בס״ד
The Art of Showing Up
Few things are more unsettling than being told to go somewhere without knowing exactly where. Most of us would like a destination, a departure time, a packing list, perhaps a Google Maps pin. Ideally, we’d also like to know whether parking is available.
Abraham, on the other hand, receives rather less administrative support.
In Parshat Lech-Lecha, G-d tells him: Lech lecha—go forth from your land, your birthplace, your father’s house, to the land I will show you. No itinerary. No property particulars. Not even a vague indication of the weather.
Abraham goes, and the story of the Jewish people begins not with a ten-point strategy, but with a journey into the unknown.
This is not necessarily an endorsement of impulsive life decisions. We are not suggesting you abandon your job, sell the house, or book a one-way ticket to somewhere with better coffee and olive oil. (Italy, by the way. Not that expensive this time of year, though perhaps a little riotous.)
Abraham’s journey was not a universal argument against sensible planning. It was a particular divine calling. In Chassidic thought, lech lecha is understood as a call to go towards one’s deeper self—a way forward that requires leaving behind the things that have made us comfortable enough to stop moving.
But it raises a question worth sitting with: what happens when you’re called to take a step before you can see the whole staircase?
Enter emunah and bitachon: faith and trust, two concepts that sound much more straightforward in a casual chat over a cup of tea than when applied to one’s actual life.
Emunah is the conviction that there is a Creator and a larger picture beyond our field of vision. Bitachon is putting that conviction into practice: proceeding without a complete briefing, knowing we are not running the entire operation.
Which brings us to the rather awkward business of readiness.
We tend to think we can begin once we feel ready: once we’ve acquired the necessary skills, settled every doubt, and received sufficient evidence that things will work out. We would prefer the calling to arrive with a detailed brief and a reassuring note from someone who has done it before.
But perhaps readiness is not the same as certainty. Perhaps we need only respond to what is being asked of us, using what we have been given. Our capacities, our circumstances, our particular assortment of talents and limitations: none need be perfect for us to begin.
Literally, “Here I am,” hineini appears in Abraham’s story when G-d calls to him in Genesis 22. It appears eight times in the Torah and many times throughout the Tanakh. It is a deceptively simple response. Not “Here is my availability for the next quarter.” Not “Please clarify the scope of the assignment.” Just: here I am.
Centuries later, in the book of Isaiah, G-d asks, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” Isaiah answers: Hineini, shelacheni—“Here I am; send me” (Isaiah 6:8).
There it is: the leap from presence to participation. Not merely I’m here, but I’m here, and I’m willing to go. No request for a job description. Just a readiness to answer the call.
Our Hineini poster features Isaiah’s words as a reminder of this rather large idea. In a world that prizes having a plan, knowing your niche, and optimising your morning routine down to the 5 AM kickstart, it’s quietly radical to show up without feeling entirely ready.
Abraham did not have a map. He had a calling, and the willingness to answer it.
Either way, the invitation remains.
Hineini. Here I am.
And now, if you’ll excuse us, we have somewhere to be.