Rabbi Elliot Cosgrove
November 19, 2005

Martin Buber, the great twentieth century philosopher of Judaism, is perhaps most famous for his theology of I and Thou, which, in a nutshell, suggests that the most religious act available to us is for an individual to recognize and be receptive to the full humanity of another human being. For Buber, God is not to be found in the vertical but in the horizontal, in two people who allow a living relationship to emerge, to turn to each other in a relationship which he coins “I and Thou.”
In his writings, Buber describes the turning point of his life. It happened in the summer of 1914 when he, a man already of considerable renown, received a young soldier who had sought him out, as many did, for counsel. Buber greeted him at the door, the man was insistent to speak with him even without an appointment. Buber, a kind man, allowed him in, listened to him patiently, entertained his questions and ended the meeting. Not long after, Buber learned that the following day this man had taken his own life. He had come to Buber seeking more than just counsel, having a mortal decision heavy in his heart and mind, and Buber had not taken the time to recognize the condition of the anxious man sitting before him. Buber chastised himself for not having allowed the humanity of this man to pierce the shell of his busy existence and perceived self - importance. Buber may have opened his door, but he knew deep down that he was not present, he hadn’t really let the man in. And it is the difference between the two, this insight, that prompted his ultimate theological writings. It is not easy, but Buber put to words what many of us know to be true; that is, there is no religious act more daring and courageous than to allow another persons’ needs to enter your tightly guarded sphere of concern.

This morning, we read the tale of Buber’s Hero and every Jew’s Hero – Abraham. It struck me this year that the most distinctive feature of Abraham is his ability to open his home and his heart to those in need. Our parasha opens when Abraham, who is ninety nine years old, is sitting at the entrance of his tent in the heat of the day, recovering from his recent circumcision. According to Rashi, the foremost Bible commentator, G-d has taken the sun out of its cloud-cover in order to discourage guests from annoying Abraham so that he may recuperate. Abraham is distressed by the lack of visitors, so the Almighty sends three people, really three angels, to Abraham's home. And despite his pain, when Abraham sees potential guests in the distance, he quickly runs toward them, bows before them, and begs them not to pass by his tent without accepting his hospitality. "Wash your feet, rest against the tree, and I will bring you a little bread," says Abraham to his guests, "Then you will continue on your journey." (Gen 18:4-5)

Abraham runs to the tent and tells Sarah to whip up a multi-course meal with special breads and cakes. He himself hurries to slaughter a calf and prepares a feast for the guests. The rabbis of the Talmud ask how Abraham had the temerity to suddenly bolt and run to the arriving guests, after all he was standing before the Divine Presence. The rabbis of the Talmud (b. Shavuot, 35b) point to Abraham's actions to teach that: The mitzvah of welcoming guests is even greater than receiving the Divine Presence!” The Torah then juxtaposes this story of Abraham and Sarah against the conduct of the inhabitants of Sodom, who greet the same visitors with threats of violence, abuse and otherwise. And so it is no wonder that "Hachnasat Orchim," “welcoming guests,” is a precious mitzvah, from Abraham and Sarah, to the Shunamite woman of our Haftorah to our own dinner tables.

But the message of our Parasha extends beyond keeping our tents, our physical dwellings open. Of course we should, and it is very appropriate that on this Shabbat, Anshe Emet, under Rabbi Burg and Susan Muchin, kicks off a wonderful program called “Shabbat Babayit” – a matching system in which young families can celebrate Shabbat lunch together in each other’s homes. But Abraham’s spiritual magnanimity was not just in having a well - stocked fridge and a willingness to share it. Abraham’s spiritual disposition was noteworthy because his soul was open to the concerns and needs of others. When he was called on by God, he responded Hineni, “Here I am,” again and again and again. When God threatened the destruction of Sodom, Abraham stood in the breach; despite the wickedness of Sodom, he argued on its behalf – their well being became his own concern. After Sarah is taken by captive by Avimelech, God responds by afflicting Avimelech. Amazingly, the Torah tells us that Abraham prays on behalf of Avimelech and his household who are subsequently healed. And Rashi (on sheet) makes it clear that it was this supreme act of putting Avimelech’s physical distress ahead of his own longing for a child, that is rewarded by God with the subsequent birth of Isaac. Abraham’s persona is admirable because of is his instinctual and unflinching receptivity to the needs of others.

In this day and age, it is no small thing to open up our homes to strangers. The spiritual heroics that Abraham models, however, have more to do with opening our souls, of possessing a religious posture capable of being receptive to the physical, spiritual and emotional needs of others. This week, and I am not sure why, I had a series of rather serious pastoral calls, families facing terminal illness, marital questions, and Jews or would be Jews wondering if Anshe Emet was the place for them. And I turned to Rabbi Siegel and asked him for guidance. His counsel, beyond how to handle the particulars and complexities of each situation was “Whatever happens, make sure that when you conclude the conversation. the person in crisis knows that you, the synagogue and the community are there for them.”

And of course, the message is not just from one rabbi to another but to all of us as Jews. All of us may define our Judaism slightly differently, but we all need to cultivate within each of us a theology of receptivity. We all live in our shells, we surround ourselves with complex layers of protective casing – our neighborhoods, our palm pilots and our self importance. We need to engender our souls to be open and receptive to others, to live lives which are capable of being responsive to the needs which may not be our immediate concern. This is what it is to lead a religious life. This is why we take three steps back when we say the amidah. Any religious experience begins we a person take a step back and adopt a posture of openness, receptivity and responsiveness. This is why Heschel reminded us that the most profound religious quest is not our search for God, but God’s search for humanity.

This Shabbat, as many of you may know, is the Chai lifeline awareness weekend. Synagogues across the country have been asked to set aside this morning to profile the work that Chai Lifeline does. Chai lifeline is an international non-profit organization dedicated to meeting the non-medical needs of seriously ill children, their families and communities. Their mission is to do whatever it takes to ease the burden of serious pediatric illness by providing social, emotional, and psycho-social help to families. Their services are available to any Jewish family in need year round, from providing support stretched thin financially and emotionally, to their famous camp simha – an overnight camp for children suffering from life threatening illness.

I find the message and mission of Chai Lifeline to be compelling for many reasons. If anyone in this room knows what it is to spend an extended amount of time in a hospital with a child in the NICU, PICU or otherwise; if anyone here knows what it is to shuttle back and forth from home to hospital, trying to be present for one child while attending to the needs of your other children, your job, your family and perhaps even yourself, then you appreciate what Chai Lifeline does. They are there for people in a moment of need, and unto itself, that makes it an organization worthy of your support.

But it goes beyond that. Because, even if the narrative and cause of Chai Lifeline doesn’t speak to you directly, then at least you can intuit that what they are doing fits squarely into the model of Avraham Avinu. It is an organization whose sole purpose is to be attentive and welcome to those seeking refuge. I am reminded of the famous Jewish proverb: “Charity awaits on the cry of the distress. Benevolence anticipates the cry of the distressed.” Chai lifeline is predicated on anticipating the needs of those in distress, on opening the tents of the Jewish community. It demands that from Abraham, to the Shunamite, to Buber, to our own day, the measure of who we are is found in the degree by which we are aware, receptive and attendant to the signals of those in need all around us.

I want to conclude by sharing with you a sad experience from this week. I was running late on Thursday morning, and I had to get to Hyde park early for an 8:00 am meeting. I had yet to daven and needed a place to put on tefillin. So, at 7:45 am, I knocked on the campus Hillel and a maintenance man opened the door. I said, “I know you aren’t open yet, but I just need a room for 15 minutes; You see, I need to pray.” And he said that he couldn’t let me in, that there were security concerns not just for the Hillel, but the campus as a whole, and he could not let me in. Now I don’t blame any one person here, because if you follow the arc and implications of the exchange, it is really not about any one person, Hillel or campus, but it is about a world that is throwing up more walls, becoming more insulated and less inviting. We are doing it with our institutions, with our communities and, most of all, ourselves. Let this Shabbat be a Shabbat of opening our homes, of asking ourselves how wide Anshe Emet is as a house of prayer. Do we follow the model of Abraham and Sarah here in our own shul? Do we support the models of Abrahamic institutions like Chai Lifeline. Most of all, let us insist that we always let people know that we are there for them, that we our receptive to a God and humanity forever in search of each of us.