Twelve Hundred Dancing Fires

Last Shabbat, I was privileged to speak to 1,200 of the most important Jews in the world.

It’s called The Pegisha—which means “encounter” in Hebrew. Chabad campus rabbis from every part of the USA plus Canada bring their brightest, most enthused and incendiary college students to Chabad Central in Brooklyn to set the place on fire.

Friday night, as we brought in Shabbat in song and prayer, there were 1,200 flames dancing in circles more furious than the power turbines at Niagara Falls. If the IDF needed nuclear power, we were sending it to them. I looked around the hall of singing, dancing, wild and wonderful young spirits and I knew I was standing in the vortex of the soul of the Jewish people.

That night, dinners were hosted all over Crown Heights with many hot-button discussions. Then came workshops, presentations, get-togethers, some all-nighters. In the morning, I gave a prep-class to prayers.

Services were in a large gymnasium with the worst acoustics imaginable. There’s no mic on Shabbat. And I was asked to give the sermon.

So I figured, these people are living on hostile campuses with professors who attack everything they hold precious. With fellow students they thought were their friends until October seventh. Many of them feel the whole world has turned against them.

I had to make a point and I had to make it clear. No room for subtleties when you’re hollering across a gym to a thousand college students.

Here’s what I said. Or yelled out. More or less.

Own the World

When I first met Abraham, I was 19. I was flipping through the pages of Genesis for the first time, looking to see if there was anything in there that might resonate. The creation story was awesome. But hey, the Abraham narrative was not doing it for me.

That is, until I got to the part where G‑d informs Abraham about His annihilation program for the wicked people of Sodom.

Now, this is nuts: Abraham starts arguing with G‑d. The same G‑d that just created heaven and earth a few pages back. He says, “Look, they can’t all be bad! You’re the official judge of the entire earth! And you’re not going to judge things fairly?! You're not allowed!”

I said, “Whoa! This is my dude! I identify! Totally!”

Because, I figured, this is not standard character profile for religious heroes.

Take Noah. Noah had no problems with whatever G‑d planned to do.

G‑d told Noah, “The people are bad. I’m going to have to reboot. I’ll be taking out all humans and animals, just preserving one kernel for each species.”

Noah replied, “Okay, so what do you want me to do?”

G‑d says, “Build a big boat. Save your family. Save some animals.”

Noah builds boat. No argument.

When Noah finally got out of his boat at the end of the Flood, he beheld the desolation of Planet Earth. He sat down on a rock and cried. He said, “G‑d, oh merciful G‑d! How could you have done this to your creatures?!”

And a booming voice answered him from the heavens, “You stupid shepherd! Where were your tears when I first came to you? You could have saved the world!”1

So if you want to know what’s cool about Abraham, this is number one: He takes ownership. He takes responsibility for the entire world and all the people in it. Even if it means arguing with G‑d.

And we Jews here, we are all Abraham.

Shatter the Narrative

Now here’s number two:

This is my favorite Abraham story: He’s a recalcitrant 14-year-old in his father’s home. His father, Terach, manufactures, markets, and sells idols for a living.

So one day Terach leaves Abraham in charge of the shop. He says, “Whoever walks in, make sure he walks out with something. And don’t forget to feed the idols at noon.”

Abraham doesn't make any sales. He just convinces his customers to worship the one Creator of heaven and earth for free.

Until it was time for lunch.

So here’s Abraham staring at his father’s idols. There’s a twinkle in his eye. He disappears into the workshop and comes out with a sledgehammer. And then he has the time of his life, smashing to smithereens every idol in the store—all, except for the largest one. He carefully places the sledgehammer in that idol’s arms, takes one large bowl, fills it with food, and places it in the idol’s lap.

At which point, the door opens. In walks Terach.

“What did you do to my idols?!” he howls.

Abraham shoots back, “There you go again, Dad, always blaming me! How about asking what I had to put up with? I was just trying to do my job, serving each one the proportion of food for his or her size in the right size bowl, and they started fighting with each other. The little guy said he was big and should get all the food of the idol next to him, and the big guy said the little guy got too much. Until the biggest one got fed up with all of them and smashed them to pieces. And look for yourself—we caught him red-handed!”

To which Terach replies, “What are you talking about? They are idols of wood and stone. They don’t talk. They don’t eat. They can’t fight with each other.”

And Abraham answers back, “So, Dad, why do you worship them?”2

Takeaway number two: Abraham doesn’t just shatter idols. He shatters the narratives of his society.

He understands these fads have nothing to do with reason or truth. They’re all convenient lies for preserving the status quo, keeping dictators such as Nimrod in power, and making easy bucks off an ignorant populace.

He sees through the lie. And he’s willing to challenge authority and put everything on the line to rip it apart.

Do you know when the Jewish people were conceived? In the twinkle of an adolescent eye just before he smashed the idols of his father’s house. Every Jew who ever lived and will live was conceived there. You, you, you, me, all of us.

Because we are all Abraham. We shatter idols. We question bogus narratives. We defy lies, no matter how many educated and authoritative people believe in them.

Don’t Let It Define You

There’s one more detail about Abraham I didn’t catch the first time around. But it’s crucial.

G‑d tells Abraham to get out of his hometown and go to an unidentified land where he’s going to get rich and famous and have lots of children.

He goes there and there’s a famine. From that point on, everything goes wrong. If anyone wanted to prove to Abraham that there is no G‑d, no worries. G‑d was doing it for them.

But Abraham didn’t let circumstances define him. He knew what is real, he knew what is true, and he didn’t budge.

People didn’t like Abraham. They didn’t like his beliefs. He wasn’t fazed. He was above that.

He ignored their animosity and was friendly to everybody. He set up a tent to feed any passing stranger, and talked to his fellow human beings about the truth—that there’s only one G‑d, He’s for free, and He cares about the world He made and the people inside it.

It was a hostile world. Abraham had no fear. He chased after an army of four ruthless emperors when his principles demanded it.

Like I said, each and every one of you is Abraham. Each one of you is the entire Jewish people.

Be like Abraham. Don’t let the world define you. Sure, there are people out there that don’t like Jews so much. Don’t let that define you. You are not a Jew because they want to destroy you. You are a Jew because you are an emissary of light to the world.

Everything good about today’s global civilization, you gave to them. The humanitarian values they throw in your face, you taught them. The world as we know it could never have come to be without your stubborn, indestructible, indefatigable, undefeatable persistence to do what is right, what is good and true.

And you will continue to do so. With mitzvahs, the instruments of light. With Torah, the bearer of wisdom. With courage and chutzpah, like Abraham.

Take ownership. Shatter the narrative. Don’t let hatred define you.

The darkness will die. You, my people, are forever.