Vayera
Gen. 18:1 – 22:24

By Jen Smith, Torah Blogger

In Parshat Vayera, amidst miracles and moral upheaval, we encounter a quiet, luminous phrase: El Roi – the God who sees me.[1] These are the words of Sarah’s handmade, Hagar, an Egyptian servant who must have felt afraid or invisible, used, and abandoned. And yet, it is in the wilderness, a place devoid of promise, where Hagar is truly seen. Not by Sarah, nor Abraham, but by God.

Though often overshadowed by the moment of Abraham’s covenant or the apocalyptic destruction of Sodom, the story of Hagar in the wilderness might be (in my opinion) one of the top three most profound moments in the whole book of Genesis. And here’s why: in this moment, the Torah gives a voice to the unseen and illustrates a universal truth about the human experience: to be seen is to be known, and to be known is to be loved. To be human is to experience a deep, existential yearning to be truly seen.

The Hebrew root word, ra’ah, means both to see and to perceive. It’s more than visual recognition – it’s spiritual awareness. When Hagar gives God the name of El Roi, she affirms a divine presence that doesn’t just bear witness but also understands.

The rabbis of mystic Judaism have long taught that this divine sight is mutual. The Zohar describes a reciprocal gaze, noting that when we lift our eyes toward heaven, the heavens gaze back. This is a reminder that when we perceive holiness in the world, the holiness within us awakens to meet it. To be “seen” by God, then, is not merely to be watched or observed passively; it is to have the essence of who we are mirrored back to us through divine compassion. And that reflection invites transformation.

We live in a world obsessed with visibility – likes, followers, performance. Yet, beneath it all lies a different hunger: the desire to be truly known. To be seen not for what we do, but for who we are.

The mystical idea that we are made b’tzelem Elohim, in the image of God, means that God’s gaze already lives within us. Far from the external looking in, divine “sight” is the spark inside, calling us to introspection. When we practice sacred reflection, we begin to perceive ourselves with the same compassion that God offered Hagar. We can look at our own flaws and fears not with judgment, but with loving awareness.

The Hasidic masters taught that when a person truly knows themselves, they begin to know God, because after all, the soul and the Divine share the same root. Even the ancient Greeks were captivated by this duality, with Aristotle noting that “knowing thyself is the beginning of all wisdom.” In this context, being able to see ourselves for who and what we are is a spiritual act, and it’s the first step in restoring the divine image within.

Abraham’s hospitality in Vayera begins with the act of seeing: “He lifted his eyes and saw three men standing near him.” And before any words are spoken, there is recognition. The same Hebrew root ra’ah connects these moments: Abraham seeing the strangers, and Hagar being/feeling seen by God. The Torah seems to suggest that divine vision flows through human vision; meaning (I think) that when we truly see another person, especially someone who feels invisible, we become partners with El Roi. Maybe this is our spiritual calling – to become vessels of divine seeing. To notice the overlooked, to honor the quiet truths in others, and to reflect the light others may have forgotten they carry.

To be “seen” by God is to be met with a love so complete that it reveals the essence of who we really are at our core. To “see” as God sees is to meet others (and ourselves) through that same lens of radical compassion. When we remember that each human face mirrors the Divine, our seeing becomes sacred. And in that sacred seeing, heaven and earth meet – not in visions of grandeur, but in the quiet miracle of being fully known.

This Shabbat, may we hear the whisper of El Roi that reminds us that we are always seen, and we are already whole. And may we always remember to see ourselves through the same lens of softness and compassion, so that we may merit to glimpse the sparks of holiness that have been there all along.

Shabbat Shalom!

[1] Genesis 16:13