וַיֵּרָא אֵלָיו ה' בְּאֵלֹנֵי מַמְרֵא וְהוּא יֹשֵׁב פֶּתַח הָאֹהֶל כְּחֹם הַיּוֹם: וַיִּשָּׂא עֵינָיו וַיַּרְא וְהִנֵּה שְׁלֹשָׁה אֲנָשִׁים נִצָּבִים עָלָיו וַיַּרְא וַיָּרָץ לִקְרָאתָם... (יח א-ב)
"And Hashem appeared to him in the plains of Mamre, while he was sitting at the entrance of the tent in the heat of the day." Think of the sheer holiness of this moment. Avraham is immersed in direct communion with Hashem, Who comes to visit him. Yet, the Torah tells us, וַיִּשָּׂא עֵינָיו וַיַּרְא וְהִנֵּה שְׁלֹשָׁה אֲנָשִׁים נִצָּבִים עָלָיו וַיַּרְא וַיָּרָץ לִקְרָאתָם "And he lifted his eyes and saw, and behold, three men were standing over him; and he saw, and he ran to meet them." We are met with one of the most breathtaking moments in the entire Torah. Avraham, our forefather, sits at the entrance of his tent in the blistering heat of the day, recovering from his circumcision.
Our sages in the Talmud take note of this extraordinary sequence and teach us a foundational rule of Jewish life: גדולה הכנסת אורחים יותר מהקבלת פני שכינה (שבועות לה:)—"Great is hospitality to guests, even greater than receiving the Face of the Divine Presence." Avraham excuses himself, as it were, from the Almighty Himself, to run out into the burning desert heat and welcome three weary wanderers. But when you pause to reflect on this, a deep question presents itself. How did Avraham know to do this? How did he possess the certainty that it was right to step away from the ultimate spiritual ecstasy of greeting Hashem, just to serve lunch to three strangers walking by?
To understand this, we must look to the heilige Tiferet Shlomo, who reveals a fundamental principle about Avraham Avinu. Avraham worked on himself, purifying his physical existence so thoroughly, that he sanctified every single one of his limbs. He brought his body into such alignment with the Divine Will that his limbs could literally do nothing other than what Hashem wanted him to do at that exact moment. His hands, his eyes, his feet were no longer merely physical instruments; they were a living compass responding instantly to the Divine pulse.
We see this echoed throughout Avraham's life. When Hashem said to him, לֶךְ לְךָ מֵאַרְצְךָ... אֶל הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר אַרְאֶךָּ "Go forth from your land... to the land that I will show you"—Hashem did not give him a map or name the city. Yet Avraham just started walking, because he knew his holy feet would physically carry him only where the Almighty wanted him to go. Years later, at the Akeidah, when he bound his beloved son, the Torah records, וַיִּשְׁלַח אַבְרָהָם אֶת יָדוֹ וַיִּקַּח אֶת הַמַּאֲכֶלֶת לִשְׁחֹט אֶת בְּנוֹ—"And Avraham stretched forth his hand, and took the cleaver to slaughter his son." The commentaries explain that as Avraham raised his hand, he felt his arm freeze; his physical limbs refused to carry out the slaughter. Before the angel even uttered a word, Avraham knew through his own sanctified body that the Almighty did not truly desire the sacrifice of Isaac. Therefore, he listened to the angel!
This is the very key to understanding what happened at Mamre. Avraham was sitting in deep, radiant dveikut, cleaved to the Divine Presence. But suddenly, he lifted his eyes and found himself looking at three travelers. Notice how the Torah repeats the word וַיַּרְא—"and he saw"—twice in close succession. First, he raised his eyes and saw three men standing nearby; then, וַיַּרְא he saw again, and ran to meet them. Why the double vision? The Midrash Bereshis Rabbah 48:9 explains that first וַיַּרְא בַּשְּׁכִינָה, he saw the Divine Presence, and then וַיַּרְא בַּמַּלְאָכִים, he saw the angels disguised as men. In that second gaze, Avraham felt his eyes opening to those travelers, feeling an irresistible physical and spiritual pull toward them. He understood instantly that if his senses were being drawn away from his Divine Presence toward those human beings, it was not a distraction—it was the true will of Hashem calling him into action. His body knew before his intellect could even process it: right now, serving these people is serving Hashem to do hospitality. And so, his feet took off, running out to greet them.
This holy instinct flowed through every moment of that hospitality. The Torah tells us, וְאֶל הַבָּקָר רָץ אַבְרָהָם וַיִּקַּח בֶּן בָּקָר רַךְ וָטוֹב וַיִּתֵּן אֶל הַנַּעַר וַיְמַהֵר לַעֲשׂוֹת אֹתוֹ—"And Avraham ran to the herd, and took a tender and good calf, and gave it to the young man, and he hastened to prepare it." Ask yourself: if Avraham had a young servant right there to prepare the meal, why did he run to the herd himself, only to hand the calf over a moment later? It was because his feet suddenly bounded forward in the pure enthusiasm of the mitzvah, eager to fetch the meat. But as he went to prepare it, he felt an inner sense that this task belonged to the young man who was a master cook, and involved him in the mitzvah as well. Instantly tuned to that divine nudge, Avraham handed the calf to his servant to complete the preparation. What a lesson Avraham Avinu leaves us for our own lives to become natural extensions of the Divine Will! (Yehuda Z. Klitnick)