Kindness Beyond the Ask. Chayei Sarah 5787

I am on a Delta flight on my way to the annual “Kinus” - the convention of Chabad shluchim from literally around the world. Over 6,000 Chabad emissaries will spend the weekend together. 

I would like to share a beautiful (slightly edited) article written by my colleague Rabbi Zalman Tiechtel:

From the largest cities to the most remote corners of the globe, these shluchim have dedicated their lives to bringing Jewish warmth, inspiration, and most importantly, a sense of belonging to every Jew.

It raises a fascinating question: What is the secret of the Rebbe's shluchim? What is it that has enabled this movement to touch the hearts of so many Jews around the world? I believe that the answer can be found in a beautiful exchange in this week's Torah portion of Chayei Sarah. 

Avraham sends his trusted servant Eliezer on a mission to find a wife for his son Yitzchak. When Eliezer meets Rivka at the well, he witnesses her extraordinary kindness. Not only does she offer him water, but she goes out of her way to draw water for all ten of his camels. And then Eliezer turns to her and asks her a simple question: "Hayesh beis avich makom lanu lalin?" Is there room in your father's house for us to stay?

Rivka responds: "Gam teven gam mispo rav imanu, gam makom lalun." We have plenty of straw and feed for your camels, and there is room for you to stay.

Now, Rashi notices something fascinating. Eliezer uses the word “lalin,” asking for a place to stay for just one night, but Rivka responds with the word “lalun,” offering him a place to stay for many nights. Why did Rivka offer so much more than Eliezer asked for? 

There is a beautiful insight from the commentaries that is derived from Rashi's teaching. Rivka not only tells Eliezer, "You can stay for a few nights," but also that her family has plenty of straw and feed for his camels. But Eliezer never asked for food for the camels! Eliezer only asked for one night, but Rivka invited him to stay longer, and she realized that if he stayed longer, his camels would need more food as well.

So, without being asked, she reassured him that everything would be taken care of. We have enough room for you to stay for multiple days, and we have enough food, hay, and everything your camels will need for an extended stay as well.

Rivka wasn't just responding to what Eliezer asked for. She was anticipating the needs he hadn't even mentioned. And that is what makes Rivka's kindness so extraordinary, because true kindness isn't simply giving someone what they ask for. It's understanding what they really need.

She listened not only to the words he was saying, but to what those words were really expressing. And that's the difference between doing someone a favor and truly caring about them. A favor is answering someone's request. True love is recognizing the need behind the request. And that's why Rashi tells us that Rivka went above and beyond, because she understood that there was more than just a one-night stay. There was a greater need that Eliezer was really expressing.

And perhaps this is the real secret of the Rebbe and his shluchim. Because every day, somewhere in the world, a Jewish soul is asking a simple question: "Hayesh makom? Is there room for me?"

A college student may come to a Chabad House looking for a Shabbos meal, but perhaps what he’s really looking for is a place where someone knows his name, where he's valued, where he belongs. Someone may walk into a shul asking for help putting on tefillin, or maybe to say Kaddish, but perhaps what they really need is someone who will take an interest in their life. And when a Jew comes looking for a little inspiration, what they really need is a friend who genuinely cares.

This is what the Rebbe teaches the shluchim (and of course it applies to everyone): not just to open their doors, but to open their hearts. Not simply to provide a service, but to see the person standing in front of them, to recognize the needs that aren't always expressed, and to go the extra mile - not because someone asked, but because you genuinely care.

So the secret of Chabad isn't simply reaching more Jews. It's making every single Jew feel like they matter. When a Jew cries out, "Hayesh makom? Do you have room for me?" look deeper. Understand what they're seeking. They're not looking for a bed and a pillow. They're looking for a place to belong.

Here is an incredible story that captures this message beautifully, about a young boy in the Land of Israel who felt alone, seeking something simple, just one chair. But really, he was looking for something much deeper. And the Rebbe understood what he was seeking.

There was a ten and a half year old boy who had some very difficult circumstances at home. The family had broken up and was fragmented; his parents had gotten divorced, and this boy always had to walk to shul all by himself.

On a regular Shabbos, he would find himself a seat, open a siddur, and join the services. But today was a special day, the first Yom Kippur after his parents' divorce, and the boy began to worry. "Where am I going to sit in shul? I just know how packed it's going to be.

Sure enough, when he came on the night of Kol Nidrei, every seat was taken. He didn't have a seat of his own. "How is a little boy supposed to find a place in such a crowded shul? What am I going to do tomorrow? There's no way I can stand all day!"

And as he's walking home so sadly, he has an idea. He says, "I'll wake up early and get to shul before everyone else, and I'll be able to find myself a seat. And that's exactly what he did. 

When he arrived, it was almost empty. There were barely ten men there. The boy looked around and smiled. He walked over to the first seat, but there was a name on it. Seems like someone purchased that seat for Yom Kippur. He walked over to another seat. Another name. And another.

And suddenly, the painful realization hit him. Every seat in the shul had been reserved. There was no place for him. But the little boy wasn't ready to give up. Surely, somewhere in this enormous shul, there had to be one empty seat without a name.

Then at the very back of the shul, he saw something that brought some hope to his heart. A few dusty plastic chairs and an old, half-broken table were there in the back. To anyone else, it looked like a pile of forgotten furniture, but to this little boy, it looked like a treasure.

He took one of the plastic chairs, pulled it up beside the broken table, opened his siddur, and began to pray. He was happy, because he, too, had a seat in shul. Slowly the shul begins to fill up. More people arrive, more seats are occupied, until eventually the entire shul is packed.

This boy was sitting quietly in his little corner, absorbed in his davening, when suddenly he feels a tap on his shoulder. He looks up, and a large man is standing over him. "Young man," he says, "get up. That's my seat."

The boy looks at him, confused. "What do you mean it's your seat? I've been sitting here since early this morning!" "Listen, young man, this is my chair. Please get up."

"But I got here first!" the boy protested. The man wasn't interested. And then came the words that would remain with that child, in his heart and in his mind, for years: "Kid, get up! Get out of here!"

The little boy got up. He walked away from the chair that he was so happy to find, and he was left with one heartbreaking question: In such a huge shul, isn't there one chair for a little boy? Is there really nobody who can hear the cry of a young soul that just wants to sit in shul? Is there no room for a little Jewish child who simply wants to be close to Hashem?

He tried standing inside the shul for a while, but it got too difficult. He went outside, then he came back inside, then he went outside again.

He lifted his eyes toward Heaven and said "Hashem, isn't there anyone who will take responsibility for making sure a little boy is heard? That a little boy is cared for?"

Around that time, his mother wrote a letter to the Lubavitcher Rebbe and poured out her heart about the many difficulties their family was experiencing, so many things weren't going right. She asked for his blessing and his help. In his response letter, the Rebbe instructed them to check the mezuzahs in their home. 

Sure enough they found that some Mezuzos needed to be replaced, and after that  slowky things began to change. Blessings began entering their home, problems started being resolved, and they began experiencing wonderful developments and many reasons to celebrate.

His mother’s family encouraged her to travel to the Rebbe in New York and  thank the Rebbe personally for the blessings, and they came together and sponsored her trip. 

She arrived on Rosh Chodesh Kislev, during the International Conference of Chabad Shluchim, in 1991, and joined the line for the Rebbe's dollars.

After a very long wait, she approaches the Rebbe, and says, "Rebbe, I would like a bracha for my children." That's all. The Rebbe gave her a dollar and blessed her. "May the entire family have good news."

Just as she was about to move on, the Rebbe looked at her again. The Rebbe gave her another dollar, and the Rebbe said: "Zeh bishvil haben. Hatzlacha rabba u'besuros tovos." - This is for your son. May he have much success and good news."

The mother returned home. She called over her young son and said, "Yoav, do you know something? The Rebbe is thinking about you. You have a place in the Rebbe's heart. You have a place in the Rebbe's thoughts." "What do you mean?"Yoavasked.

She tells him, "I came to the Rebbe, and I asked the Rebbe for a blessing for my family and the Rebbe gave me a dollar for all of my children and for my family. But then the Rebbe called me back, and the Rebbe said, 'This is for your son.'"

At that moment Yoav thought to himself: In the synagogue right next to my house, there wasn't even one chair for me. In that enormous shul, nobody could find room for one little Jewish boy. But the great Rebbe, who is across the globe and carries the entire Jewish people on his shoulders, has a place in his heart for me!

Rabbi Tiechtel heard this story personally from Rabbi Yoav Akrish, who is now a respected Chabad Shliach and Rabbi in Israel, whose classes, both online and in person, reach tens of thousands of people every week. Today, he inspires the masses and has changed many lives. He says that on that day, the Rebbe gave him a chair. That little boy thought he needed a chair, but what he really needed was to know that someone cared, that someone was thinking about him, that he mattered. And that's what the Rebbe gave him.

The Rebbe didn't just give his mother another dollar. He gave that little boy something far more precious: the knowledge that he had a place in the Rebbe's heart.

This is the mission that thousands of Shluchim are carrying into the world: to see beyond what a person asks for, to recognize, just like Rivka did, what their neshama is crying out for, and to respond with genuine love. Because, sometimes the greatest gift you can give someone isn't what they came looking for. It's what they didn't even know how to ask for.