Parashat Vayera, Genesis 18:1-22:24

Haftarah 2 Kings 4:1-37

Dear TBE,

This week brings another bashert synchrony between parasha, the weekly Torah portion, and what is going on in our lives! This Friday night is our Shabbat Around the Table (reminder, there are no services at Temple nor on Zoom), and tomorrow, many of you will enjoy Halloween, opening your doors to curious and excited kids going trick or treating.

In Brooklyn on the block where I used to live, people had the custom to not wait inside but sit on their porches with a gallon of candies next to them and engage with the candy (or healthier treats) collectors. It just so happens that this is exactly what Abraham is doing in the desert, in Parashat Vayera, after he pitched his tent in BeerSheva.

Abraham is sitting at the entrance of his tent in the heat of the day when he notices three strangers approaching. He runs toward them and invites them to accept his hospitality. He offers them some water to wash their feet, a shady place to rest, and “a little water and a morsel of bread” to sustain them on their journey.

But what follows is anything but “a little water and a morsel of bread.” Abraham rushes into the tent and instructs Sarah to prepare abundant cakes of fine flour. He runs to the herd, selects a tender calf, and has it prepared. He brings his visitors all the delicacies and stands beside them under the tree while they eat.

There is something almost comical about the scene. Abraham, an elderly man, still recovering from his self-inflicted circumcision, runs back and forth in the scorching heat, overseeing an elaborate meal for three strangers. Sarah, too, is drawn into this frenzy of hospitality, suddenly tasked with baking enough bread to feed a small crowd. Abraham and Sarah are going to extraordinary lengths for people they have never met.

Our sages take this hospitality very seriously. In the Talmud (Tractate Shabbat 127a), Rav teaches that hachnasat orchim, welcoming guests, is even a greater value than receiving the Divine Presence. The teaching is based on the opening verses of Vayera, where God appears to Abraham just before the three strangers arrive.

Imagine that! Abraham interrupts an encounter with God to offer lunch to three strangers. And rather than criticizing him for this apparent breach of religious etiquette, the rabbis elevate his behavior into one of Judaism’s most cherished values.

But who are these three visitors? The Torah initially calls them simply anashim, men. Only later do we learn that they are angels, malachim, a Hebrew word that literally means messengers. Abraham does not know any of this when he first sees them standing near his tent. What he sees are three travelers in the desert in need of rest and refreshment.

Maybe this is the most compelling dimension of the story. Hospitality is not offered because the guests are important, because they might bring good news, or because they might be useful to us one day. It is offered because they are strangers who have appeared at our door.

There is another tension in this story worth contemplating. Abraham and Sarah’s generosity is abundant, maybe even excessive. The Torah’s description of their preparations makes us wonder whether hospitality requires such an enormous expenditure of energy and resources. Surely a glass of water, some bread, and a welcoming smile would have been enough?

Yet the Torah’s narrative insists on the abundance of their welcome. Hospitality is not merely about providing what is necessary. It is about making another person feel that their arrival matters, that their presence is a blessing rather than an inconvenience.

And maybe that is where this ancient story speaks most directly to us at Temple Beth El. A synagogue is, among many other things, a place of hospitality. Every Shabbat, every gathering, every Oneg is an opportunity to practice hachnasat orchim. Not necessarily by preparing enormous feasts, but by noticing the person standing alone, inviting someone new to sit beside us, introducing ourselves to a visitor, making room at the table, or reaching out to someone who has not been around for a while.

We cannot know what stories, hopes, sorrows, or blessings another person carries when they walk through our doors. Abraham didn’t know, either, nor did the Shunamite woman hosting the prophet Elisha.

The three strangers brought news of an improbable birth to Abraham and Sarah. Their messages changed the couple’s lives. But the hospitality came first, before any revelation, before any promise, before anyone knew who these visitors were.

Maybe the power, beauty, and miracle of hospitality lie precisely there: in the willingness to open our tent, our doors with full hearts – be it around the Shabbat table or when you open your doors for trick or treaters.

Shabbat Shalom and Happy Halloween!
Rabbi Julia Knobloch