This week’s Torah portion begins cryptically.
And God appeared to him (Abraham) by the terebinths of Mamre as he was sitting in his tent during the heat of the day.
Looking up, he saw three figures standing near him. He ran from the entrance of the tent to greet them and, bowing to the ground, he said, “My lord! If it please you, do not go on past your servant.”
The words go by quickly, and the language is confusing. But the rabbis made a bold interpretation. They taught that Abraham was suffering from the pain of his circumcision, and the Holy One came to visit him. But when the strangers appeared, Abraham ran from his tent to greet them. Abraham ran past God, taught the rabbis, because welcoming the stranger is more important than beholding the divine presence.
Our entire Jewish story is about being a stranger. And loving the stranger is an important Jewish value. We were strangers in the land of Egypt for almost 400 years, and we cannot sit by while others feel the same kind of pain.
The feeling of estrangement, of being cut off from everything we know, is the hardest kind of suffering.
And perhaps, that’s why these last few weeks have been so painful. Everywhere we look, there are people who feel isolated, people who feel alone, people who feel cut off from everything they knew.
Israelis no longer feel safe. They feel abandoned by their government and cut off from the world. Residents of Gaza see their villages destroyed. And in this country, Jews feel extremely isolated, hated and attacked by people who they used to call friends.
But underneath it all we have so much in common. There are monsters, extremists to be sure. But most us of want peace. Most of us want to live a life of blessing. And most of us want to live a life of connection to the ones we love.
In the end, peace will only come from when we welcome each other. Like Abraham, we must rush out of our tents, and we must find the things that unite us.
All of us fear estrangement. All of us fear being cut off from everything we know. And admitting that can be a beginning. And admitting that fear to others may be the beginning of peace.
Peace will come when an Arab and a Jew can sit in a cafe together, when they say to each other, “I’m lonely.” And peace will come when they can pull out their cell phones and say to each other, “This is my grandchild,” when they agree that love and connection are what really matter.
Building relationships is never easy, particularly in times like these. But in the end, it is the only way to find peace.
Shabbat Shalom,
Art