Almost every Star Wars movie begins the same way. Not just with scrolling yellow words, but with a spaceship coming into view over a planet.
It sets the tone for the beginning of the movie. This is about big things that are happening. It sets scale and context.
This is the exact same feeling I get when I start this week’s portion, Vayera.
It is cinematic.
The sun is beating down on the desert. My mental camera glides over the sand dunes and the rock (not unlike Tatooine, but with fewer droids) until tents appear. Behind it is a copse of trees and the heat makes the air swim.
Then, we see this older man, sitting in the entryway of the tent, grimacing in pain. He’s recovering from major surgery, one he performed on himself, laying there with his eyes closed. The camera slowly focuses on his eyes.
Then, all of sudden, like he’s been shocked, he opens his eyes. He sits up, breathes deeply and looks down at his body. His eyes slowly move upward and he squints. The camera twists around and walking some distance from him are three figures. The are hard to see in the heat, he shields his eyes from the sun with his hand. Where did they come from? Who are they?
This is how I imagine it, let’s call it my mini midrash. This is how picture it in my mind. The moment is full of questions and potential. Each detail in my mental image creates a point of drama begging to be dealt with, asking to understand what is happening.
And here’s the question:
What would you do or say to these three figures?
Would you ask who they are? If they needed help? Would you ignore them? Are they dangerous?
From a young age, we are encouraged to be suspicious of strangers. Not to talk to them, take anything from them, and be wary of what they have to offer. At the same time, we are encouraged to be on the lookout for someone who might be in need of assistance.
I don’t think this is a new phenomenon, but a part of how we as humans have encouraged each other to be safe while also recognizing that we live in community.
It is for this exact reason, Abraham’s response stands out so much. This is what he does:
…Perceiving this, he ran from the entrance of the tent to greet them and, bowing to the ground, he said, “My lords! If it please you, do not go on past your servant. Let a little water be brought; bathe your feet and recline under the tree. And let me fetch a morsel of bread that you may refresh yourselves; then go on—seeing that you have come your servant’s way.” They replied, “Do as you have said.”
Abraham doesn’t just offer assistance.
He RUNS to invite them to let him help them and offers them food and comfort.
This is why this story is taught in the context of the mitzvah, hachnasat orchim, welcoming guests.
The Talmud explains in Shabbat:
Rabbi Yoḥanan said: Hospitality toward guests is as great as rising early to go to the study hall, as the mishna equates them and teaches: Due to the guests and due to suspension of Torah study in the study hall.
And Rav Dimi from Neharde’a says: Hospitality toward guests is greater than rising early to the study hall, as it teaches: Due to the guests, and only afterward: And due to suspension of Torah study in the study hall.
In this text, we begin to identify where welcoming guests might exist in the "hierarchy of mitzvot.”
According to Rabbi Yoḥanan welcoming guests is equivalent to rising early to enter the Beit Midrash. Rav Dimi on the other hand suggests that it is greater than rising early to the Beit Midrash.
For the rabbis, the glorious nerds that they were, there is nothing better, nothing more important than showing up early to the Beit Midrash.
Rav Yehuda said that Rav said on a related note: Hospitality toward guests is greater than receiving the Divine Presence, as when Abraham invited his guests it is written: “And he said: Lord, if now I have found favor in Your sight, please pass not from Your servant” (Genesis 18:3).
Not only study, we learn that welcoming guests is more important than our encounter with the Divine.
According to Rav, Abraham is visited by God, as articulated in the first line of the portion, and then asks God to wait as he serves the people who have appeared at his home. I can only imagine the conversation: Hey, God, I see these folks walking past my tent, do you mind waiting as I prepare a multi-hour meal and bathing regimen for them?
But that is exactly the point.
The rabbis teach us: our encounters with our fellow humans are most important.
We know from the beginning of the Torah that each person is made in the Divine image. So when we encounter another person, we are engaging with a manifestation of Godliness. A person worthy of dignity, kindness, and love.
While we ask God to hold on as we turn to our encounter with a person, we are simultaneously honoring the Divine presence before us.
What kind of person does this? The Talmud offers us more in Bava Metzia:
It is written: “And I will fetch a morsel of bread, and satisfy your heart” (Genesis 18:5), and it is written: “And Abraham ran to the herd, and fetched a calf tender and good” (Genesis 18:7). Rabbi Elazar said: From here we learn that the righteous say little and do much, whereas the wicked say much and do not do even a little.
It is not just that Abraham provides hospitality, it is that he goes above and beyond what he offered in the first place. A “morsel of bread” becomes a feast with fresh meat and cakes.
This pushes us to ask hard questions.
What might our communities look like if we saw human interactions as valuable as our ritual ones? What if we saw caring for strangers as precious to us as ourselves?
You had me at Star Wars.