Beyond ‘Thinking of You’: What Vayera Teaches Us About “Checking In”
Since my daughter Gavriella’s death almost four years ago, I have come to know, in ways I never imagined, just how lonely grief can be. It is hard to believe that so much time has passed since the world last felt whole to me. Some days I keep myself busy so that I don’t have to think. Other days, it takes every ounce of energy just to get out of bed.
In the years since Gavriella died, friends have reached out to let me know they care. I have received countless text messages that simply say, “Thinking about you,” “Sending hugs,” or “No need to respond.” And then there are the Shabbat Shalom stickers that arrive every Friday afternoon. My friend sends them every week, even though I cannot remember the last time we actually spoke. I see these messages, often send back a heart, and put my phone down. I am never quite sure what to do with them or how to respond. The exchange ends there, and I am left wondering whether we have actually connected at all.
I know these gestures come from a place of love and concern, and I am grateful that people remember. Yet even with these reminders that people are thinking of me, I can still feel incredibly alone.
Recently, I received a text from a friend that read, “I’ve been thinking about you since we sat together and just wanted to check in and let you know.” I read it several times, unsure of what it meant or how to respond. When they said they wanted to check in, what did that actually mean? Was there a question I was supposed to answer, or was this simply another way of letting me know I was on someone’s mind? I found myself feeling confused, not knowing how to enter into the conversation or whether there was a conversation to be had at all.
Somewhere along the way, I have found myself questioning what it really means to “check in” on someone who is struggling. We often hear familiar expressions: “Thinking of you.” “My inbox is always open.” “I am here, no need to respond.” These are all good-sounding words, ones I have used myself, and are often sent with the best of intentions. But since losing Gavriella, I have begun to wonder whether “checking in” has become another phrase that sounds good and expresses good intentions, but doesn’t always translate into meaningful connection. And perhaps that distinction matters most when someone is struggling.
In Parshat Vayera, we find a beautiful and perhaps unexpected model of what it means to “check in” on someone.
The parsha opens with the words, “וַיֵּרָ֤א אֵלָיו֙ יְהֹוָ֔ה” – “Hashem appeared to him.” This opening phrase raises an interesting question: What does it mean that God appeared to Avraham? Rashi, drawing on the Talmud in Bava Metzia 86b, explains that Hashem came to visit Avraham, who was recovering from his circumcision. It was the third day after the procedure, when the pain was particularly intense, and Hashem came to inquire about his well-being. In other words, Hashem was performing the mitzvah of Bikur Cholim, visiting the sick.
There is something deeply moving about this image. Hashem doesn’t simply send a message or let Avraham know that He is thinking about him. Hashem appears. Hashem shows up. The lesson of Bikur Cholim is that caring for another person requires us to step outside ourselves and enter into their experience. It is an act of presence, of seeing another person’s vulnerability and acknowledging their suffering.
Immediately following this encounter, Avraham notices three strangers approaching his tent. Despite his own physical discomfort, he runs to welcome them, offering them water, food, and a place to rest. Here we encounter another mitzvah for which Avraham becomes our model: Hachnasat Orchim, welcoming guests.
At first glance, Bikur Cholim and Hachnasat Orchim seem like two separate acts of kindness. One involves visiting someone who is ill; the other involves welcoming strangers into our homes. But placed side by side, perhaps the Torah is teaching us something deeper about the nature of human connection. Both mitzvot require us to notice another person. Both ask us to move beyond ourselves. And both require us to make space for someone else’s experience.
Through these two mitzvot, Parshat Vayera offers us a model for what it means to truly check in on someone. Hashem doesn’t simply acknowledge Avraham’s illness; He comes to visit. Avraham doesn’t simply notice the strangers approaching his tent; he runs toward them, welcomes them in, and makes room for them.
Perhaps this is what I have been trying to understand about the meaning of “checking in.” There is a difference between telling someone they are on your mind and taking the time to enter their world. It is the difference between letting someone know you are thinking about them and helping them feel that they are not alone. The mitzvot of Bikur Cholim and Hachnasat Orchim remind us that meaningful connection is not always found in the words we send, but in the presence we offer and the space we make for another person.
Since losing Gavriella, I have come to understand that grief does not follow a timeline. It doesn’t disappear after weeks, months, or even years. The loneliness doesn’t necessarily lessen as time passes. Sometimes, the greatest comfort comes from knowing that someone is still willing to show up, even long after the initial outpouring of support has faded.
Perhaps that is what checking in should really mean. Not simply sending a message to let someone know they are on our minds, but finding ways to help them feel that they are not alone. Not just asking how someone is doing, but being willing to listen to the answer. And perhaps, most importantly, continuing to show up, even when time has passed and there are no easy words to offer.
