Parshat Vayera — When Walking Becomes Seeing: Faith, Compassion, and the Next Step of the Human Journey

Introduction — From Seeing Ourselves to Seeing Others

Until now, the human story has been one of self-preservation. From Adam through Noach, people saw only their own needs, their own fears, their own survival. Even faith, in its early form, was still self-centered — a means to stay safe, to endure.

In Lech Lecha, Avraham took the first step beyond survival: he walked. But in Vayera, he takes the next step in human evolution — he sees. The willingness to move, learned in Lech Lecha, becomes the capacity to see in Vayera. Only those who step out of comfort can begin to notice the needs around them.

The Pri Tzaddik writes that Avraham was the first to seek not only God’s revelation to him, but his own revelation to the world. Until Avraham, holiness was hidden — a private encounter. With him, the light begins to move outward. It is no longer enough to believe; one must see — and help others see.

For the first time in the Torah, a person perceives not only the Divine but the human — the needs of others as sacred. The Midrash Tanchuma (Vayera 1) notes that God appeared to Avraham precisely because Avraham appeared for others, rising from his pain to serve strangers. Compassion itself became the vessel for revelation. Avraham’s faith matures into empathy. His mission becomes not only to follow God, but to reflect Him — to bring care, justice, and compassion into the world.

But Vayera’s greatness lies in what follows. Compassion itself will now be tested. The man whose essence is kindness must face situations that seem to betray his own nature: Sarah’s captivity, the expulsion of Yishmael, the binding of Yitzchak. Each test forces him to reconcile empathy with obedience, heart with faith.

Still, even when compassion hurts, Avraham never stops seeing. Chazal teach that after sending Yishmael away, he continued to visit him — to check on him, to see how he was living, to offer what care he still could. Avraham understood that separation did not mean abandonment. And at the Akeidah, the Torah tells us they walked “יַחְדָּו” — together.

This is Avraham’s greatness: he learns that seeing others does not mean agreeing with everything they do, nor turning from what is right — it means never turning away from relationship. As Rebbe Nachman of Breslov taught, “Only one who feels another’s pain truly sees.” Faith, at its highest, is not the absence of feeling but the ability to walk beside another even when our hearts ache.

If Lech Lecha was about faith in the unseen path, Vayera is about faith in the unseen person — the moment faith learns to see, and love learns to endure.

I. From Walking to Seeing

In Lech Lecha, Avraham answered God’s call to go. In Vayera, God answers Avraham’s journey by appearing: “וַיֵּרָא אֵלָיו ה’” — “And the Lord appeared to him.” (Bereishit 18:1)

The first word of the parsha, Vayera — “He appeared” — shares its root with ra’ah, “to see.” The one who once walked now sees; the one who once followed now encounters. Faith, at this stage, matures from movement to vision — from doing what is right to perceiving what is holy.

Rashi, quoting the Midrash, explains that God appeared “לבקר את החולה” — to visit the sick — revealing Himself to Avraham as an act of compassion. In Rashi’s reading, revelation itself becomes bikur cholim — the Divine act of showing up for another in their weakness. Holiness, then, is not an escape from the human condition but the fullness of entering it.

The Sfas Emes (Vayera 5641) adds that “every place where a person opens their heart in kindness becomes a place where God appears.” The readiness to receive others is what makes revelation possible.

The Baal HaTanya extends this further. Avraham’s act of running toward his guests is not a detour from revelation but its highest expression. Tzimtzum — self-contraction — is the essence of godliness. When Avraham empties his own comfort to serve others, he mirrors God’s own act of creation, making space within himself for another to exist.

Avraham’s tent thus becomes the meeting place between heaven and earth. He sits at its entrance, in the heat of the day, when three strangers appear. And the Torah records what mature faith looks like: not ascetic withdrawal, but radical hospitality. Avraham interrupts his communion with the Divine to run toward the human — to offer water, bread, and rest.

Chazal teach: “גדולה הכנסת אורחים מהקבלת פני השכינה” — “Greater is welcoming guests than receiving the Divine Presence.” (Shabbat 127a) In Avraham’s life, serving others is not a distraction from holiness — it is holiness itself.

In Vayera, the language of faith shifts from halichah (walking) to re’iyah (seeing). The one who once went forth in obedience now perceives holiness in the ordinary. The Divine no longer calls from beyond — it appears within.

Faith, it turns out, is not only about reaching toward God but about recognizing Him in the faces that appear before us. After Lech Lecha’s call to go, Vayera invites us to stay — to look closely, to open our tent, and to discover that the sacred is already at our door.

Yet seeing others’ needs is only the beginning. In Vayera, Avraham will learn what it means to keep seeing when empathy is tested by pain.

II. The Test of Vulnerability

Avraham’s compassion is immediate — he runs to strangers in pain despite his own. But this very compassion becomes his test. Each encounter in Vayera asks a deeper question: can kindness remain strong when it meets vulnerability, disappointment, or fear?

The Zohar (I:102b) teaches that “Avraham’s tent was open to all directions because his heart was open to all souls.” Compassion was not his reaction; it was his nature. Yet Vayera reveals that even sacred instincts must be refined. Faith here is no longer about seeing others in comfort, but about staying present when empathy meets its limits — when love costs something.

Sarah’s laughter at the angel’s promise — “After I have withered, shall I again have pleasure?” (18:12) — exposes a subtler kind of pain: the ache of disappointed hope. Rashi notes that her laughter was not cynicism but self-protection, a quiet defense against heartbreak. Avraham, hearing it, must hold that tension — between divine promise and human disbelief, between his faith and his partner’s fatigue.

The Sfas Emes (Vayera 5642) writes that “true faith is the power to believe even for another” — to keep the flame alive when another’s has gone dim. In this moment, Avraham learns that love is not only empathy but endurance — the ability to keep believing when someone else cannot.

When Sodom’s destruction is foretold, Avraham steps into sacred risk, arguing for mercy on behalf of strangers: “Shall the Judge of all the earth not do justice?” (18:25). The Ramban observes that this is the first recorded instance of a human being confronting Heaven — not out of defiance, but out of love. Faith here matures into moral partnership. Avraham becomes, in the words of the Midrash Tanchuma (Vayera 7), “the defender of creation.”

The Chassidic masters see in this dialogue the deepest imitation of God. Just as God sustains the world despite its flaws, Avraham pleads for it despite its failures. The Baal Shem Tov teaches that compassion which does not include the undeserving is incomplete, for the Divine eye “sees not the sin but the spark that still remains.”

Yet Vayera does not end in success. The cities are destroyed, and Avraham’s plea goes unanswered. The test, then, is not whether compassion triumphs, but whether it endures. Each trial teaches him that love is not a soft sentiment but a fierce responsibility — the willingness to stand with others even when the outcome is uncertain, to keep seeing their humanity even when the heavens seem silent.

The faith of Vayera is not blind trust but vulnerable courage — the strength to stay open in a world that disappoints, and to keep walking with a heart that still sees. And sometimes, the greatest endurance is letting go.

III. The Test of Release

If the last test asked Avraham to feel deeply, this one asks him to love without holding — to feel without clinging.

If Avraham’s first test was whether he could walk away from home, Vayera asks whether he can release what he loves most.

When Sarah demands that Hagar and Yishmael be sent away, the Torah does not hide Avraham’s anguish: “וַיֵּרַע הַדָּבָר מְאֹד בְּעֵינֵי אַבְרָהָם” — “The matter distressed Avraham greatly.” (Bereishit 21:11)

This is not the test of distance, but of detachment — not physical but emotional. Can love remain love when it must take a different form?

The Zohar reads Avraham’s pain as the echo of divine compassion itself — “for the love in his heart was not diminished by the decree.” (Zohar I:118b) In other words, Avraham’s test was not whether he could obey God, but whether he could obey without letting obedience harden him. The Sfas Emes teaches that true faith means hearing God’s voice even within our own sorrow — and still choosing mercy.

God tells him, “כֹּל אֲשֶׁר תֹּאמַר אֵלֶיךָ שָׂרָה שְׁמַע בְּקֹלָהּ” — “Whatever Sarah says to you, listen to her voice.” (21:12) The Ramban notes that this command asks Avraham not for blind submission, but for trust in partnership — to hear God through another’s perspective. His spiritual maturity is measured not by solitary vision but by relational humility.

And yet, the Midrash softens the ache: Avraham never turned his back completely. Chazal teach that he continued to visit Yishmael year after year — to see how he was faring, to ensure he was cared for. (Bereishit Rabbah 53:14) Even when separation was necessary, compassion remained possible. Faith did not cancel tenderness; distance did not erase devotion.

And in that very wilderness, God mirrors Avraham’s compassion. When Hagar breaks down in anguish, the angel calls to her: “What troubles you, Hagar? Fear not, for God has heard the cry of the youth, in his present state” (21:17). The Midrash notes the phrase ba’asher hu sham — “in his present state” — to teach that God judges a child not by what he will become, but by where he is right now. The love that Avraham still holds from afar is answered in Heaven itself. Letting go does not mean indifference; it means trusting that God now holds what we can no longer hold.

The Baal Shem Tov taught that there are moments when love must shift from holding to seeing — when our task is not to grasp, but to witness. Avraham’s greatness lies in this transformation. He learns to keep loving those he can no longer hold close, to remain present even across distance.

That, too, is faith: not just trusting God, but trusting love itself — believing that what was once nurtured in closeness can continue to grow in freedom.

IV. The Test of Vision

And then comes the Akeidah — the most disorienting test of all, one that seems to contradict Avraham’s very essence. “קַח־נָא אֶת־בִּנְךָ אֶת־יְחִידְךָ אֲשֶׁר־אָהַבְתָּ” — “Take your son, your only one, whom you love…” (Bereishit 22:2)

Here, the father of kindness faces a command that appears to undo everything he has lived for. The Midrash Tanchuma (Vayera 22) describes the heavens themselves trembling at this moment — for how could the man who built altars of hospitality now be asked to raise one of sacrifice?

Yet the Torah’s language holds a quiet secret. Twice it says, “וַיֵּלְכוּ שְׁנֵיהֶם יַחְדָּו” — “And the two of them walked together.” (22:6, 22:8) Between those two walkings lies silence, tension, and love tested to its core. The Zohar teaches that this repetition marks the transformation of fear into faith — that Avraham and Yitzchak, though divided in understanding, were united in purpose. The first “together” was in body; the second, in spirit.

The Ramban notes that this test was not about divine cruelty but divine revelation — that through it, Avraham became “a sign for all generations,” showing humanity the limits of comprehension and the boundlessness of trust. The Seforno adds that the Akeidah was never meant to end in sacrifice but to elevate both father and son — turning obedience into vision.

Indeed, the verse concludes: “וַיֵּרָא לוֹ מַלְאַךְ ה’” — “And an angel of God appeared to him.” (22:11)The same root, ra’ah — “to see” — that began the parsha now returns. The man who once saw only command now perceives compassion within it. The test refines not only Avraham’s faith, but his sight — teaching him to perceive mercy even in command, purpose even in pain.

The Sfas Emes (Vayera 5645) explains that “the test of the Akeidah is the revelation that the hidden good (ha’tov ha’nistar) exists even within the hardest decree.” When Avraham lifts the knife and still sees God’s presence, his eyes are opened to the truth that love and awe are not opposites but two wings of the same faith.

Through the Akeidah, Avraham learns that true faith does not blind; it clarifies. He discovers that surrender is not the end of vision but its beginning — that to walk with God is to hold both reverence and mercy, both silence and seeing.

V. The Parenting Thread

After the Akeidah, the lens widens. The story of faith becomes the story of parenting — of holding love steady across distance, fear, and change.

If Lech Lecha taught parents to let go, Vayera teaches them to keep seeing — to stay connected even when paths diverge. Avraham’s tests are profoundly parental: watching Sarah’s despair, releasing Yishmael, and walking with Yitzchak up the mountain. Each moment asks the same question: can love remain steady when control is gone?

The Midrash Rabbah (53:14) imagines Avraham visiting Yishmael year after year, checking on him and praying for his welfare. Even when covenant required separation, compassion required presence. Avraham understood that boundaries are not the end of belonging — that distance can coexist with devotion.

And perhaps this is why the angel’s words to Hagar still echo through the story: “God has heard the cry of the youth, in his present state” (21:17). Faithful parenting means learning to do the same — to see and to hear a child ba’asher hu sham, as they are now, without needing them to be somewhere else first.

Parenting, like faith, matures through vision. It means seeing the soul of a child beyond behavior, beyond disappointment or fear. The Sfas Emes (Vayera 5643) writes that a parent’s task is to “see the spark of E-lokut that flickers beneath concealment.” Avraham models this sight not only with Yitzchak but with Yishmael. He could not raise both under one roof, but he could hold both in his heart.

On that final mountain, father and son walk “יַחְדָּו” — together. The Torah’s repetition is no accident. The Zohar (I:120b) says that the second “yachdav” reveals their inner unity: two wills aligned in faith, two hearts bound by trust. Presence itself redeems the pain.

The Baal Shem Tov taught that love which endures separation becomes ahavah she’einah teluyah badavar — love not dependent on outcome. Such love mirrors the Divine, which continues to give even when unreturned. For parents, this is the highest imitation of God: to guide with structure, to release with faith, and to keep seeing the good even from afar.

Vayera affirms that faith is not only about teaching right and wrong — it is about walking beside our children, even when the road feels uphill, trusting that what was planted in closeness will flower again in freedom. The parent who keeps seeing, like Avraham, becomes a living covenant of hope — proof that love can travel farther than control.

VI. The Test of Vision Beyond the Self

By the end of Vayera, Avraham’s faith ripens into vision. The one who once walked into the unknown now perceives holiness within the contradictions of life. What began as obedience becomes perception — the capacity to discern divine light within human struggle.

“וַיֵּרָא אֵלָיו ה’” — “And the Lord appeared to him.” (18:1) The parsha that opens with God

appearing to Avraham concludes with Avraham seeing God’s mercy:

“וַיִּקְרָא אַבְרָהָם שֵׁם הַמָּקוֹם הַהוּא ה’ יִרְאֶה” — “And Avraham called the place, ‘Hashem will

see.’” (22:14)

Here, the one who was seen by God becomes the one who sees through God. The circle of revelation closes: “Vayera” — “He appeared” — becomes “Yira’eh” — “He will be seen.”

Rashi notes that Avraham names the place not for his own vision, but for God’s — “that on this mountain, God will be seen by future generations.” Avraham’s faith expands beyond the personal; his sight now includes the destiny of his children and the redemption of the world.

The Sfas Emes (Vayera 5641) teaches that this is the deepest nisayon — to keep seeing the divine image even in confusion and contradiction, to perceive chesed (lovingkindness) within din (judgment). Avraham’s final revelation is not in hearing God’s command, but in perceiving God’s compassion within it.

Rav Kook wrote that “the eye of holiness is the one that sees unity where others see division.” Avraham becomes that eye — a living bridge between heaven and earth. His life teaches that true vision is not mystical detachment but moral presence: the ability to see the divine spark in every person, and the possibility of renewal in every brokenness.

Through his tests — in hospitality, advocacy, release, and surrender — Avraham becomes the first human being to see as God sees. He embodies the Torah’s deepest ideal: that seeing God requires seeing others, and that loving God demands loving them.

But this vision cannot remain abstract. It must become relationship — the ability to see God through those who once seemed lost.

The one who once walked into the unknown now sees the world through God’s eyes — as a place where every act of mercy keeps creation alive.

VII. Closing Reflection — Seeing as Walking

In Lech Lecha, Avraham learned to walk with faith. In Vayera, he learns to see — to recognize that faith is not only movement toward God, but vision of others through God’s eyes. What began as the courage to go now becomes the ability to perceive — to notice holiness even within heartbreak.

By the end of the parsha, Avraham’s tests have shaped not only his faith, but his relationships. The Torah mentions that when Avraham went to the Akeidah, he took with him “שְׁנֵי נְעָרָיו — his two young men” (22:3). Chazal teach that these were Eliezer and Yishmael. The presence of Yishmael here is remarkable. Earlier, Avraham had sent him away in pain and obedience. Yet now, at the moment of his greatest test, Yishmael has returned — walking once again at his father’s side.

The Midrash sees in this a quiet redemption: Yishmael came back because Avraham never stopped loving him. Even in separation, Avraham’s care never ceased — he visited, prayed, and remained present. That steadfast love eventually drew Yishmael home. Avraham’s faith was not only vertical, directed toward Heaven; it was horizontal, sustaining connection across distance and disappointment. Vayera ends not with Avraham alone on the mountain, but with reconciliation — a reminder that the faith we live faithfully can one day heal the very relationships that broke our hearts.

This, perhaps, is the final lesson of Vayera: faith matures when it learns to see others with the same mercy it seeks from God. The one who keeps seeing — who holds compassion alongside conviction — becomes a vessel of divine presence in the world. Avraham’s life teaches that holiness is not found in perfection, but in persistence: in continuing to walk beside those we love, even when the path is unclear.

As the Torah turns to Chayei Sarah, that vision begins to take root in the next generation. Sarah’s life becomes the measure of faith fulfilled — to see others with compassion, to hold faith in love’s endurance, and to leave behind a light that helps others see as well.

The focus now shifts from vision to continuity — from faith as experience to faith as legacy. Avraham has learned to walk and to see; now he must ensure that what he has seen will live beyond him. The next stage of the journey asks not how faith begins, but how it endures — how what we have seen becomes what we can pass on, so the world after us can keep walking too.

Have a Wonderful Shabbos!!!

Yaakov Lazar

Enduring love — when faith means believing for someone else.