Parashat Vayeira 5786

Abraham’s Vision: Welcoming the Stranger

A D’var Torah for Parashat Vayeira

by Rabbi Rachel Posner, Ph.D. (AJR 25)

In the middle of the day, under the full weight of the desert sun, God appears to Abraham as he sits at the entrance of his tent. So opens the scene in which we witness our patriarch’s radical hospitality.

The theme of vision preoccupies the opening of our (appropriately titled) Parashat Vayeira (“and He appeared”):

Genesis 18:1–2

וַיֵּרָ֤א אֵלָיו֙ הֹ’ בְּאֵלֹנֵ֖י מַמְרֵ֑א וְה֛וּא יֹשֵׁ֥ב פֶּֽתַח־הָאֹ֖הֶל כְּחֹ֥ם הַיּֽוֹם׃

HaShem appeared to him by the terebinths of Mamre; he was sitting at the entrance of the tent as the day grew hot.

וַיִּשָּׂ֤א עֵינָיו֙ וַיַּ֔רְא וְהִנֵּה֙ שְׁלֹשָׁ֣ה אֲנָשִׁ֔ים נִצָּבִ֖ים עָלָ֑יו וַיַּ֗רְא וַיָּ֤רׇץ לִקְרָאתָם֙ מִפֶּ֣תַח הָאֹ֔הֶל וַיִּשְׁתַּ֖חוּ אָֽרְצָה׃

Looking up, he saw three figures standing near him. Perceiving this, he ran from the entrance of the tent to greet them, bowing to the ground.

God “appears” to Abraham; Abraham “looks up,” “sees” the men, and upon “seeing” them, runs to greet them. What is the relationship between sight and hospitality?

Moreover, whom does Abraham see? Does he turn away from God in order to greet three strangers? From this Biblical story, the Sages learned that “hospitality toward guests is greater than receiving the Divine Presence” (BT Shabbat 127a). The Rabbis recognized that sometimes communing with God is easier than being with people. The mitzvah of hakhnasat orhim—welcoming guests—challenges our darker tendencies to lock our doors and pull down our shades when we see the neighbors coming.

Alternatively, perhaps God appears as the three men. Does Abraham recognize something Divine in the people before him? Perhaps these strangers—angels, really—are no different from the strangers, or angels, in our own midst.

We naturally shy away from strangers. This instinct is protective, adaptive, and one of the first things we teach our children: “Don’t talk to strangers!” Yet taken to an extreme, our wariness builds walls that keep out those who are different from us. We can easily dehumanize someone when they remain at a distance. “People are hard to hate close up. Move in,” advises Brené Brown (Braving the Wilderness). When we are hospitable, we create a space where strangers can become friends.

In each new person is a Divine spark—a part of God we do not yet know. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks wrote that “we encounter God in the face of the stranger.” Therefore, “it is in the one-who-is-different that we meet God” (The Dignity of Difference). In Deuteronomy 10:17–19 we learn that God loves the stranger, and therefore, we must also love the stranger—because we were strangers once. The capacity to empathize with human experience has the potential to dissolve the very category of “stranger.” Perhaps Abraham is that rare person who “never met a stranger.” His ability to see the Divine spark in each person forms the basis of his hospitable nature.

Abraham embodies a welcoming spirit we strive to emulate. Midrash teaches that Abraham’s tent was open on all four sides (Bereshit Rabbah 48), open to travelers coming from every direction. When we are hospitable, we become like Abraham, embracing difference and welcoming new faces.

That sounds like a worthy goal, but how are we to enact it—especially in this time of deepening divisions? How can we remain hospitable when we must hire armed guards and keep our synagogue doors locked because of very real threats to our safety?

Perhaps returning to the theme of vision that opens our parashah helps us find an answer. We must rely on both our sight and our insight. The repetition of Abraham’s “seeing” in Genesis 18:2 suggests that he perceives the strangers on multiple levels—looking out at the world with a posture that is both open and protective. Perhaps Abraham also looks inward, examining his own assumptions. Abraham sees—then sees again, and again—in deeper and newer ways.

May we merit the gift of sight: tents that are open yet safe, hearts that discern both danger and possibility, and the courage to welcome strangers who may become friends.