraham hastened into the tent to Sarah, and said, “Quick, three seahs of choice flour! Knead and make cakes!” Then Abraham ran to the herd, took a calf, tender and choice, and gave it to a servant-boy, who hastened to prepare it. He took curds and milk and the calf that had been prepared and set these before them; and he waited on them under the tree as they ate.

Here, Avraham is a model of hospitality. We can almost imagine him running as fast as he can around his tent to make sure everything is just so for these welcome strangers. We can almost feel the frenetic and joyous energy of this moment– the language itself full of chaotic, happy movement. 

The commentators disagree about whether or not Avraham knew that these guests were really angels, emissaries of the Divine sent to deliver the message that Sarah would conceive and give birth to a baby boy the following year. 

But whether or not Avraham knew that these strangers were sent from G-d, the commentators agree that our patriarch is indeed an exemplar of hospitality, of hachnasat orchim. The text makes clear that Avraham goes above and beyond for these strangers. He doesn’t seem to ask questions, but instead invites them in with radical openness and care. Avraham treats these men like family. 

Just a few verses later, Avraham is poised yet again, to honor and protect the dignity and humanity of complete strangers. 

Then G-d  said, “The outrage of Sodom and Gomorrah is so great, and their sin so grave! I will go down to see whether they have acted altogether according to the outcry that has reached Me; if not, I will take note.” Abraham came forward and said, “Will You sweep away the innocent along with the guilty? What if there should be fifty innocent within the city; will You then wipe out the place and not forgive it for the sake of the innocent fifty who are in it? Far be it from You to do such a thing, to bring death upon the innocent as well as the guilty, so that innocent and guilty fare alike. Far be it from You! Shall not the Judge of all the earth deal justly?”

This exchange continues. Avraham continues to negotiate with G-d, begging that G-d not destroy the city on the merit of even fewer people. 

And he said, “Let not my lord be angry if I speak but this last time: What if ten should be found there?” “I will not destroy, for the sake of the ten.”

Avraham is ultimately unsuccessful, and the city of Sodom is destroyed, and that is traumatic for Avraham. The destruction of Sodom brings him a great deal of sorrow. 

These two moments in our parsha, Avraham’s hospitality, and his fierce advocacy for the protection of the people of Sodom, are often lifted up, celebrated as two important examples of his righteousness. And for good reason. These are extraordinary moments of human compassion. In these two moments, it becomes clear that Avraham is a person who sees goodness in everyone; it becomes clear that Avraham struggles to understand a G-d who is potentially capricious and vengeful. It becomes clear to us that Avraham does believe that humanity, even at its worst, is fundamentally redeemable. 

But there are three other critical moments in this week’s Torah portion that stand in stark contrast to Avraham’s generosity and concern for the dignity of others. 1. When Avraham instructs Sarah, a second time, to pretend to be his sister for fear that he may be killed by King Avimelech. 2. When Avraham banishes Hagar and Ishamel; and 3, and perhaps most notably, when Avraham rises to the challenge, accepts G-d’s instruction that he sacrifice his son, Isaac, with enthusiasm and zeal. 

Each of these three moments are pivotal, and each deserving of their own drash. But to dwell in a weekly Torah portion means to read the portion as a whole; to read its stories and characters and subtleties not independently of the other, but decidedly in dialogue with the whole. 

And so how do we make sense of this seeming contradiction, or even hypocrisy in Avraham’s behavior throughout Parshat Vayera? How is he on the one hand, so open, so generous, so trusting of complete strangers; and on the other, so sadly disconnected from and unconcerned with the human experience of those closest to him? 

When I started to think about this question, I remembered how difficult it must have been to be Avraham. Everything brand new. A relationship with a newly discovered deity unfolding and growing in real time. A community to lead. A land to wander toward. And if we read retrospectively, we know that Avraham carries the weight of our future on his shoulders. The stakes are so very high.

In this week’s Parsha, we learn that Avraham is really good at the big stuff. And he teaches us, in so many ways, how to build lives that are worthy of covenant. Avraham teaches us how to see others, how to advocate on behalf of the marginalized, how to make sense of a world that is full of violence and fear. Avraham teaches us to listen for G-d’s voice, to be enthusiastic in our practice, to dedicate one’s whole self to believing in all that a community can grow to become. 

But Avraham isn’t so good at the in-between moments. The small, but certainly no less important, interactions, reactions. The listening, the engaging, the connecting on a deeply human level. 

Perhaps, in pursuit of G-d and in pursuit of covenant, Avraham misses what’s right in front of him. And we all know that sometimes it’s easier to be gracious and altruistic to others, to strangers. That when there is a distance, an anonymity between myself and the other, I can take up their cause, I can advocate on principle. I can convince myself into believing that I can do more. But when we do that, we fail to see the people who are closest to us. We fail to give the kinds of acknowledgement and the kinds of care that the people near us are equally worthy of. It’s easy to take the people we love for granted. It’s easy to trick ourselves into thinking that we don’t have to do the same kinds of work to be in relationship with them. It’s easy to put those little moments of our lives on hold, to push them aside in the presence of bigger things. Don’t do it, is that cautionary tale of Parshat Vayera. 

There are many moments of tragedy in this week’s parsha. But I believe the cumulative tragedy of Parshat Vayera is that Avraham fails to do for those closest to him, what he so easily does for strangers. And how painful this must have been for Isaac, for Sarah, for Hagar and Ishmael, and also for Eliezer. 

So this week, take this lesson from our parsha to heart. Don’t give up on your work, don’t stop trying to make the world a better and more just place; but when you have minute, when you find yourself in-between, pick up the phone, send a text, write a short note, to a dear friend, to a dear family member, to someone who is right there, but also so far away. 

Shabbat Shalom!