Clergy Sermons

Vayera – Seeing and Not Seeing

Henry David Thoreau wrote beautifully about observing nature. On July 2, 1857, Thoreau wrote in his Journal:
“Many an object is not seen, though it falls within the range of our visual ray, because it does not come within the range of our intellectual ray. We are not looking for it. So, in the largest sense, we find only the world we look for.”

I thought of Thoreau’s quote in reading this morning’s Torah portion — where the root ra’ah (resh/alef/hey) — “to see” — occurs in scene after scene, 25 times. When we read the portion carefully, studying all the ways the word is used, we learn important lessons about what we see, how we might see better, what we overlook, and why we often miss things.

The first episode of the portion introduces Abraham’s skill in seeing. In 18:2 (p. 99), Va’yisa et einav — “He lifted his eyes,” va’yar — “and he saw three men standing near him.” Amidst the heat of the day and engrossed in a visit with God, Abraham sees three strangers. He interrupts that visit to go greet the strangers and invite them into his home. When you read the verse carefully (p. 100), the line repeats va’yar — “he saw” — and he rushes to greet them.

Why do we repeat the verb “he saw” a second time? The commentator Rashi answers that the first time he saw the men with his eyes. The second time, he looked at them and understood something about them that was not apparent from the first look. He saw that they were not coming close — perhaps because they were not sure if they were welcome. And so, with this second “looking,” Abraham runs out to meet them.

To really see requires us to look beyond the obvious — to see cues, nuance, and subtle gestures that communicate what is really being said and what people’s true needs are. Do you ever see someone standing by the side at synagogue, work, or school? Do you respond by inviting them to sit with you, or by getting to know them a little better, or finding the question that might draw them out? Rabbi Shefa Gold comments: “People are always standing at the door of our tent, waiting for us to see them.” Abraham teaches us to open our eyes and respond.

Seeing is meant to be dynamic — driving us to action. I am thinking about all of the people whose SNAP assistance has been reduced. We look at the lines at food banks and think what it means to see those people and provide what they need. Sometimes the person needing food isn’t in a line at a food bank. They are sitting in a classroom next to us — you wouldn’t know they are suffering from food insecurity. They live nearby. In Fair Oaks and parts of Redwood City near that area, 66% of the students receive food assistance.

If there was ever a time to respond to people we see in need, it is right now. It is donating to Second Harvest. It is joining our efforts to distribute food at centers nearby. It is supporting local merchants making food available to those in need. It is joining the myriad number of students asking people to donate cans and funds at nearby stores. It is going to businesses that provide food to neighbors. It is lifting up to our leaders that depriving 42 million Americans of the basic right to eat is unconscionable.

Abraham teaches us to open our eyes and act. According to the Midrash, he kept the sides of his tent open in order to see people passing by so that he could help.

In the next scene in the Torah, we encounter the famous story of Abraham arguing with God about the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah. There is an interesting reference using the verb to see (18:22, p. 102). In reflecting on whether or not to tell Abraham about the decision to respond to the outrage and sin in Sodom and Gomorrah with destruction, God says: “I will go down — va’er’eh — to see whether they have acted altogether according to the outcry that has reached Me.”

Why does the text say that God went down to see — doesn’t God already know? Most commentary says this is for Abraham to learn that we must be thorough and fair in judgment. We must see with our own eyes — firsthand, rather than being defined by outcry or hearsay. Rashi comments that this verse “teaches judges to look at the evidence before imposing sentence.”

In a world defined by algorithms that often support our own biases — and our awareness of confirmation bias, our tendency to interpret new evidence as confirmation of one's existing beliefs or theories — let’s seek to see every aspect of a case or a moment with clear and thoughtful eyes.

The story of the expulsion of Ishmael and Hagar develops the concept of seeing and not seeing in important ways. Let’s skip to the end of the story. Hagar and Ishmael have been expelled into the wilderness with insufficient food and water. Ishmael is about to die of thirst. Hagar cannot bear to look. In verse 16 (p. 115), Hagar cannot see the life-saving water that is in front of her. She says, Al er’eh b’mot ha’ya’led — “Let me not look on as the child dies.” And sitting thus afar, she bursts into tears.

Sometimes you can’t bear to look at something so terrible. The Midrash teaches that her eyes were too full of tears to see what was in front of her. Pain, despair, and fear blind us. And can’t we all see ourselves in that? When we feel pained and unsupported in our pain, how many times have we let go of hope, or been tempted to? How many times has our suffering stopped us from recognizing help even when it is at our doorstep?

What happens? The angel responds to her and is the paradigm for being a healer. By asking, “What troubles you, Hagar?” the angel allows her to give voice to her pain and possibly see a different solution. Then the angel reassures her: “Fear not, for God has heeded the cry of the boy where he is.” The reassurance is hearing where he is — no judgment or expectations, just presence.

“Come, lift up the boy and hold him by the hand, for I will make a great nation of him.” The angel teaches the power of touch and presence to heal; and that envisioning what might be lets her see other options. Then, we are told that her eyes are opened, and she sees a well of water — va’ter’eh be’er ha’mayim. Hagar goes from not seeing to seeing — from being frozen to seeing that which is life-sustaining.

Can we be present to the humanity of fellow human beings like the angel was for Hagar? Be a healer who helps open people’s eyes. I think of all the people in my life who have helped me see what I previously overlooked — what a blessing. Can we imagine what might be rather than being driven by fear?

My beloved mentor Rabbi Sam Chiel wrote a beautiful sermon about all of the things in our world that blind us to what we need in order to see or help another see: narrow worldviews, harsh judgments, ingrained habits, unrealizable standards. Let Hagar’s inability to see, which the angel helps her overcome, guide us.

And the next story has the word ra’ah repeat over and over. What a chilling story — God commands Abraham to bring his beloved son Isaac as a sacrifice. What a gut-wrenching scene. How could God make such a request? How could Abraham accede?

There is a lot to unpack in the story and different contrasting ways to interpret it — ranging from it being an allegory teaching us not to engage in child sacrifice, to Abraham testing God, to a story of how faith evolves, to a lesson in how God-intoxication drives us to evil.

Let’s go to the end (p. 120, v. 10). An angel of the Lord calls to Abraham from heaven: “Abraham! Abraham!” And Abraham, with Isaac bound on the altar and the knife in his hand, stops and says, “Hineni — here I am.” The angel says, “Do not raise your hand against the boy or do anything to him.”

Then, in verse 13, Abraham looks up — the same words as the story of the three strangers — and he sees a ram caught by its horns in the thicket. How could he have not seen that before? A ram caught in the thicket had to be making noise and thrashing about — the text wordlessly teaches that Abraham could not see what was right in front of him.

We ask, “Why couldn’t he see?” For me, the answer is that he is so caught up in his belief that he must sacrifice Isaac that he is blinded to other possibilities. Seeing something new teaches us that other paths might exist beyond the narrow one we think is the only option.

Abraham now sees what he previously missed, and the door opens to new understanding and growth. God does not tell him to sacrifice the ram — he does so on his own initiative. He sees life differently and understands God differently. In verse 14, we then learn that Abraham names the place Adonai Yireh — “God will see,” and the text goes on to explain that on the Mount of the Lord there is vision.

Today we memorialize a man of incredible vision — Yitzchak Rabin, who was assassinated 30 years ago. Rabin had double vision — one grounded in reality while also envisioning a different reality that might be. He was a realist who saw the world in terms of its threats and dangers. He then looked deeper, seeing what might be and pursuing any possible opening for peace.

Israel’s President at the time, Reuven Rivlin, shared: “For me, Rabin’s legacy is one of transformative leadership, of standing bravely in the face of difficult decisions. He did not wait for a peace that would solve all the problems once and for all. Instead, he was brave enough to tackle Israel’s problems in the here and now.” Rabin teaches us what vision is.

Blessing comes when we see that which we previously overlooked. May we see what might be and expand our vision. May we see people with all kinds of needs and run toward them. May we help others see what they overlook with gentle love and presence. May we ask ourselves what we may not be seeing.

May we remember Thoreau’s words: “We only find the world we look for.” May we grow in our ability to see. May we see and see again.

Shabbat Shalom.