By Chaya Sora Jungreis-Gertzulin

He had all the reason to say I can’t. Not now.

Another time. He was elderly. He was post-op. The sun was blazing. The heat was unbearable. Yet, despite it all, he was outside, looking for guests.

He was Avrohom Avinu. Avrohom lived a life of chesed, committed to the mitzva of hachnosas orchim. Instead of taking it easy by recuperating from his bris, he was out there, looking for guests, genuinely happy to welcome them in. Together with Sora, he was ready to prepare a sumptuous meal for his guests.

For Avrohom, the opportunity to perform a mitzva lifted him above his pain. As the Chumash tells us, “va’yar”, and he saw, “va’yorotz”, and he ran towards them. Avrohom was able to rise above his aches and pains, and not just walk – but run – because of his devotion to hachnosas orchim.

As a rov, my father, HaRav Meshulem Jungreis zt”l, had the z’chus to address many a chosson and kallah under the chuppah. He would give a bracha that just like the chuppah was open on all four sides, the home they build should be like the tent of Avrohom and Sora which was open for travelers coming from all four directions. A bracha to build a home of hachnosas orchim.

Avrohom and Sora experienced first-hand the challenges and difficulties of the nomadic traveler. They lived the life of lech-lecha, a life of journeys. They knew what it meant to walk upon burning hot sand, to be parched and in need of water, to feel weak and tired, and in need of a place to rest. They were the perfect couple to build an open home, an eishel.

An eishel, the “world’s first B&B”. Rashi in Sotah (10a) teaches that eishel, which is spelled in the Hebrew language as aleph-shin-lamed, can be understood as an acronym for aleph – achilah, food; shin – shtiyah, drink; and lamed – levoyah, escorting guests upon their departure. Others teach that the lamed represents linah – providing sleeping accommodations.

The Chumash tells us little about the specific conversations Avrohom had with his many guests. Yet we learn how powerfully he influenced others—not only through his words, but through his chesed. His open door policy, the comfortable surroundings and the generous food and drink. Avrohom would first take care of his guests’ needs, offer them a full meal, and only then use the opportunity to convey the message of believing in one G-d. As Rashi explains, Avrohom would say to his guests, “Do you think what you have eaten was mine? It was from the One Who spoke, and created the world.” (Rashi, Bereishis 21:33) In the opening pasuk of the parsha, the Torah tells us that Avrohom was sitting “pesach ha’ohel – at the opening of his tent” (Bereishis 18:1) Rashi comments that Avrohom was looking to see if there were any passersby that he could welcome into his tent. My mother a”h pointed out that in describing passersby, Rashi uses the unusual expression “oveir v’shov”, literally meaning crossing over and returning, instead of the more typical term “orchim”, meaning guests. Perhaps, my mother said, we can interpret these words in a homiletic sense to signifiy the profound influence that Avrohom and Sora had upon their visitors. Oveir – they left behind their pagan teachings. V’shov – they return to the Source, the belief in HaShem. The power of Avrohom and Sora’s hachnosas orchim. “Ess hanefesh asher osu b’Choron, – the souls they touched, the lives they changed in Charan. Avrohom is avinu – our father. A father who teaches by example. It is incumbent upon us, his children, to follow. To reach out and touch another soul. A simple act of kindness, a Shabbos invitation has the power to touch a soul. It doesn’t have to be a large group, it doesn’t have to be every Shabbos, it doesn’t have to be a multi-course gourmet meal, and one doesn’t have to deliver a long d’var Torah. All one has to do is open their home and heart. The end result is that both host and guest will have a more meaningful and inspiring Shabbos.

∞ ∞ ∞ In the book, The Rebbetzin, Chayale Gordon Deutscher recalls her first Shabbos experience: Chaya’le remembers: We packed up Friday afternoon and headed off to the wilds of Boro Park. There we were greeted by our hosts — Shmuel Dovid and Chaya Friedman. Slowly the night started to unfold. All the children were gathered together to meet us — from the youngest to the oldest still at home. After the men and boys left to shul, the women went into the dining room to light their candles and I stood in the hallway just watching them.

There was something about that candle-lighting that moved me. As they were lighting, I just started to cry. I turned my head so that they wouldn’t see and I looked the other way.

The men returned from shul and stood around the table singing “Shalom Aleichem.” Again, I felt these stirrings of emotion. Our host made Kiddush. I then watched all the children walk to their parents for a bracha, and I couldn’t help thinking, “This is astounding! Does anyone else know about this?” Everything that they did was something I’d never seen or witnessed, yet was touching me very deeply at the same time.

I had many questions, and the Friedman family was so eager to answer everything I asked.

That night, Chaya Friedman handed me a copy of the Rebbetzin’s book, The Committed Life. I started reading the book the minute we entered our room and I couldn’t put it down. ∞ ∞ ∞ And so began Chayale’s connection to the Rebbetzin, the Jungreis family, Hineni, and Torah Judaism. All from a Shabbos invitation. What moved Chayale was not an elaborate speech, not a debate, and not an intellectual discussion. It was the lived experience of a Shabbos home.

An invitation that grew and grew. Today, Chayale and her husband host their own Shabbos table. Chayale fills her table with Shabbos delicacies, and her husband, Shimshon, offers words of Torah inspiration. Like Avrohom and Sora before them, they are concerned about the needs of every guest. As Chayale’s first Shabbos changed her life, many newbies to Shabbos sit around her table, their lives changed forever.

When we daven the Shemoneh Esrei, we recall our three Patriarchs, Avrohom, Yitzchok, and Yaakov. Yet the first bracha concludes with Magen Avrohom—the Shield of Avrohom. Perhaps we can understand this as a reminder of the protective power of chesed. Avrohom’s shield was the love he extended to others, the kindness with which he opened his home and heart.

B’ezras Hashem, may the shield of Avrohom protect us, as individuals and as a nation.