Parsha "Vayera," has so many historic events and lessons in it, that I am hard-pressed to pick one or two to talk about. In this parsha, we have the miraculous prediction and the actual birth of Yitzchak (Isaac) to aged parents well beyond the normal time for conception and parturition, his subsequently being bound up on an altar (the "Akeida"), the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, the banishing of Abraham's Egyptian consort Hagar and their son, Ishmael, and the shockingly ignominious beginning of the genetic line leading to Maschiach through daughter-father relations.
Yikes!
OK, so let's talk about "bikur cholim," which means "visiting the sick."
Why?
Because, according to our sages, it's the first mitzvah taught in this Parsha, and we have a principle in Judaism, "Ain ma-avirin al ha-mitzvah," i.e., "We do not skip over a mitzvah when it presents itself to us." This usually means in deed, i.e. when the opportunity to do a mitzvah arises. Nevertheless, it seems to me that with a little imagination, it can be seen to apply to learning mitzvahs from the Torah as they present themselves to be learned.
I personally also hold by the related principles, "Ain ma-avirin al ha l'chaim, v'al ochel chinum," i.e., "One should not pass by any opportunities for a libation or free food," -- but these are "chumras," or stringencies, which I have personally taken upon myself -- although they are, in fact, kept by a large number of people, many of whom take greater care in keeping these stringencies than the basic principle itself.
The Parsha begins: "Va-yera eylav Hashem b'elonay Mamre ..." "And G-d appeared to him [Abraham] in the plains of Mamre, as he was seated at the front of his tent in the heat of the day," and ... and ...
And nothing.
Usually, when G-d appears to someone in the Torah, He has a purpose, an agenda, i.e., "And G-d spoke to Moses saying, 'Tell the people to do this and that, and then this and that, and when the're through with that, to do this and that' ..." or "And G-d appeared to Bilam in a dream and said, 'Don't you dare curse the Children of Israel, for they are blessed."
So, here, G-d appears to Abraham, -- not an everyday occurrence, -- and then says nothing during His manifestation .
What's the significance? As I've said in previous blogs, the Torah is embedded with all kinds of meaning, especially when something seems out of the ordinary, like an unnecessary word or phrase or, as is here, a non-sequitur statement.
"Nothing?" say the sages. "G-d said nothing?"
"Then, that's the point."
Since G-d had no particular commands to impart to Abraham, no assurances, no information, then He must have had another purpose.
The clue as to what's going on, say the sages, is in understanding Abraham's situation at the time. According to the commentaries, this was the third day after Abraham had entered into a covenant with the Master of the Universe in the most personal way, through circumcision.
Abraham was ninety-nine years old at the time, and it is said that the third day following a circumcision of an adult is the most painful, so Abraham was not well.
This, say the sages, is the key to understanding G-d's presence. G-d is teaching, by example, the mitzvah of "bikur cholim," or visiting the sick. But not only is G-d teaching us that it's a mitzvah to visit the sick, he is teaching us how to perform the mitzvah properly.
Hence, G-d comes to visit but says nothing, teaching us that when one visits the sick, it is not a time to bend their ears with endless stories, empty -- even if well meaning -- assurances, pep talks, and the like. Just being there is apparently the preferred method. This is not to say that conversation is forbidden but apart from a sincere "How are you?" it might be better to leave the initiation of any conversation to the patient.
And just because G-d is silent, doesn't mean He isn't communicating. Tehillim (Psalms) says, "Yom le-yom yabia omer ... ain omer v'ain dvarim," i.e., [G-d's] speech pours forth every day, and His wisdom fills the world without a word ever being spoken or a sound made. So, perhaps, we should try to communicate our support for the sick person without "hucking them a chinek," just making noise, to avoid uncomfortable silences. Let the silence be a comfort in itself, conveying without a spoken word, our love and concern for the patient.
Immediately, with the very next sentences, an additional principle of visiting the sick is demonstrated by G-d.
While G-d is visiting, Abraham espies three wayfarers passing by -- which is why he was sitting in the front of his tent, so that he might find someone to extend the mitzvah of hospitality to, even during his painful recovery. Abraham immediately jumps up, ignoring his Visitor, preferring to run out to corral the three dusty passersby, asking them to come in and refresh themselves. "Adonai, im na matzati chen b'eynecha, al na ta-avor me-al avdecha," he says apparently to the leader of the three wayfarers , "My lord, if I may find favour in your eyes, please do not pass by your servant"-- but instead of the more common word, "Adoni," Abraham addresses him with the version of the appellation which we use for G-d Himself. Now, here we have a bit of a problem.
Abraham has just ignored his Guest, the King of Kings. It's as if he had said, in today's wireless phone parlance, "Excuse me, I have to take this," which invariably indicates to the person present that there are more important people than them to talk to. And, to add insult to injury, he steals the word we use to address G-d, and uses it for a desert wanderer!
A line of interpretation does exist, though, that Abraham here was actually talking to G-d, not the wayfarer. In essence, he's saying, "G-d, don't go away! I'll be right back after I take care of these strangers." This is really not much better, though, than, "Excuse me, I have to take this," when it comes to giving respect to the Master of the Universe. In both cases, he is putting G-d on hold.
In fact, Moses, knowing the story, may have felt this to be a slight which needed rectifying. This may be why, when he beseeches G-d not to destroy the people for worshipping the Golden Calf, he uses almost the exact same word formulation -- close enough to make it an obvious echo of the original phrase, as spoken by Abraham, --: "Im na matzati chen b'eynecha, Adonai, yelech na Adonai b'kirbenu ..." "If I may find favour in your eyes, Lord, please walk, Oh Lord, in our midst."
Often times things happen in the Torah to rectify what occurred in an earlier situation -- which is something I will address -- G-d willing -- in Part 2 of this blog regarding a clue about another matter found in this Parsha. Here, it is possible Moses felt that Abraham had -- albeit with no ill intent -- "rejected" G-d, and that by repeating the same words, and using the name for G-d twice, Moses would "balance the books,"and appease G-d by assuring Him that it is He we most want to walk among us, three wayfarers notwithstanding. In addition, by echoing the phrase Abraham spoke in this Parsha, Moses was probably trying to remind G-d of Abraham himself, and His love for him, and by extension, his descendants, as well as to recall Abraham's kindness and mercy towards others at a time when his children were in great need of kindness and mercy -- from G-d -- themselves.
In this Parsha, in response to Abraham's apparent slight, G-d, again, says nothing -- which implies consent, i.e. it's OK to diss G-d (G-d forbid!).
The problem clearly is, Moses' belated "tikun" notwithstanding, that in Judaism, there is a principle, "Melech ain mochel k'vodo," a king cannot forgo his honour.
Kings, after all, are not just individuals but represent all they represent. King Louis, the fourteenth, made the famous observation, "L'Etat, c'est moi," "I am the State." Kings represent whole countries, and cannot humble themselves without demeaning the honour of their dominion.
G-d, as the King of kings, and King of Heaven and Earth would have every right to insist on commanding the respect and deference due Him at all times, not just to properly honour his subjects but because He uniquely represents what is sacred, what is holy, what is Above All, which his subjects must not forget to their detriment. Yet here, -- and later on, in another Parsha, as I will -- G-d willing -- point out -- G-d shows that the greatest of kings are mochel their kavod, i.e. do forgo the honour due them -- under certain circumstances. His silence is acquiescence here. It's OK for Abraham to run off from G-d's presence, and to abjectly fawn over three travellers. Why?
Because the Ribono Shel Olam, is teaching us another aspect of how to perform the mitzvah of visiting the sick: one must put aside one's honour in deference to the good of the patient. Clearly, in Abraham's case, he yearned so deeply to do this mitzvah that it was necessary for his health.
Sometimes, doctors determine, for example, that a patient is not well enough to receive visitors. Yet instances abound when someone who has made the trip to a hospital will insist on seeing the patient anyway so that (a) their trip won't be wasted, and (b) so they'll have the mitzvah of bikur cholim! In other words, forget about the patient, the visitor's needs come first. "Do you know who I am?" is a question not infrequently directed to "uppity" hospital staff who will not permit a person to visit a patient who needs to be left alone.
Thus, Hashem teaches us that when Abraham chooses to ignore Him in favour of the three travellers passing by, it's not a problem, since deference must be given to the needs of the sick person. And if G-d Himself can forgo his priority, so should we follow his divine example, imitatio dei, when fulfilling this important mitzvah.
Perhaps most importantly, there is one more clue about visiting the sick embedded in the Torah narrative, and the midrashic elaboration of this visitation from Hashem. According to the Midrash, it was not mere happenstance when Abraham espied the three travellers crossing in front of his tent that day. Eager to do the mitzvah of "hachnasas orchim," i.e. taking in guests, Abraham had positioned himself in the front of his tent, despite his pain from his circumcision.
It was G-d Himself, says the Midrash, who sent the three travellers, so that Abraham could fulfill his heart's desire to be of service. True, they had a mission to inform Abraham of his upcoming fatherhood to Yitzchak (Isaac), and about the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. G-d, says the Torah, chose to send them on a day when Abraham was basically sick in bed.
This leaves us to infer any number of possible guidelines regarding visiting the sick. In fact, I would declare it open season on interpretations. What does this aspect of the narrative mean to you, in terms of visiting the sick? I can think of a few things but I may revise my thinking. That's the beauty of a Living Blog. It's never really finished, and can be emended anytime.
In fact, this last part is already an emendation. I'm adding this long after posting my original blog for parsha Vayera because this just occurred to me, and it's a useful model for studying Torah, i.e. that the Torah is inexhaustible and you can always learn new things from it.
So we get that silence is preferable to mindless prattle when visiting the sick and we get that we should not hold our egos above the welfare of the patient but this additional part of the story probably is also meant to teach us something.
Essentially, G-d knew that Abraham yearned to do something, and He made it happen. He let Abraham have fun by purposefully sending the three passersby, and He let Abraham entertain them even though Abraham was not all that well.
So much for the "sick role" that some people adopt when they are ill. The Torah here is, for one thing, teaching us that a person does not have to act sicker than they are. The passersby did not know, ostensibly, that Abraham was recovering from surgery. G-d let Abraham interact with them as if he wasn't sick at all.
When we visit the sick, how can we apply this principle?
There was a great, innovative filmaker of the silent era named Abel Gance. He created what we now call "split-screen" or "multi-screen," and a host of other techniques. He was one of the first great filmakers, and he said, "With enthusiasm, one can do anything."
Abraham was very enthusiastic about doing the mitzvah of hachnasas orchim. G-d arranged for Abraham to have guests so that he could fulfill the mitzvah, and this clearly invigorated Abraham. It probably contributed to his recovery.
Before we visit patients, therefore, can we identify any enthusiasms, interests they might have? If they are as well as Abraham was under the circumstances, and not incapacitated, can we provide something they might find of interest, as G-d did for Abraham? If we know they like a certain type of book, why not bring one for them? If they like to play chess, cards, listen to music, why not try to facilitate these interests by bringing a book, a game, a CD? Not everyone sick in bed is "out of it," and suffering terribly -- except sometimes from boredom. Some patients would jump at the chance to have some fun.
G-d knew his patient well. We might have to do a little research. We could ask family to tell us what are the person's interests. Rather than a perfunctory magazine from a hospital Gift Shop, maybe we can actually target the person's interests and get them something that will create that healing rush of enthusiasm in them.
Of course, to look clearly at Abraham's situation, we must note that he is self-motivated, and not pushed into his actions by G-d. G-d merely facilitates what Abraham wishes for, passersby to entertain. He does not make even the slightest suggestion to Abraham as to what to do.
Learning from all this is a subtle business when we try to deduce ways we can use when we visit those who are ill. We may not have the ability to create a situation which fulfills the desires of the ailing person. We may, however, take note that G-d does not stand in the way when Abraham follows his desires, and now we may see that this act of seeming deference is even more than just a forgoing of His honour.
If we analyze the situation, it seems to be saying that even though someone may be thought to be ill, it is worth considering letting them get out of bed in order to do something they love to do. Caregivers may find this a dangerous attitude. "What if the patient gets worse?," they would say.
Abraham, of course, may have been a special case, a kind of superhuman exception to the rule. Then again, we are told by commentaries that he was in pain. We do know his pain was self-limiting, and not life threatening. Thus, the only downside of encouraging Abraham, as G-d did by providing the opportunity to abandon his recovery, was if it were to delay his recovery or cause a relapse, which it did not.
Could the fact that Abraham's eagerness to interrupt his recovery was for the sake of doing a mitzvah have had anything to do with G-d's enabling behaviour? And if so, how do we learn anything from this to apply to others?
Ultimately, common sense must rule. We are not expert judges of the situation as G-d was with Abraham, and thus we don't just want to let someone out of a sick bed so they can go shopping ...
Or do we?
Perhaps we can see if there is a safe way to facilitate an ailing person's enjoyment and sense of purpose insofar as the model Abraham provides is that personal drive and enthusiasm trumps pain and quiescence.
The above is an attempt to arrive at general principles but on a practical level, the fact of the matter is, in the old days, most caregivers, nurses, doctors etc. would themselves have a coronary if they saw a recovering person jump out of bed and run to greet someone and then run to order the preparation of food for a guest. "Get back in bed!" they would cry. Yet, more and more, we are seeing early release of patients who have minor surgery, like for a hernia, or even after giving birth. Hospitals have reduced recovery periods drastically for these and many other types
of cases, and perhaps we have here yet another example of the Torah being ahead of its time, by a few thousand years, of course ...
To sum up, what I learn about visiting the sick from the scene beginning this parsha, is that the patient comes first, and one is to forgo one's ego in making a visit. If one is granted permission to see the patient, silent companionship is healing, and lends itself to listening more than talking. For someone who is very sick, that could be all that's needed. For someone who is not so sick, finding something which will kindle their enthusiasm is the order of the day. I've read, for instance, that Bingo over the hospital closed circuit TV network has done wonders for patient morale. How about a phone-in show? I'd personally like to see "play areas" for patients on the floors. Mini golf, anyone? Arcade games? I'm not kidding. The parsha is telling us something, here. It's bold and dramatic, and we might want to pay attention.
And one final thing to learn: here, G-d Himself fulfills the maxim, "Say little and do much."
This may be something to aspire to in many of life's situations.
This is also the Parsha which completes the pair of occurrences of the phrase "Lech Lecha." I will address this, iyh, in Part 2.
