Abraham’s Legacy

The Sunday school teacher asks, “Now, Melvin, tell me honestly, do you say prayers before eating?”
“No sir,” little Melvin replies, “I don’t have to. My mom is a good cook.”
***
There he walked, hunched over, tired and haggard. Of middle age, he was covered in desert sand, traveling with a camel and few provisions in the baking desert somewhere in the Fertile Crescent almost four thousand years ago.
“What a catch!” thought Abraham as he sat in his tent, watching the dot in the distance that was slowly approaching his residence. There had been high temperatures for the past while and the heat of the sun had scared all living creatures away from the desert. Finally, an opportunity has arisen to share – here was a chance to demonstrate kindness.
Abraham quickly rose from his seat and rushed over to the stranger. With much happiness, he took his hand for a warm handshake and welcomed him to “town.”
With no time to waste, he brought the man a bucket of water to wash his feet, then ushered him in to his abode, where tables covered with food awaited the hungry traveler.
After feasting on meat and baked goods and gulping down gallons of good wine, the guest arose to leave. Grateful, he approached his benefactor and thanked him heartily for the unexpected, extraordinary hospitality.
To his shock, the host responded, “Don’t thank me; I’m only a messenger. I want you to thank the Lord of the universe, Creator of heaven and earth; it is He to whom all gratitude is due.”
For this the guest was unprepared; he was accustomed to referring to the dust at his feet as his G-d, and it was to it that he prayed. “No! I will not thank this invisible creator of yours!” he shouted.
Yet Abraham was ready for this reaction. “If that’s the case, then we have business to discuss. How much does good meat cost in the city? How about old wine and baked goods? Let’s say a hundred bucks. Now multiply it, considering the fact that this catered meal was prepared and served in the forsaken desert! So that would make your bill about five hundred – and that’s without the tip.”
Realizing what a big, hot pot he had fallen into, (who ever thought they would charge the price of the Waldorf Astoria in the middle of no-man’s land?), the man rose to thank G-d for the food he creates, for the world He sustains, and for the kind people He places in this universe.
* * *
There he was, a tall, dignified-looking man, of middle age and with a “can’t hide” Jewish nose, strolling down the Avenue of the Americas somewhere in midtown Manhattan.
What a catch! Expecting a successful mission, I proudly straightened my back, raised my chin, and approached the “client” with an aura of confidence. I then plunged with The Question for the hundredth time that afternoon: “Excuse me, sir, are you Jewish?”
“Yes!”
“Would you like to put on Tefillin?”
“No, that’s okay. I haven’t put them on in over forty years, and I don’t believe in Tefillin anyway!”
An experienced nudge, I didn’t give in: “Well, can you please do it just as a favor for me? I’ve been out for hours without much success, and it’s rather disheartening. Please make my day feel worthwhile.”
To this, he could not refuse. The stranger-turned-friend put on the Tefillin, recited the Shema, and whispered a personal prayer.
And another Jew was reconnected.