Many stories in the Torah are not meant to stand alone but rather to create a larger story composed of similar yet disparate parts. In the case of the relationship between Yaakov and Lavan is such is clearly the case.
Whereas Lavan seems to do something disagreeable every step of the way, Yitro does just the opposite, constantly providing help and support to his son-in-law. Ya’akov has to ask to marry one of Lavan’s daughters, whereas Yitro offers Zipporah to Moshe as his bride. Not only that, Lavan makes the terms of the marriage agreement almost unbearable; in the case of Moshe, we don’t hear of any formal terms whatsoever. Most significantly, when Ya’akov asks to leave, we see Lavan trying repeatedly to foil his desires. Regarding Moshe, he is not only given permission but an apparent blessing as well. On the one hand, Lavan runs after Ya’akov in what could be understood as an effort to kidnap the wives and the children, whom Lavan describes as his own. Yitro, on the other hand, runs after Moshe for just the opposite reason – to bring his son-in-law’s children and wife back to him. Finally, when Lavan catches up with Ya’akov, he tries to impose his own religious preferences on his son-in-law, making sure that their non-belligerence pact makes reference to his own god as well as the God of Ya’akov. In comparison, when Yitro finds Moshe in the desert, he makes the decision to offer sacrifices to his son-in-law’s God alone and to leave sacrifices to his own gods for a more appropriate time. (Of course Yitro’s sacrificing only to God would be a foregone conclusion if he himself had completely converted to the Jewish faith, as indicated by many rabbinic statements. This does not however seem to be a consensus position among the sages and hence it is quite possible that he made a conscious choice to worship only the Israelite God in Moshe’s presence.)
The Torah further emphasizes the difference between the two stories by constantly referring to Yitro as Moshe’s father-in-law, while Ya’akov’s father-in-law, Lavan, although mentioned far more frequently than Yitro, is not described as such even once. Instead, when we need clarification of his identity, we hear that he is an Aramean, the brother of Rivka or the son of Betuel. The stark contrast between the Torah’s repeated identification of Yitro as a father-in-law and of Lavan as everything but a father-in-law is far too blatant to be unrelated to the discussion at hand. Hence, Lavan serves as a foil to Yitro: he is not called Ya’akov’s father-in-law because he has not earned that title, even if his daughters are married to Ya’akov. To see what is required for that title, the Torah has us wait until we come to Yitro. Lavan must first show us what a father-in-law should not be in order for Yitro to eventually illustrate what a true father-in-law needs to be.
It is worth noting that the entire Bible describes only one other man as a father-in-law – the anonymous father of the concubine of Giv’ah. There too, the father-in-law is notably benevolent towards his daughter’s husband. Specifically, he rejoices when he sees his son-in-law, he feeds him and gives him drink, he beseeches him to prolong his visit and, ominously, not to leave when it is not safe. If, of all the many fathers-in-law in the Bible, only Yitro and he are singled out, it makes us think that they are the only ones the Bible feels deserve this designation. And if we are to judge from these two men – as it appears that we should – the Biblical vision of a true father-in-law ultimately consists of someone who shows deep concern for his son-in-law’s welfare.
In the distinction between Lavan and Yitro then, we see how to relate to the stranger more generally. Though our relatives by marriage can be dissimilar and like strangers to us, we meet in the realm of common human concern. In fact, sometimes this is the only thing that we have in common. Yet properly viewed, it is precisely this shared concern that allows us to feel what is most articulately described in German as “mitleid,” literally, pain with. When I share my child’s pain with her husband, we experience the same vicarious pain together. In that sense, we both experience something more similar to each other than that which we share with the daughter and wife we both love. The awareness that a stranger can share so completely in my own emotions vividly opens me up to my commonality with him. We all love and we all hurt, we all have needs and aspirations. More important than anything else, we are all created in the Divine image.