To Notice, To Care, To Act

Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

There is much to write about and comment on this week. The elections and their results are hot topics, as are the goings-on in Eretz Yisroel and the recent disturbing comments by Vice President Vance. Opinions abound about causes, yet solutions feel distant and elusive.

But a primary lesson of this week’s parsha is that we concentrate on the way we treat others.

The parsha opens with Hakadosh Boruch Hu appearing to Avrohom as he recuperated from his bris milah. In the midst of the conversation, Avrohom saw three strange men approaching and ran to greet them and welcome them to his home.

Millions of people who have studied this parsha throughout the ages have asked why Avrohom interrupted his conversation with Hashem to offer food, drink and respite to three desert wanderers.

Avrohom Avinu, who was chosen by Hashem to be the father of our nation, had just passed another of the ten nisyonos, reaching the pinnacle of human achievement as Hashem, so to speak, came to visit him, yet he forfeited that opportunity to offer help to strangers. How are we to understand that?

Rav Dovid Soloveitchik explained that while meriting gilui Shechinah is a sign of immense spiritual attainment, the highest achievement for a person in this world is to perform mitzvos. Avrohom, as elevated as he was spiritually, understood that his ultimate obligation in that moment was to perform the mitzvah of chesed presented to him.

Whenever anything transpires, a Jew’s first question must be: What does the Torah say I should be doing now? There can be monumental occurrences taking place, but our minds must focus on what Hashem wants us to be doing at that time. Impulses, emotions, or the allure of personal spiritual highs must never overshadow our obligation to act in accordance with Torah guidance.

Rav Yehoshua Leib Diskin served as rov of Brisk and later of Yerushalayim. He was known throughout Klal Yisroel for his stunning Torah brilliance and was also a tremendous baal chesed. When living in Yerushalayim, poor people would come to his home for lunch, which was the main meal of the day. Rav Yehoshua Leib would sit at the head of the table, engrossed in his learning, barely eating anything, while those in need enjoyed their daily nourishment.

One day, as everyone else was eating, he got up from his seat and went over to an elderly man sitting at the opposite end of the table. The Torah giant sat down next to the man and began cutting his bread into small pieces, peeling off the crusts, dipping them into soup, and feeding the man piece by piece. Observers noticed that the old man had no teeth and understood why the rov was feeding him the softened bite-sized portions.

After the meal, one of Rav Yehoshua Leib’s talmidim approached him and asked how he knew that the man had no teeth and was struggling to eat. “I was watching you as I was eating,” the student said, “and saw that you were totally absorbed in the sefer in front of you. How could you have noticed that the man needed help?”

Rav Yehoshua Leib responded to his student, saying, “I am surprised at you. Why are you asking such a question of me and not of Avrohom Avinu? Hakadosh Boruch Hu Himself came to visit him, and he was certainly entirely immersed in the supreme spiritual significance of closeness with Hashem.

“How could it be that in the midst of this encounter, he saw three people who appeared to be wanderers? Not only that, but he ran toward them to offer them food and drink. How is it possible to be at the height of spiritual ecstasy and still see what is transpiring outside of one’s immediate daled amos?

“How could he break his concentration, especially considering that the people he saw and interrupted for were lowly and profane?

“The answer,” Rav Yehoshua Leib told the man, who was nodding along, concentrating on every word the great gaon was saying, “is that this is the defining way for a Jew to act. This is what Hakadosh Boruch Hu demands from us: Even when you are totally engrossed in a deep sugya, even when you are completely enveloped in an awesome spiritual experience, you must pay attention to what is happening around you and notice if someone requires assistance.”

The Gemara (Yevamos 79a) states that there are three characteristics that define the Jewish people: rachmonim, bayshonim, and gomlei chassodim. We are merciful, we are modest, and we do acts of kindness. It’s not only that we help people in trying situations when they turn to us. The heart and eye of a Jew must always be cognizant of those around him, so that he can be proactive in alleviating their pain.

It is interesting to note that the Torah tells us that Avrohom interrupted a conversation with Hakadosh Boruch Hu to care for the anonymous travelers, yet it tells us nothing about that conversation. Instead, the Torah provides a lengthy description of how he provided for the strangers.

Everything in the Torah is intended to elevate us and to teach us how to conduct ourselves. Apparently, the important part of the story is that we learn from it how to do chesed and care for others.

How would we react in such a situation? If we were engaged in something important and a stranger came to the door collecting, would we respond with the same urgency and sensitivity? Being kind to someone we like or admire is easy. Greatness is measured by how we treat those who are unfamiliar, inconvenient, or even disagreeable. The way we treat a nudnik after a long, hard day reveals our character far more than any spiritual accomplishment.

Anyone can be nice to a likable person. The true test of greatness is how we treat ordinary people who may be different from us and for whom we have no special affinity.

Avrohom treated each visitor as a dignitary, because, to him, every opportunity to perform a mitzvah mattered. This perspective shaped the lives of countless gedolim and gutteh Yidden who followed in his footsteps.

People streamed to the tiny apartment of the Chazon Ish, whose yahrtzeit is this week, seeking his advice and blessings and to discuss matters of Torah and communal welfare. Often, he was in a weakened state and would lie in bed as people spoke to him. Somebody once asked him why he gave so much of his time to listen to and answer so many people. He explained, “If I had money, I would use it to help people. Since I do not, I fulfill the mitzvah of gemillus chassodim in this manner.”

In fact, on the day of his passing, when he was extremely weak, his attendants wanted to lock the door to his apartment to prevent people from entering to speak with him. When he learned of this, the Chazon Ish told them to unlock the door and allow people to enter. “Chesed is what keeps me alive,” he said.

Every person has an obligation to help others in any way he can. If he can’t write a check, he can make a call. If he can’t make a call, he can give advice. And if he can’t give advice, he can at least listen and show empathy. Needs are abundant and there is always a way to make a difference.

A secular Israeli couple became connected to Torah and moved to Bnei Brak to raise their daughter among religious people. Upon their move, they faced a serious problem that many who are not baalei teshuvah are unfortunately familiar with: No school would accept the girl they had sacrificed so much for. Someone brought the issue to Rav Elazar Menachem Man Shach, rosh yeshiva of Ponovezh and leader of Torah Jewry, whose yahrtzeit is also this week, and made him aware of the problem.

As a student of Avrohom Avinu, and as a man whose every step was guided by what the Torah demanded of him in any given situation, Rav Shach phoned the person who headed Chinuch Atzmai, the religious school system in Israel, and asked for his assistance in getting the girl accepted into the local school. The leader told Rav Shach that he was unable to assist him in his mission. He explained that the principal of the school was a very tough woman, and he had a very hard time dealing with her. He was certain that if he reached out to her, it would be a wasted effort.

Rav Shach found the woman’s number and called her himself. When she answered, he said, “Hello, this is Leizer Shach calling. I want to speak to you about a fine girl who belongs in your school.”

How would you react if Rav Shach called you with a request?

Not this woman. She turned him down.

“They are baalei teshuvah,” she said. “I can’t take the girl in. The board of parents who oversee the school will never permit such a thing.”

Despite her arrogance and obstinacy, the gadol hador continued the conversation. “Please give me their names and phone numbers,” he said.

There were a dozen people waiting outside Rav Shach’s room to speak with him. He had many other pressing issues to deal with, but ensuring that a bas Yisroel had a school to attend was a priority.

Setting aside personal considerations and ego to fulfill this mitzvah, he sat at his table and called each parent representative one by one. “Hello, this is Leizer Shach. I am calling to discuss an issue with you…”

He spoke with each parent who was a class representative and resolved the matter. The girl was accepted to the school, and Rav Shach kept tabs on her development.

Rav Shach had never met the girl or her parents, yet he felt that the Torah demanded of him that if he could get the girl into the school, he had an obligation to do so. Without concern for his personal dignity or time, he sat by the phone, lobbying the principal and then the individual school board members on behalf of the girl. Every ben Yisroel and bas Yisroel is entitled to be in a Torah school, and if he could make that happen, he would.

This is demanded not only of a gadol b’Yisroel, but of every person. If we can help others in any way and in any situation, we have an obligation to set aside our personal considerations, ignore our ego or hesitations, and, no matter how uncomfortable it may be, do what we can to help them.

Getting a child accepted into a school in our community can be a most humbling task, and if we can do something about the situation in general, or about a particular family’s circumstance, it is incumbent upon us to do so.

It is beyond the scope of this article, but not too long ago, dedicated mechanchim would go door to door in Jewish communities, pleading with parents to send their children to a religious school. Today, in many communities, bli ayin hara, due to their tireless efforts, Torah has taken root and schools are flourishing—and, consequently, very selective. Yet, what prompted Rav Shach to make all those calls remains true: Every Jewish child is entitled to a seat in a classroom. And as rachmonim bnei rachmonim, we must be there for those children.

The success of Klal Yisroel, and one of the secrets to our endurance through centuries of adversity, is that there have always been—and still are—good people who, in the quiet of the night and the loneliness of righteousness, sacrifice much to do what is right and necessary in every situation. Because of such people, communal schools are built, teachers are paid living wages, and children are afforded a proper chinuch. Because of those who place Olam Haba before Olam Hazeh, there are rabbeim and moros in classrooms across the country and around the world this week teaching our children about Avrohom Avinu, Rav Yehoshua Leib Diskin, Rav Shach, the Chazon Ish, and the countless gedolim and simple good people of every community who have helped individual Yidden and Klal Yisroel flourish.

That is the lesson of this week’s parsha and the reason the Torah records this story for Yidden of all generations to study and learn from. The opportunities for chesed are all around us. We need to learn from Avrohom Avinu’s example and seize them.

Quite often, a mitzvah is performed in anonymity, without fanfare or recognition, and there is little motivation that by doing it, you will be seen as some kind of hero. But we must do it anyway.

Every person experiences difficult times. Often, the hardest part of a nisayon is the loneliness that accompanies the struggle and the pain of feeling utterly alone. The embarrassment and agony of reaching out for help only add to the challenge.

So, while there may be countless hot topics to debate and discuss, the best thing we can do—for ourselves, for others, and for the world—is to tune in to the people around us, to notice and be there for them. It’s not always easy, and it can be draining, but this is what defines us and makes us better people.

We live in a challenge-filled era, the time leading to the arrival of Moshiach. Rav Elozor famously taught (Sanhedrin 98b), “Mah yaaseh adam veyinutzel meichevlo shel Moshiach? Yaasok b’Torah uv’gemillus chassodim.” To be spared from the terrible pangs that precede the coming of Moshiach, one must immerse himself in Torah study and acts of kindness.

There can be no better advice for us in these trying times. Let us follow it. May we all merit to be present at the coming of Moshiach, may it be very soon, in our days.