Abram

It's unbelievable. Our whole nation is utterly shocked and ashamed. Little Abram, or Abraham as he was later called, has destroyed all of his father Terach's idols. Every last one! And before that, when he was minding the shop, if people had tried to buy some idols, he went on and on about one true G‑d, spouting more heresy than I can bring myself to write.

My mind knows that it's heresy, but my heart… that's a different story. There's something inside me that flares up and sings every time I hear him speak. That passionate little voice, that earnest face, so utterly committed to his ideals. I've always had a voice in the back of my mind, creeping up on me at night, telling me that this can't be all there is, that there's something more, that the things I believe in have a false, hollow ring and faults in their logic. I've always had moments when I refuse to believe that our world was created by jealous gods and goddesses, constantly warring for control and mastery over it.

It frightens me. Am I the only one who feels this way? Am I the only one who thinks that our whole view of life is skewed, and wrong beyond belief? Am I the only one who admires the brave little boy who stands up and says what he believes, even though it flies in the face of our king, our gods, and our nation?

No. Oh, no. Abram has truly pushed the limit. If he doesn't repent, publicly bow to King Nimrod and acknowledge him as a god, the little boy will be killed in three days time.

Is that it? Will our nation ever move beyond this point, always squashing anything true or different under the boot of the great kings? Will we ever be free to worship the gods of our choosing without fear of death?

And if not, if the situation somehow changes… where will I go? Who will I follow? I know that our gods are false. I know this now with ever increasing certainty. But is the G‑d of Abram truly the Creator of the universe, of all things living and inanimate? Is He the only G‑d? I look at Abram and I feel jealous. How can he be so certain, so strong in his beliefs that he is ready to die rather than give them up? How can he know that he's right?

Today's the day. Today is the day when Abram will die for his beliefs. And if he dies, I believe that something in me will die as well. Young as he is, Abram has been my inspiration since he first started making his beliefs known.

We're on our way to the palace now. My family is anxious to see the spectacle, to watch Abram consumed by the flames, to see our king's greatness restored. How can they look forward to such a thing? Even if they were the ones who were right, how can anyone look forward to seeing someone lose his life, to seeing a living, breathing human being reduced to a pile of charred ash? Their zeal to see their gods avenged is pushing me farther away than ever, and if there are any other "heretics" out there, I am certain it is doing the same to them.

We're here. The fire is so big that anyone who walks within thirty amot of it is burned and falls down dead. How will they throw Abram inside? A glimmer of hope rises within me.

King Nimrod gets up to speak. Abram is standing before him, head held high.

"Abram, you fool," the king intones, "you have one last chance to repent. Give up your evil ways. Bow to me once and return to your people and your family with no further harm. Refuse-" here he points to the fire. "Refuse, and you will be consumed by the flames in seconds. Make your choice quickly!"

There is a great intake of breath from the crowd as Abram is granted permission to speak. "People of Kutah," Abram shouts. "This is my choice! I will worship the true G‑d, the Creator of the universe until the day I die! If that is now, so be it!"

Everyone in the crowd is holding their breath. Nimrod signals to his guards. They take Abram's arms and drag him like a common criminal to the roaring, flaming fire. I let out an involuntary gasp. My sister, sitting next to me, squeezes my arm, her eyes flashing with excitement and hatred. "It's so exciting, isn't it?" she shouts over the noise of the crowd. I nod and smile weakly, wanting to be sick. I feel like a stranger amongst my own family.

As the guards walk toward the fire, their bodies glow red. They scream once and fall down, dead. Abram is fine. He looks at them, shakes his head, and raises his voice once more. "People of Kutah!" he shouts once more. The crowd falls silent. Even the fire seems to calm down a little. "I want all the people who have the same doubts that I did to know this!" Nimrod signals furiously to his guards. They cower, but hang back, afraid they'll meet the same fate as their dead companions. Abram continues, "Know that there is a G‑d in the world who created everything, from the tiniest grain of sand to farthest star! That if you look - truly look - you will find Him!"

The last words are so loud, it can't have been natural. With a smile on his face and his head held high, Abram walks straight into the fire. I let out a small cry. This time, my sister looks at me strangely and inches almost imperceptibly away. But I barely notice. My eyes are glued to the pit of fire that Abram has just walked into.

My eyes must be playing tricks on me. Far from being burned, Abram appears to be walking through a beautiful garden of fire. But that's impossible!

Not impossible – a miracle. In full view of the entire nation, Abram walks back out of the fire. The only thing that's burnt is the rope that was binding his hands.

The crowd gasps. Nimrod faints dead away. One of Abram's brothers, inspired by the miracle, jumps into the fire. He is immediately burned to a crisp.

The crowd gasps again, this time in horror. Abram looks at the charred remnants of his brother's body, stands in shock for a moment, then sighs and turns away. He raises his hands and lifts his face to the heavens in silent thanks to his G‑d, and in that moment I know two things. This boy is destined for greatness, and I have finally, finally found my path in life.

Without a word, Abram turns and makes for the fields. I get up to follow him along with, to my surprise, about a sixth of the crowd. My sister looks at me in horror. "Where are you going?" she hisses, horrified.

I look at her with infinite sadness, thinking of the love and joy and friendship we've shared throughout the years. All that…all gone. I lean over and kiss her on the cheek. "Home," I whisper.