This week’s parshah begins with Avraham Avinu at the entrance to his tent and three “men” approaching. Of course the men were actually malachim, but to Avraham Avinu it didn’t make any difference and he ran to welcome them, with the same mesirus nefesh he displayed for any guest.
The tzaddik Reb Leib Sorah’s zy”a points out that when two malachim later came to Lot, they are described not as men but as malachim. Lot indeed welcomed them in the manner he had learned from Avraham Avinu, but he hadn’t learned the lesson all the way. Whereas Avraham Avinu dedicated himself to anyone, even the most poshute guests, Lot would only extend himself for important people.
The experiences of the Rebbe R’ Zusha also illustrate this idea. During the years when he wandered from place to place together with the Rebbe R’ Elimelech of Lizhensk, both disguised as regular people, they were not usually treated so well—but in later years, when R’ Zusha was known and respected as a great tzaddik, he was accorded great honor. Then, when offered a bowl of soup by a respectful host, R’ Zusha would say, “Bekitsche, eat.” He felt that the honor was being paid to the outer trappings, not the person within.
A similar idea is sometimes at work when we’re mechanech our children. It’s easy to devote time and energy to a child who always brings home good report cards, who always does what he’s told, who always shows respect. It’s not so easy to devote time and energy to those children who test us, who come home with less-than-glowing reports, or a “call the teacher” note.
But which child needs the attention more?
Sometimes, it’s a matter of perception, the way we choose to see our children, for whatever reason. There’s a joke about a little boy whose mother adored him to no end and would always refer to him in loving terms: “Go to sleep, tzaddik’l.” “Good morning, shefeleh!” “Have a wonderful day, malach’l!” After his first day in cheder, the mother asked her little tzaddik’l, “Nu, shefeleh, what did you learn today?” to which he replied: “I learned that my name is Dovid.”
As long as the child is “tzaddik’l” in our eyes, everything’s fine and we can find the necessary time and patience. It’s when he becomes “Dovid,” in his true colors, that we find out that he might not always behave like such an innocent shefeleh, and suddenly it’s a challenge. And the challenging children are the ones that need our time, patience, and love more than ever.
Let’s learn from Avraham Avinu to treat each person like a malach, even if they don’t resemble one—and thereby help them to uncover their malach within.
