27 Oct PARSHAT VAYEIRA: WHY INFANTS HAVE TO GROW UP ON MILK THE SECRET OF GIVING

A woman is leaving

her multimillion-
dollar mansion in

Beverly Hills when
a poor man
approaches her and
cries, “Oh ma’am, I
haven’t eaten in

three days.”
To which the woman responds: “I am so
envious of you; I wish had your will power.”
Another anecdote:
David Goldberg, a seasoned doctor, turns to
Harry Rabinowitz, the man seated next to
him in the synagogue, and says, “Harry,
you’re an intelligent lawyer, I need your
help.”
The doctor begins his lament. “Every
Shabbos,” he says, “during the entire time
of the service, people approach me seeking
medical advice. This one has stomach pains,
this one’s wife woke up with a headache,
this guy’s mother-in-law’s back hurts. I am
just sick and tired of this. Shabbos is my
only day of rest.”

“Listen to me,” says Harry. “Next guy that
comes over, give him the advice he needs,
but make sure to send him a bill for your
medical advice the following week. I
guarantee you,” says Harry, “that in no time
you will have peace and quiet in the
synagogue.”
“Great idea!” exclaims the doctor. He
returns home in a great mood.
Tuesday, as David is opening the mail, he
finds a bill from his friend Harry Rabinowitz.
Avraham’s Menu
The Torah relates the meticulous order of
the meal that Avraham offered his guests,
recorded in the opening verses of this
week’s parsha Vayeira. First he gave them
cheese and milk, and only afterward did he
present them with calf’s meat, consistent
with Jewish dietary laws that deli products
may be eaten after dairy products, but not
vice versa.
Yet another point is raised among the
biblical commentators as to why Avraham
chose to serve his guests these particular
items – milk, cheese and meat – to begin

with. The choice of meat is
clear, as he wished to serve
his visitors a satisfactory
meal. But why, from among
many possible appetizers,
did Avraham decide to give
them milk and cheese as a
prelude to the meat?
Even if Avraham was
compelled for whatever
reason to serve his guests
milk, why does the Torah
make a point of sharing this
apparently insignificant
detail with us.
The Mystique of Nursing
The rule of thumb in our
world is that sharing
something with somebody
else constitutes a loss for
the giver. If I have it, and give it to you, I
lose it; if you have it, and give it to me, you
lose it. If you write a check for charity, your
checking account is diminished.
An exception to this rule is the milk a
mother feeds her suckling. As long as a
mother continues sharing her nourishing
liquid with the child, her mammary
glands will keep on refilling. Furthermore,
the quantity of the milk is usually
dependent on her sharing it: The more a
mother nurses, the greater the flow of
milk her body produces. When she ceases
to breast feed, her inner production of
milk ceases.
This is one of the deeper reasons why
G-d created nature in a way that infants
are nourished by milk. Through this
natural process of infant nourishment, the
Kabbalah teaches, a mother is given the
opportunity to ingrain within her child’s
tender consciousness the truth about
sharing: The more you give, the more
you will receive. Just like the milk that
you are now swallowing, my dear child,
the more I share it, the more I have it.
The Gift of Love
Very often guests—particularly if they
are strangers—feel uncomfortable
staying in somebody else’s home and
eating another person’s food.
Avraham, hypersensitive to the feelings
of his guests, addressed this awkwardness
by offering them milk and milk products
at the start of the meal, reflecting the
Jewish approach toward giving. Giving is
like milk: you more you give, the more
you get. The greatest gift we can give
ourselves is a life filled with love and

caring toward other human beings. More
than the host does for the guest, the guest
does for the host.
This is true in our marriages as well: when a
husband and wife are committed to give to
each other, they themselves are often
surprised of how much they receive by the
sheer act of giving to somebody outside of
themselves. The love we give away is the
only love we keep.
Or as Winston Churchill put it: We make a
living by what we get, but we make a life by
what we give.
There is a lovely story about the great
Victorian Anglo-Jew, Sir Moses Montefiore.
Montefiore was one of the outstanding
figures of the nineteenth century. A close
friend of Queen Victoria and knighted by
her, he became the first Jew to attain high
office in the City of London. His
philanthropy extended to both Jews and
non-Jews, and on his one-hundredth
birthday, The London Times devoted
editorials to his praise. “He had shown,”
said the Times, “that fervent Judaism and
patriotic citizenship are absolutely
consistent with one another.”
One reflection was particularly moving:
Someone once asked him, “Sir Moses, what
are you worth?” Moses thought for a while
and named a figure. “But surely,” said his
questioner, “your wealth must be much
more than that.” With a smile, Sir Moses
replied, “You didn’t ask me how much I
own. You asked me how much I am worth.
So I calculated how much I have given to
charity this year.”
“You see,” he said, “we are worth what we
are willing to share with others.”