Listen!
A thought for Parashas Vayera
As the harrowing events of Simchas Torah become an increasingly distant memory, I am now beginning to confront the atrocities of that dreadful day—something I was previously unable to bring myself to do. Hearing survivors recount their harrowing escapes and reading news articles about the massacre has been an important, yet challenging endeavor. These past few weeks have brought me to tears more often than I can ever recall in my adult life.
Why have I stepped out of my comfort zone and done this? Because I believe it's vital to move beyond the confines of my own secure space to attentively listen to the experiences of others in order to connect with their reality.
Rebbetzin Feige Twerski highlights a poignant reality in her book - The Future of Friendship:
“Our society is drowning in a veritable ocean of verbiage. Never before have we been surrounded by so many words, so much information, assaulting us from every possible direction, and yet so many people today feel that nobody is listening. More and more people complain that they feel socially isolated and alone. “
Improving my listening skills is a challenge which I am consciously trying to address. Listening is not merely a passive act; it's a critical tool for fostering connections—essential in parenting, in marriage, and indeed, in any relationship. It requires effort and intention, but its value cannot be overstated.
I am fortunate to be part of a group of individuals who gather weekly to learn with our Rav. Each session begins with a roundtable where everyone is encouraged to share—be it a personal struggle, a triumph, or any matter of concern. The only rule is that we all must listen intently to the person speaking. It is incredibly empowering to talk while feeling truly listened to, knowing that your words are being met with full attention. It transforms the act of speaking into an experience of being heard and valued.
Rebbetzin Twerski continues:
”To counteract this phenomenon, we must recognize the imperative of being fully present and engaged in our daily interactions with others. We must prioritize relationships. It speaks to the necessity for extending a listening heart in our interaction with those around us. In a culture of distractions, this is no small feat. Our spouses, children, and friends suffer all too often from oblique attention, when they desperately require meaningful interaction with their loved ones.”
Amidst numerous initiatives aimed at fostering unity among the Jewish people, doing chesed, and promoting communal welfare, divisions can still arise. Different groups, with varying conceptions of unity and sometimes divergent aims, struggle to find common ground. It can be difficult to bring everyone together under one umbrella when each group or project may find it challenging to understand those with opposing views or approaches. It is crucial, then, to truly listen to one another and to strive for understanding. As my father often points out, 'You cannot have achdus (unity) without yachdus (togetherness),' recognizing that despite our differences, we can respect them and still unite.
In the Torah, speech plays a prominent role; conversations are depicted as sacred and profound. Yet, there is a notable silence from Noach, who refrained from speaking out of a belief that no one would listen to him. In contrast, Avraham epitomizes the virtue of listening. He actively sought to understand those around him, demonstrating that listening can be just as powerful as speaking.
In this week’s Parashah, when the malachim visit Avraham, we find them resting under a tree rather than being immediately ushered into his tent. Given that it was an exceedingly hot day, one might wonder why Avraham chose this setting. The Hafla’ah1 offers a profound insight, suggesting that Avraham hesitated because, previously, when Lot was with him, the Shechinah departed from him. Anticipating that the visitors, whom he presumed to be Arab nomads, might cause a similar withdrawal of the Shechinah, he hesitated. However, the Zohar illuminates2 that this was no ordinary tree; it was a means through which Avraham could discern the spiritual status of his guests. If the tree's branches enveloped a guest, it indicated they were worthy of the Shechinah's shade. If the branches recoiled, it signaled that the guest was distant from holiness, prompting Avraham to guide them closer to God.
Avraham did not view the potential loss of his spiritual stature as a deterrent. Instead, he embraced it as an opportunity to uplift others, teaching them until they, too, could sit in the shade of the Divine. Rav Chaim Walkin wrote3 that the essence of creation lies in doing good for one another; thus, it was self-evident for Avraham to leave a divine encounter to engage in acts of kindness. Far from seeing it as a spiritual setback, he saw it as an occasion for spiritual elevation.
The Hafla’ah elaborates further, suggesting that when a teacher's own spiritual growth seems to be on pause due to their dedication to helping others develop, they actually become greater and more robust in spirituality. He likens a tzaddik to a Tamar, a date palm, which bears fruit; by nurturing students of Torah, akin to producing fruit, the tzaddik ascends and becomes like a tall cedar, known for its stature but not for fruit-bearing. Thus, they attain the best of both worlds—growth and the ability to foster growth in others.
True teaching, the Hafla’ah indicates, is not about looking upward for personal advancement or downward to gauge others’ perceptions. It’s about facing forward, on the same level as one’s students, fostering an environment of mutual growth.
Avraham understood that to make a meaningful impact required being on the same level as those around him, understanding their perspectives and needs. His perspective was not self-serving but altruistic, focusing on one direction—away from self-centered concerns towards an empathetic comprehension of others' needs. It’s about listening intently and grasping the essence of what the other person needs.
In his insightful masterpiece "The 48 Ways to Wisdom," Rav Noach Weinberg delves into the challenges of communication, particularly the act of being truly heard. In way #2, he presents a scenario familiar to many: the frustration of feeling unheard, leading to raised voices and the plea, "Do you hear me!?" It's a common occurrence — thinking we are listening, only to realize later that our minds were elsewhere. He emphasizes the importance of objectivity before responding or judging an idea, suggesting that a lack of objectivity is often rooted in emotional bias rather than rational thought.
The term 'Shmi'at b'ozen' translates to 'listening with the ears,' but the Torah's use of 'Shema' suggests a deeper engagement — attentive focus, comprehension, and subsequent action. It’s about more than hearing; it’s about letting the message truly resonate within you.
Rav Noach cites the examples of Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai, renowned for their opposing viewpoints. A reason that halachah often aligns with Beit Hillel's positions is their practice of first articulating the opinions of Beit Shammai before their own. This method demonstrated an appreciation for perspective and objectivity, suggesting a more profound search for truth.
Expanding on this, Rav Noach makes a distinction between being a judge versus a lawyer. The former remains neutral, striving to understand both sides, whereas the latter is fixed on advocating for one. In debates, it’s not uncommon to find people acting as 'lawyers,' listening only to counter-argue rather than to comprehend. Simon Sinek encapsulates this idea by defining listening not as merely hearing spoken words but as grasping the significance behind them.
Later in his book, in way #37, Rav Noach urges openness to different perspectives. Even familiar ideas can yield fresh insights when approached from new angles. He advocates for a continuous quest for knowledge and a recognition that understanding is an ever-expanding horizon.
He concludes with a call to appreciate the uniqueness of each individual. Instead of hastily imposing our viewpoints, we should venture into the worlds of others, seeking to understand their thoughts and positions. It’s a matter of listening — truly listening — to the whole of what others have to say.
Pirkei Avos tells us Hashem sends out a bas kol every single day. This call is for everyone, for all of humanity. Yet, we must ask ourselves, who is truly listening? The Sfas Emes elaborates that when Hashem issued this heavenly voice, it was Avraham Avinu and Yisro who heard it. While the message was universal, only a few were attuned to its frequency—those who had fostered a deep relationship with listening.4
Rabbi Sacks captures this essence profoundly:
“God is the call to human responsibility, the voice that we hear only if we first learn how to listen, the voice that summons us to act.”5
In another work, he provides a meditative approach to encountering the Shechinah:
“If I were asked how to find God, I would say: Learn to listen. Listen to the song of the universe in the call of the birds, the rustle of trees, the crash and heave of the waves. Listen to the poetry of prayer, the music of the Psalms. Listen deeply to those you love and who love you. Listen to the words of God in the Torah and hear them speak to you. Listen to the debates of the Sages through the centuries as they tried to hear the texts’ intimations and inflections.”6
This idea teaches us that listening is not merely a passive act, but an active engagement with the world and Hashem.
Rabbi Sacks further elaborates on the transformative power of listening in a third book:
“In striving to listen to the more-than-human, human beings learned what it is to be human, for in discovering God, singular and alone, they eventually learned to respect the dignity and sanctity of the human person, singular and alone.”7
This connects the act of listening with our moral imperative to recognize and respect the inherent value in each person.
To bring this all together, we learn from Avraham Avinu that listening and being attuned to others is a phenomenal level. It is a skill that fosters understanding, respect, and unity among people. Through this type of connecting to our brothers and sisters, building bridges of empathy and comprehension, we can merit true achdus and move closer to realizing a complete and harmonious Geula, bm’heira b’yameinu. Amen.
Panim Yafos — Vayera
As explained by Rav Moshe Dovid Vali — Vayera
Daas Chaim uMussar - Vayera
Baderech HaTefillah by Rabbi Yehoshua Gerzi
Radical Then, Radical Now" p. 163
Studies in Spirituality p. 7
The Great Partnership p. 23