CAN YOU BE THE ULTIMATE JEW?

An older man had serious hearing problems for many years. He went to the doctor who was able to have him fitted for a set of hearing aids that allowed him to hear 100%.

The old man went back in a month and the doctor said, “Your hearing is perfect. Your family must be pleased that you can hear again.” The man replied, “Oh, I haven’t told my family yet. I just sit around and listen to their conversations. I’ve changed my will three times!”

The story is almost complete, Abraham struggled—mighty and heavily, he has no children and no future. Ideologically too he is all alone. But G-d promises him that it will all change. He will have a child; who will inherit the land of Kanaan and become a blessing to “all the families of the earth.”

Abraham prevails over the Pharaoh in Egypt; he battles four mighty kings and triumphs; he enters a unique and singular covenant with G-d—to the point that at the age of 99, he circumcises himself as a physical display of that covenant.

In this week’s portion, Vayeira, a remarkable story continues. We see him as the paradigm of hospitality and kindness—inviting strangers to his tent and offering them food, shelter, and compassion. G-d even explains why he loves Abraham so much: Because he is the man who will educate his children to live with righteousness and justice. In a daring scene, we encounter him standing up to the Creator of the world and, in a most daring move, demanding G-d “justice” toward the people of Sodom. He prevails over the Philistine king Avimelech. And—at last—at the age of 100, he is blessed with a son, Isaac. As his wife Sarah declares: “Whoever hears this story, will rejoice with me!” Abraham celebrates it with a massive feast, attended by the greatest men of the time: Shem, Eiver, and Avimelech.

Abraham becomes so respected, that the Philistine Avimelech travels to him to make a treaty with him. Wow, what a transformation! From the loner, he has become a “prince of G-d,” as the Chitites say to him, a man loved, cherished, and respected.

The Torah shares the story: “He built a hotel in Beer Sheva; and he called out in the name of G-d, the master of the world.”

At last, all the pieces have fallen into place. Abraham and his faith prevailed. He has been blessed with his child, great wealth, and prosperity; he is one of the most powerful and respected figures in Kanaan. Most importantly: He is beginning to change the world, to introduce into a Pagan society a new ethic—one of love, compassion, morality, justice, responsibility, and respect for truth and for others.

Things, at last, worked out. Abraham came through, and G-d, so to speak, also “came through.” It’s time for a standing ovation.

And then—suddenly, comes the ultimate curve ball. G-d says to Abraham: Take your son, your only one, whom you love, yea, Isaac, and go away to the land of Moriah and bring him up there for a burnt offering on one of the mountains, of which I will tell you.

W-H-A-T???! We read these words, as we would have expected Abraham to shout. Are you kidding me? Is this a bad dream, a surreal joke, or what? I thought you, G-d, were not the capricious, impulsive, blood-thirsty lunatic like all the other man-made gods? I thought I was worshipping, at last, a G-d of justice and truth.

Where did this instruction suddenly come from? Your promises to me and my work for You. There was a plan unfolding here: I will become your ambassador; you will guarantee my future. You promised me, I would have a son. You entered a covenant with me over this. A nightfall drama sealed the deal on this. What is this sudden command to go and kill him?

Yet Abraham does not panic. He wakes up in the morning and sets out on the quest for the site. The serenity in which the Torah tells the story can drive you mad.

And Abraham arose early in the morning, and he saddled his donkey, and he took his two young men with him and Isaac his son, and he split wood for a burnt offering, and he arose and went to the place of which God had told him.

Abraham arrives to the destination. He builds an altar and prepares for the sacrifice. Abraham binds Isaac on the altar and picks up the sacrificial knife. Just as Abraham is about to offer his son as a burnt offering, an angel calls out to him and says:

"Do not stretch forth your hand to the lad, nor do the slightest thing to him, for now, I know that you are a G-d fearing man, and you did not withhold your son, your only one, from Me."

What is this all about? G-d, you did not know that Abraham was a God-fearing man till now? 137 years of commitment did not suffice? What’s the point of this entire episode? How does all of this “fit into” the narrative?

And that was the point.

It was at this point that Abraham—and Isaac—emerged in their full Jewishness. G-d did not want Abraham to sacrifice his son—as we can see from the end of the story. Rather, G-d wanted Abraham, and Isaac, to have the courage to reinvent themselves.

Let's talk for a moment About our own lives.

You did not have an easy childhood—you fought for everything you have. You endured struggle and agony, but you emerged on the other side with dignity and strength. You built for yourself a life, a vocation, a family, and a circle of friends and admirers. Nothing was given to you on a silver platter; you needed to fight for everything. You do “own” every part of your life.

As you look back at your life, you can close your eyes, smile, and experience a moment of serenity. You did well for yourself. Yes, it took sweat, blood, and years, but you prevailed.

You married a beautiful woman/man, and you raised a wonderful family. Your kids were placed in good schools, they enjoyed nice vacations, they never went hungry or neglected, and they always got what they needed, plus the newest gadgets.

And you did not only take care of yourself. You have become an outstanding member of the community—an activist, a leader, a giver; you are looked up to. You are charitable, kind, and caring.

And then... as everything seems to be coming together, life sometimes throws you a curveball, that sweeps you off your legs, rattles your foundations, shatters your security, and sends you weeping into a future that seems so scary and unpredictable.

You never signed up for this deal! And you, the wise businessman, did not see it coming.

There comes a moment in your life when you are stripped naked. Your entire vulnerability is exposed. You find yourself weeping like an infant. All your previous knowledge, experience, wisdom, and successes are cast into the dustbin. Futile. Meaningless.

Most of us experience such moments—when our entire world, one that we built so consistently and delicately, crumbles before our eyes. We realize that all our predictions were futile; all our hypotheses wrong; all our experiments a disaster.

This was the moment when Abraham truly became a Jew.

At the age of 137 years old, he did not panic. He did not fall apart. He did not give up. He did not run away. He said: It is time to start all over, anew.

I know nothing. I made all the wrong assumptions. I will not hold on to anything of my past. I am ready to begin, all over again, from scratch. My entire world disintegrated. I am ready to begin a new journey. I know it is insanely painful. I cannot recognize anything in me that I can “take along” on my new voyage.

These are the moments when life challenges us to reinvent ourselves completely—to shatter all our comfort zones, only to emerge as completely new human beings—without a trace of arrogance, pompousness, and egotism.

To live in the light of a new day and an unimaginable and unpredictable future, you must become fully present to a deeper truth - not a truth from your head, but a truth from your heart, not a truth from your ego, but a truth from the highest source. It is at that moment that we become Divine; we are transformed into channels for what G-d wants from us at this moment.

When you stay the course, with vulnerability, faith, and complete openness—you become a new person. From now on, your love is infinite; your wisdom is infinite; your integrity is infinite, and your dedication is infinite—for you have graduated from the human ego game and you have transformed yourself into a channel for Divine infinity.

I recently read a most beautiful story. Yankel was a simple Jew who loved the mitzvah of lulav and etrog, which he performed enthusiastically every Sukkot. He would spend hours painstakingly picking out the nicest etrog. One year, there was an early winter, and it was difficult for the etrog salespeople to get their regular inventory, so there was a shortage and prices went up. Yankel was shocked when he heard that an etrog now cost 5000 rubles. He went home saddened and told his wife the news. It was the day before Sukkot, and only one expensive etrog was left.

In Judaism, there is a concept called “mitzvah of the moment,” meaning that the mitzvah at hand now is supreme. So, Yankel decided that for this holiday, the mitzvah of lulav and etrog was most important. “Why don’t I sell my tefillin, take the money I get from it and buy the etrog? I won’t need the tefillin until after Sukkot. How I buy them back, well, I’ll figure it out later.”

So, he sold his tefillin for 5000 rubles and bought the etrog. He came home all excited, and, finding that his wife was not yet home, he carefully put the etrog down in the kitchen and went to take a nap. An hour later, he awoke to find that his wife had returned. Excitedly he called out, “Guess what I bought?! An etrog!”

“How?” she asked. “I sold my tefillin.”

“How could you do such a thing?” she asked. He explained the mitzvah of the moment. “Nu, let me see it,” she said. “It’s right here,” he replied, “I put it down right here on the kitchen counter.”

“Oy vey!” she shouted, “I came home and made a salad. I needed a lemon and saw what I thought was a lemon on the counter, I squeezed it out into the salad!”

Cringing, Yankel’s wife expected a scream, an outcry. Instead, Yankel ran toward her, hugged her, and started dancing. “Why, Yankele?” she asked.

“Because right now, my dear wife, the mitzvah of the moment is to love my wife and control my anger.”

This was Yankel’s moment. He loved his Etrog. This was his world; it meant everything to him. He sold his tefillin and paid 5000 rubel for it. Now it was gone.

But instead of screaming at his wife, or dashing out of the house in fury, he held onto G-d—a G-d that has no image, no structure, no pattern, no defined persona, a G-d that does not have to look a certain way to be G-d. As his world crumbled, he opened himself up to the truth of the moment, to the Divine calling of the moment, to the opportunity of the moment. He did not remain stuck in his perception of what life is supposed to look like, what Judaism is supposed to look like, and what Sukkot is supposed to look like. He was completely flexible to the Divine flow of that moment.

This was the story of Abraham. After all, seemed complete, Abraham is told it is time for him to return his gift, his child, back to the giver. Abraham had no way of “figuring” this one out. He was dumbstruck. He was uncertain. He was in

complete darkness. Why? How? What? For what purpose? He realized that he knew nothing. He held on to G-d and said: Hinani! I am here.

At that moment he became the ultimate Jew, the ultimate man of G-d.

But it is now that Abraham became one with the Divine—there was no I left; only an ambassador of G-d in this world.

Paradoxically, now his love for Isaac would become far deeper. Before this, it was the natural finite love of a father to a son. Now the love was flowing from the infinite source of reality.

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Yoseph Geisinsky