Vayera

By Bradley Levenberg

Since realizing that we were in fact going to be moving to Israel for the year, my wife and I have received exactly seven thousand four hundred and two notices that our friends, family, and loose acquaintances would love to stay with us when they arrive in Israel. Rarely have these people asked if it was okay; rather, they assume that since we're going to be around when they are in town, well, why WOULDN'T we love to have houseguests for two or three days…or weeks. We have yet to say no to any of these people, and as a result have now had several people reside in Casa De Levenberg.

Without sounding egocentric or pious, my wife, Rebecca, and I were in the same position as Abraham and Sarah in this weeks Torah portion. Abraham is sitting in front of his tent when he sees three men standing near him. Mind you, they were not approaching from a distance, they were not drifting past the home of our ancestors. They weren't waving to Abraham from the distance "Hey, buddy! Can you spare some water?" No, they were standing close enough to read the newspaper over his shoulder when Abraham looked up. Judging from stories of people in our class, this is not uncommon. Frequently classmates have been taking a relaxing break from a long walk only to look up to see one or two people standing pretty much on top of them. It's like "Hello, need some right guard?" Anyway, Abraham does the gracious thing and invites the three in for a nice, non-Kosher meal of curds, milk, and a calf. He alerts Sarah to their presence and asks her to "quickly bake some cakes".

The theme here is hospitality, folks. Abraham and Sarah were hospitable to their guests, even though they came unannounced and never uttered a request. It was Abraham and Sarah who offered their home, their food, their time. In fact, Abraham didn't just feed the three guests, he waited on them while they ate. Talk about a mensch!

Our responsibilities toward being hospitable are not at all clear. While the Torah espouses the mitzvah of choosing to be hospitable, the Talmud places enormous emphasis upon hospitality when it states that "greater than the reception of God is the practice of hospitality" (Shev. 35b; sab. 127a; and Rashi on 18:3). In fact, one Midrash states that Abraham was sitting in his doorway precisely so that he could fulfill the mitzvah of being hospitable (Midrash Ha-Gadol, Vayera I). Yet we do not live in the ancient world of Abraham and Sarah, nor of the Rabbis of the Talmud.

A rabbi told a story in which a man showed up at his house well after dark and asked if he could spend the night in his home. The rabbi, who had young children sleeping just up the stairs, felt that the security of his family far outweighed the mitzvah of being hospitable. At odds in this story are two opposing forces: on one hand, you have the notion of hospitality and on the other hand, the notion of security. In order to be hospitable, at least in this case, one must lower the barriers that keep them, and in fact their families, secure. Now, just because one is being hospitable does not mean that a dire act will be committed upon their family- but when the doors are locked and you don't answer the doorbell late at night when it rings unexpectedly, safety and security are better ensured.

In being hospitable, the mitzvah is only half fulfilled when actually BEING hospitable. The other half of the mitzvah is in making the other party feel welcome. Abraham didn't just welcome the three strangers, instructing them to "help themselves", he actually waited on them. When we welcome people into our home, Rebecca and I rarely give them the run of the place. Yet, when showing our guests around, we use positive, reaffirming language to make them feel comfortable. We tell them what they can do, not what they can't do. We offer them something to eat or drink. We offer to turn on the air conditioning if they are a little warm. We let them know that they can watch whatever they want on TV. We don't tell them that they cannot smoke in our home. We don't tell them that they cannot sleep in our bed at night. We don't tell them that they cannot try on our clothing. In leaving these things out of our introductory spiel, we are hardly condoning them; rather, we are placing emphasis on the benefits that our hospitality has to offer as opposed to the drawbacks of taking advantage of our home. We hope that in emphasizing the positive, perhaps we can make our guests feel a little more comfortable. The power of language, of emphasis, in making someone feel welcome is strong indeed. Clifford Geertz, one of the most respected cultural anthropologists alive today, wrote in his ethnography of Bali concerning the relationship between language and actions that: "our language and our expressions, convey messages that our actions may be able to hide." These subtle nuances indicate much more than most of us realize.

So, if we not only have to welcome people, but we also must be welcoming, and if we are balancing issues of safety with our notion of hospitality, in our society today, we may ask, what is the reality of being hospitable? Another Midrash states that: "Once, Abraham's love of strangers clashed with his zeal for God. He invited a wayfarer to his home and, finding him praying to his idol, chased him away. God reprimanded Abraham severely: 'I have borne with him these many years although he rebelled against Me, and you cannot bear with him one night?' Abraham realized his sin and did not rest until he had brought the stranger back."

The issue in this Midrash is being hospitable to those we may not agree with. Hospitality is more than just welcoming somebody into your home; it's making that person FEEL welcomed. Hospitality is tough enough if you agree with the people you are welcoming, but as the Midrash states, we are not to be hospitable only to those we like- we must be welcoming to all people. Take for example our favorite topic as a class to discuss, ha matzav. This may be news to most of you, but many of the street signs in the city have been spray painted- not so that the name is covered up entirely, just so the Arabic writing is covered. This kind of behavior reflects directly back to Clifford Geertz and his philosophy on the dual relationship between the words that we speak and the actions we take. The message is simple- we all know what has been covered by the spray paint. You are not welcome here. Due to the behavior of a few marginal Israelis, the message is loud and clear: you are not welcome here. While the audio centers on peace talks, the visual is unmistakable: you are not welcome here.

The vandalism does not stop with just street signs in the city. This kind of action does not just affect "them". Even on our own campus, just last year, somebody shattered the glass near the front of the building and spray painted across the Arabic and English writing on OUR sign. It wasn't just about Arabs, it was about us. It wasn't just about the peace process, it was about Pluralism. There was no misinterpreting the vandalism; the message was received: YOU are not welcome here.

Hospitality does not mean a lack of boundaries. I'm not suggesting that we placate to every opposing position, to every extremist, to every threat. Even Abraham did not practice unconditional hospitality- he fed the guests under a nearby tree and not in his home, perhaps out fear, perhaps out of discomfort. But the point is that he fed them. He gave them nourishment. We talk of peace while our newspapers print words of war. We dream of life while all we hear about is death. We speak of hospitality while our city shuns the stranger. Abraham was taught from God that the important aspect to hospitality is to welcome the stranger, not just the stranger that you agree with, not just the stranger that you can divulge pleasure from.

Look, I don't have all the answers. I know that opening the door is not enough to make someone feel welcome, but that we must go out of our way sometimes to make people feel comfortable. I can also glean from the story of the Rabbi that, must I choose between the mitzvah of hospitality and the lives of my family, that in fact there is no choice to be made at all. Yet I know that it's impossible to welcome people when you post a "do not disturb" sign upon the door. And so, at Casa De Levenberg, the vacancy light remains lit, at least for now. Stop by for a meal, or a bed, and stay for the company.