By Aaron Azose, Special to JTNews
I am Abraham. I have left my land, the land I love, the land I have called home for so many years, in search of a place better than where I was. Ask not about the culture, for its memory alone singes holes through the morality of my conscience. The visions of child sacrifice into the belly of idols and the smells of burning flesh remind me why I left.
And the gods. Their constant bickering and impolite behavior, not to mention their warring, confuses me. How can a person follow the laws of multiple deities unendingly disagreeing? Where is truth? Where is the underlying sense of justice to unwaveringly follow? Why should we on Earth follow beings who have enslaved us to perform endless chores and do not respect the essence of our lives?
Beyond that, the materialism concerns me. Perhaps I am a minority. No, I am certain I’m a minority in my love of humanity and my intense distaste in the importance placed on property there. For instance, let me directly reference Hammurabi’s Code, which refers multiple times to the death penalty as a punishment for thievery. I, instead, would prefer a land where adultery leads to death and thievery only a slight punishment. That is why I have left. I am on a journey.
I am Abraham. I have walked for days and days and days under the oppressive sun, whose rays (although not Godly) surpass the usual power of nature. I have crossed mountains and valleys alike only to part with my traveling companion who insisted on the better land. Settling in the Negev desert would concern many, but for me it is a blessing. There, if nowhere else, I can begin anew a society with morality at its head, where people approach me ready for change from the flaws of Babylonia and Syria.
They, like I, will have faced the trauma of leaving home but also the thrill of a new land with new terrain and sights to see. The land here is not near as good as it was, and yet I am certain that with time, techniques will grow this place into a thriving wonderland. The farming prevents us from a healthy yield of crops, and our hills and valleys create climate discrepancies from east to west, from desert to coast. And the little rain we receive from the tears of heaven flow always down the mountains, leaving no potable liquid of life for myself. I must figure it out. I am on a journey.
I am Abraham. I am concerned that regarding our location relative to the opposing forces, this land may be unusually receptive to foreign invasion and attack. Between the three continents whose lands converge here, interests clash and war may be imminent. Trade, perhaps. But war, definitely.
I shall put my mind to rest from those vengeful thoughts, focusing instead on the task of convincing others to join my mindset of human brilliance. I am convinced myself, but what about them? They act in their own self-interest, and a religion further away from the idols of sex, violence and rocks and trolls will presumably detract from its popularity when compared with the mass orgies of El and the bouncing breasts of Astarte. I have only just begun the mighty task. I am on a journey.
I am Abraham. Not just the biblical figure, but I myself, in the flesh. A living, breathing human being with emotions and feelings, more immediate to all who see me. But don’t be confused. I am Abraham. I am on a journey. Unlike him, I did not come to the promised land of Canaan to escape the flawed society in which I usually live. However, like him, I was drawn here by religion and by the freedom associated with my own beliefs. Since arriving, I have just begun to convince myself, as he convinced others, of the beauty our Lord created and the underlying pulsing of humanity which appears ever-present here. I have walked in the streets of cities paved with milk and honey. I have seen the brotherhood and sisterhood that exists.
Without a doubt, I am Abraham. I am Abraham.
I am.
I fear, like he, that this may not be right; but without trying, who can understand the struggle? Since the establishment of Judaism, millennia of teenagers, especially, have fought hand-to-hand and heart-to-heart against the big man above. Here, though, the fight becomes a war. Here, I cannot escape the signs that point me to Hashem. I am Abraham. I am on a journey.
During this past summer, Aaron Azose spent seven weeks in Israel on the Alexander Muss High School in Israel program. Students on the program spent a few hours each day in class studying Jewish and Israeli history and even more hours becoming acquainted with the country and their new friends.