Category — Vayeira

Please give me one second of your time. The joke will come later. I want to discuss a Biblical narrative with you. It is a story you’ve known since kindergarten, named “The Binding of Isaac.”

Now, we all know that Abraham was the most open-minded man of his day, the first person to “think out of the box.” After centuries of polytheism, he brainstormed the idea that the A-mighty is not the dust that got stuck between one’s toes.

Yet all of a sudden, when his newly-discovered G-d commanded him to kill his son, the one and only devoted student, the sole propagator of his newfound belief – he did not, even for a moment, question the decree?

Come on, he should have at least begged for a second chance. If I were him, I would play the guilt game: “Listen G-d, let us be honest. I am the only one who serves you; if not for me, you would be a non-issue! And this is my reward?”

Then we have Isaac. He was a healthy man of 37, whereas his aged father was a hundred years older. With one shove, he could have sent his father reeling on the ground, or better yet, bind him to the altar and sacrifice him to G-d. But what did he do? He joyfully walked up to the altar!

If we were to pose this question to Abraham himself, he would wave his thumb in the patented Talmudic study style, as he put forth his idea:

“First of all, I thank G-d I do not live in the 21^st century, when enlightenment means that you can and must question everything, from the sanctity of marriage to the value of life; when you have a legal political party called ‘marijuana reform’ and when people are so “open-minded” that their brains fall out.

“Having said that, I want you to know that even a free-thinker must have some ‘Buck Stops Here’ principles for which he will live or die. When you have a backbone of values, then – and only then – you can venture out, knowing that no matter what, you will forever fall back on something solid, something true and everlasting.

“Once I accepted upon myself the sovereignty of the A-mighty, I willingly entered a box, an ark of holiness and meaning. I can still go out and look for ideas out of the box. But the box forever remains solid.

“One last word; If we have no backbone, then we have nothing at all.”

* * *

Four Israelis are sitting in a restaurant in Tel Aviv. For a long time, nobody says a word. Finally, one man groans, “Oy.”

“Oy vey,” says the second man.

“Nu,” says the third.

At this the fourth man gets up from his chair and says, “Listen, if you guys don’t stop talking politics, I’m leaving.”

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.