In Praise of Abraham

If a consciousness of the eternal were not implanted in man; if the basis of all that exists were but a confusedly fermenting element which, convulsed by obscure passions, produced all, both the great and the insignificant; if under everything there lay a bottomless void never to be filled—what else were life but despair? If it were thus, and if there were no sacred bonds between man and man; if one generation arose after another, as in the forest the leaves of one season succeed the leaves of another, or like the songs of birds which are taken up one after another; if the generations of man passed through the world like a ship passing through the sea and the wind over the desert—a fruitless and a vain thing; if eternal oblivion were ever greedily watching for its prey and there existed no power strong enough to wrest it from its clutches—how empty were life then, and how dismal! And therefore it is not thus; but, just as God created man and woman, he likewise called into being the hero and the poet or orator. The latter cannot perform the deeds of the hero—he can only admire and love him and rejoice in him. And yet he also is happy and not less so; for the hero is, as it were, his better self with which he has fallen in love, and he is glad he is not himself the hero, so that his love can express itself in admiration.

If an awareness of the eternal were not planted in human beings, what would life be but despair? What if the foundation of everything were only a confused, seething force, driven by dark passions? What if that force produced everything, both the great and the insignificant? What if beneath everything lay a bottomless emptiness that could never be filled? If life were like this, what would it be but despair? And what if there were no sacred bonds between one person and another? What if one generation followed another like one season’s leaves replacing another’s in the forest? Or like birdsong, with one song taken up after another? What if human generations passed through the world like a ship through the sea or wind over the desert? What if their passing were fruitless and pointless? What if eternal oblivion were always watching greedily for its prey? And what if no power were strong enough to snatch that prey from oblivion’s clutches? How empty life would be then, and how bleak! And so life is not like this. Just as God created man and woman, he also brought the hero and the poet or orator into being. The poet or orator cannot do what the hero does. He can only admire and love the hero and rejoice in him. Yet he too is happy, and no less happy than the hero. For the hero is, in a sense, his better self, and he has fallen in love with that self. He is glad he is not the hero himself, so that his love can find expression in admiration.

The poet is the genius of memory, and does nothing but recall what has been done, can do nothing but admire what has been done. He adds nothing of his own, but he is jealous of what has been entrusted to him. He obeys the choice of his own heart; but once he has found what he has been seeking, he visits every man's door with his song and with his speech, so that all may admire the hero as he does, and be proud of the hero as he is. This is his achievement, his humble work, this is his faithful service in the house of the hero. If thus, faithful to his love, he battles day and night against the guile of oblivion which wishes to lure the hero from him, then has he accomplished his task, then is he gathered to his hero who loves him as faithfully; for the poet is at it were the hero's better self, unsubstantial, to be sure, like a mere memory, but also transfigured as is a memory. Therefore shall no one be forgotten who has done great deeds; and even if there be delay, even if the cloud of misunderstanding obscure the hero from our vision, still his lover will come some time; and the more time has passed, the more faithfully will he cleave to him.

The poet is the genius of memory. He does nothing but recall what has been done and can do nothing but admire it. He adds nothing of his own, but fiercely guards what has been entrusted to him. He follows his own heart’s choice. But once he has found what he seeks, he brings his song and his words to everyone’s door. He does so that all may admire the hero as he does and share his pride in the hero. This is his achievement, his humble work, his faithful service in the hero’s house. If, faithful to his love, he fights day and night against forgetfulness, he has fulfilled his task. For forgetfulness uses its tricks to try to lure the hero away from him. Then the poet is united with his hero, who loves him just as faithfully. For the poet is, in a way, the hero’s better self. He has no substance, certainly, like a mere memory, but he is also transformed as a memory is. Therefore, no one who has done great deeds will be forgotten. Even if there is a delay, even if the cloud of misunderstanding hides the hero from our sight, someone who loves him will come someday. And the more time has passed, the more faithfully that admirer will hold to the hero.

No, no one shall be forgotten who was great in this world. But each hero was great in his own way, and each one was eminent in proportion to the great things he loved. For he who loved himself became great through himself, and he who loved others became great through his devotion, but he who loved God became greater than all of these. Everyone of them shall be remembered, but each one became great in proportion to his trust. One became great by hoping for the possible; another, by hoping for the eternal; but he who hoped for the impossible, he became greater than all of these. Every one shall be remembered; but each one was great in proportion to the power with which he strove. For he who strove with the world became great by overcoming himself; but he who strove with God, he became the greatest of them all. Thus there have been struggles in the world, man against man, one against a thousand; but he who struggled with God, he became greatest of them all. Thus there was fighting on this earth, and there was he who conquered everything by his strength, and there was he who conquered God by his weakness. There was he who, trusting in himself, gained all; and there was he who, trusting in his strength sacrificed everything; but he who believed in God was greater than all of these. There was he who was great through his strength, and he who was great through his wisdom, and he who was great through his hopes, and he who was great through his love; but Abraham was greater than all of these—great through the strength whose power is weakness, great through the wisdom whose secret is folly, great through the hope whose expression is madness, great through the love which is hatred of one's self.

No, no one who was great in this world will be forgotten. But each hero was great in his own way. Each one's greatness matched the greatness of what he loved. For the man who loved himself became great through himself. The man who loved others became great through his devotion. But the man who loved God became greater than all of them. Every one of them will be remembered, but each one's greatness matched the depth of his trust. One became great by hoping for the possible, another by hoping for the eternal. But the man who hoped for the impossible became greater than all of them. Every one of them will be remembered, but each one's greatness matched the strength with which he struggled. For the man who struggled with the world became great by overcoming himself. But the man who struggled with God became the greatest of them all. So there have been struggles in the world, man against man, one against a thousand. But the man who struggled with God became the greatest of them all. So there was fighting on this earth. One man conquered everything through his strength, and another conquered God through his weakness. One man trusted in himself and gained everything. Another trusted in his strength and sacrificed everything. But the man who believed in God was greater than all of them. One man was great through his strength, another through his wisdom, another through his hopes, and another through his love. But Abraham was greater than all of them. He was great through strength whose power is weakness. He was great through wisdom whose secret is foolishness. He was great through hope expressed as madness. He was great through love that is hatred of oneself.

Through the urging of his faith Abraham left the land of his forefathers and became a stranger in the land of promise. Ke left one thing behind and took one thing along: he left his worldly wisdom behind and took with him faith. For else he would not have left the land of his fathers, but would have thought it an unreasonable demand. Through his faith he came to be a stranger in the land of promise, where there was nothing to remind him of all that had been dear to him, but where everything by its newness tempted his soul to longing. And yet was he God's chosen, he in whom the Lord was well pleased! Indeed, had he been one cast off, one thrust out of God's mercy, then might he have comprehended it; but now it seemed like a mockery of him and of his faith. There have been others who lived in exile from the fatherland which they loved. They are not forgotten, nor is the song of lament forgotten in which they mournfully sought and found what they had lost. Of Abraham there exists no song of lamentation. It is human to complain, it is human to weep with the weeping; but it is greater to believe, and more blessed to consider him who has faith.

Urged on by faith, Abraham left the land of his ancestors and became a stranger in the promised land. He left one thing behind and took one thing with him: he left worldly wisdom behind and took faith. Otherwise, he would not have left his ancestors’ land, but would have considered the demand unreasonable. Through faith, he became a stranger in the promised land. Nothing there reminded him of all he had loved. Instead, everything was new and stirred longing in his soul. And yet he was God’s chosen one, the man who pleased the Lord! If he had been rejected and shut out of God’s mercy, he could have understood his situation. But as things stood, his situation seemed to mock him and his faith. Others have lived in exile from the homeland they loved. They are not forgotten. Nor are the songs of mourning in which they sorrowfully sought and found what they had lost. There is no song of mourning for Abraham. It is human to complain, and human to weep with those who weep. But it is greater to believe, and more blessed to reflect on the person who has faith.

Through his faith Abraham received the promise that in his seed were to be blessed all races of mankind. Time passed, there was still the possibility of it, and Abraham had faith. Another man there was who also lived in hopes. Time passed, the evening of his life was approaching; neither was he paltry enough to have forgotten his hopes: neither shall he be forgotten by us! Then he sorrowed, and his sorrow did not deceive him, as life had done, but gave him all it could; for in the sweetness of sorrow he became possessed of his disappointed hopes. It is human to sorrow, it is human to sorrow with the sorrowing; but it is greater to have faith, and more blessed to consider him who has faith.

Through his faith, Abraham received the promise that all the peoples of the world would be blessed through his descendants. Time passed, the promise could still be fulfilled, and Abraham had faith. There was another man who also lived in hope. Time passed, and his life was drawing to a close. He was not so small-minded that he had forgotten his hopes. Nor shall we forget him! Then he grieved, and his grief did not deceive him as life had. Instead, grief gave him all it could. For in the sweetness of grief, he came to possess the hopes that had gone unfulfilled. It is human to grieve, and human to grieve with those who grieve. But it is greater to have faith, and more blessed to reflect on the person who has faith.

No song of lamentation has come down to us from Abraham. He did not sadly count the days as time passed; he did not look at Sarah with suspicious eyes, whether she was becoming old; he did not stop the sun's course lest Sarah should grow old and his hope with her; he did not lull her with his songs of lamentation. Abraham grew old, and Sarah became a laughing-stock to the people; and yet was he God's chosen, and heir to the promise that in his seed were to be blessed all races of mankind. Were it, then, not better if he had not been God's chosen? For what is it to be God's chosen? Is it to have denied to one in one's youth all the wishes of youth in order to have them fulfilled after great labor in old age?

No song of mourning from Abraham has come down to us. He did not sadly count the days as they passed. He did not look at Sarah with suspicion, watching to see whether she was growing old. He did not stop the sun from moving so that Sarah would not grow old, taking his hope with her. He did not lull her with his songs of mourning. Abraham grew old, and Sarah became a laughingstock among the people. Yet he was God's chosen, heir to the promise that through his descendants all the peoples of humanity would be blessed. Would it not have been better, then, if he had not been God's chosen? For what does being God's chosen mean? Does it mean being denied all the wishes of youth while young, only to have them fulfilled after great effort in old age?

But Abraham had faith and steadfastly lived in hope. Had Abraham been less firm in his trust, then would he have given up that hope. He would have said to God: "So it is, perchance, not Thy will, after all, that this shall come to pass. I shall surrender my hope. It was my only one, it was my bliss. I am sincere, I conceal no secret grudge for that Thou didst deny it to me." He would not have remained forgotten, his example would have saved many a one; but he would not have become the Father of Faith. For it is great to surrender one's hope, but greater still to abide by it steadfastly after having surrendered it; for it is great to seize hold of the eternal hope, but greater still to abide steadfastly by one's worldly hopes after having surrendered them.

But Abraham had faith and held firmly to his hope. If Abraham’s trust had been less firm, he would have given up that hope. He would have said to God: "Perhaps, after all, you do not want this to happen. I will give up my hope. It was my only hope, my deepest joy. I am sincere. I hold no secret grudge against you for denying me that hope." He would not have been forgotten. His example would have saved many people. But he would not have become the Father of Faith. For giving up your hope is great, but holding firmly to that hope after giving it up is greater still. For embracing eternal hope is great. But holding firmly to your worldly hopes after giving them up is greater still.

Then came the fulness of time. If Abraham had not had faith, then Sarah would probably have died of sorrow, and Abraham, dulled by his grief, would not have understood the fulfillment, but would have smiled about it as a dream of his youth. But Abraham had faith, and therefore he remained young; for he who always hopes for the best, him life will deceive, and he will grow old; and he who is always prepared for the worst, he will soon age; but he who has faith, he will preserve eternal youth. Praise, therefore, be to this story! For Sarah, though advanced in age, was young enough to wish for the pleasures of a mother, and Abraham, though grey of hair, was young enough to wish to become a father. In a superficial sense it may be considered miraculous that what they wished for came to pass, but in a deeper sense the miracle of faith is to be seen in Abraham's and Sarah's being young enough to wish, and their faith having preserved their wish and therewith their youth. The promise he had received was fulfilled, and he accepted it in faith, and it came to pass according to the promise and his faith; whereas Moses smote the rock with his staff but believed not.

Then the time of fulfillment came. If Abraham had not had faith, Sarah would probably have died of sorrow. And Abraham, numbed by grief, would not have understood the fulfillment. Instead, he would have smiled at it as a dream from his youth. But Abraham had faith, and so he remained young. For anyone who always hopes for the best will be deceived by life and grow old. And anyone who is always prepared for the worst will soon grow old. But anyone who has faith will stay forever young. So praise this story! For Sarah, though old, was young enough to wish for the joys of motherhood. And Abraham, though gray-haired, was young enough to wish to become a father. On the surface, the fulfillment of their wishes may seem miraculous. But at a deeper level, the miracle of faith lies in Abraham and Sarah being young enough to wish. Their faith had kept their wish alive and, with it, their youth. The promise Abraham had received was fulfilled, and he accepted its fulfillment in faith. Everything happened according to the promise and his faith. Moses, by contrast, struck the rock with his staff but did not believe.

There was joy in Abraham's house when Sarah celebrated the day of her Golden Wedding.

There was joy in Abraham's home when Sarah celebrated her fiftieth wedding anniversary.

But it was not to remain thus; for once more was Abraham to be tempted. He had struggled with that cunning power to which nothing is impossible, with that ever watchful enemy who never sleeps, with that old man who outlives all—he had struggled with Time and had preserved his faith. And now all the terror of that fight was concentrated in one moment. "And God tempted Abraham, saying to him: take now thine only son Isaac, whom thou lovest, and get thee into the land of Moriah; and offer him there for a burnt offering upon one of the mountains which I will tell thee off.²"

But things would not stay that way, for Abraham was to be tested once more. He had struggled with that cunning power for which nothing is impossible. He had struggled with that ever-watchful enemy who never sleeps, with that old man who outlives all. He had struggled with Time and had kept his faith. And now all the terror of that struggle was concentrated in a single moment. "And God tested Abraham, saying to him: Take your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to Moriah. Offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains I will point out to you.²"

All was lost, then, and more terribly than if a son had never been given him! The Lord had only mocked Abraham, then! Miraculously he had realized the unreasonable hopes of Abraham; and now he wished to take away what he had given. A foolish hope it had been, but Abraham had not laughed when the promise had been made him. Now all was lost—the trusting hope of seventy years, the brief joy at the fulfillment of his hopes. Who, then, is he that snatches away the old man's staff, who that demands that he himself shall break it in two? Who is he that renders disconsolate the grey hair of old age, who is he that demands that he himself shall do it? Is there no pity for the venerable old man, and none for the innocent child? And yet was Abraham God's chosen one, and yet was it the Lord that tempted him. And now all was to be lost! The glorious remembrance of him by a whole race, the promise of Abraham's seed—all that was but a whim, a passing fancy of the Lord, which Abraham was now to destroy forever! That glorious treasure, as old as the faith in Abraham's heart, and many, many years older than Isaac, the fruit of Abraham's life, sanctified by prayers, matured in struggles—the blessing on the lips of Abraham: this fruit was now to be plucked before the appointed time, and to remain without significance; for of what significance were it if Isaac was to be sacrificed? That sad and yet blessed hour when Abraham was to take leave from all that was dear to him, the hour when he would once more lift up his venerable head, when his face would shine like the countenance of the Lord, the hour when he would collect his whole soul for a blessing strong enough to render Isaac blessed all the days of his life—that hour was not to come! He was to say farewell to Isaac, to be sure, but in such wise that he himself was to remain behind; death was to part them, but in such wise that Isaac was to die. The old man was not in happiness to lay his hand on Isaac's head when the hour of death came, but, tired of life, to lay violent hands on Isaac. And it was God who tempted him. Woe, woe to the messenger who would have come before Abraham with such a command! Who would have dared to be the messenger of such dread tidings? But it was God that tempted Abraham.

All was lost, then, more terribly than if Abraham had never been given a son! The Lord had only mocked Abraham, then! Through a miracle, he had fulfilled Abraham's unreasonable hopes. And now he wanted to take away what he had given. The hope had been foolish, but Abraham had not laughed when the promise was made to him. Now all was lost: seventy years of trusting hope, and the brief joy of seeing his hopes fulfilled. Who, then, snatches away the old man's staff? Who demands that the old man himself break it in two? Who brings despair to a gray-haired old man? Who demands that the old man himself bring about that despair? Is there no pity for the worthy old man, and none for the innocent child? And yet Abraham was God's chosen one, and yet the Lord was testing him. And now all was to be lost! A whole people's glorious remembrance of Abraham, the promise of his descendants, had all been nothing but the Lord's whim. All had been a passing fancy, and Abraham was now to destroy it forever! That glorious treasure was as old as the faith in Abraham's heart, and many, many years older than Isaac. The blessing on Abraham's lips was the fruit of his life, made holy by prayers and ripened through struggles. Now this fruit was to be plucked before its time and left without meaning. For what meaning could the blessing have if Isaac was to be sacrificed? There was to have been a sad yet blessed hour when Abraham said farewell to all he held dear. He would once more raise his noble head, and his face would shine like the face of the Lord. He would gather his whole soul into a blessing strong enough to bless Isaac throughout his life. That hour would never come! Abraham was indeed to say farewell to Isaac, but Abraham himself would remain behind. Death would part them, but Isaac would be the one to die. When the hour of death came, the old man would not joyfully lay his hand on Isaac's head. Instead, weary of life, he would lay violent hands on Isaac. And it was God who was testing him. Woe, woe to any messenger who had come before Abraham with such a command! Who would have dared to bring such dreadful news? But it was God who was testing Abraham.

But Abraham had faith, and had faith for this life. Indeed, had his faith been but concerning the life to come, then might he more easily have cast away all, in order to hasten out of this world which was not his....

But Abraham had faith. And his faith was for this life. Indeed, if his faith had concerned only the life to come, he might more easily have given up everything to leave this world, which was not his, sooner....

But Abraham had faith and doubted not, but trusted that the improbable would come to pass. If Abraham had doubted, then would he have undertaken something else, something great and noble; for what could Abraham have undertaken but was great and noble! He would have proceeded to Mount Moriah, he would have cloven the wood, and fired it, and unsheathed his knife—he would have cried out to God: "Despise not this sacrifice; it is not, indeed, the best I have; for what is an old man against a child foretold of God; but it is the best I can give thee. Let Isaac never know that he must find consolation in his youth." He would have plunged the steel in his own breast. And he would have been admired throughout the world, and his name would not have been forgotten; but it is one thing to be admired and another, to be a lode-star which guides one troubled in mind.

But Abraham had faith and did not doubt. Instead, he trusted that the improbable would happen. If Abraham had doubted, he would have done something else, something great and noble. For what could Abraham have done that was not great and noble! He would have gone to Mount Moriah, split the wood, lit the fire, and drawn his knife. He would have cried out to God: "Do not reject this sacrifice. It is not the best I have. For what is an old man compared with a child foretold by God? But it is the best I can give you. Let Isaac never know that he must find comfort in his youth." He would have plunged the blade into his own chest. And he would have been admired throughout the world, and his name would not have been forgotten. But being admired is one thing. Being a guiding star for someone with a troubled mind is another.

But Abraham had faith. He prayed not for mercy and that he might prevail upon the Lord: it was only when just retribution was to be visited upon Sodom and Gomorrha that Abraham ventured to beseech Him for mercy.

But Abraham had faith. He did not pray for mercy or try to persuade the Lord. Only when Sodom and Gomorrha faced just punishment did Abraham dare to beg God for mercy.

We read in Scripture: "And God did tempt Abraham, and said unto him, Abraham: and he said, Behold here I am.³" You, whom I am now addressing did you do likewise? When you saw the dire dispensations of Providence approach threateningly, did you not then say to the mountains, Fall on me; and to the hills, Cover me?⁴ Or, if you were stronger in faith, did not your step linger along the way, longing for the old accustomed paths, as it were? And when the voice called you, did you answer, then, or not at all, and if you did, perchance in a low voice, or whispering? Not thus Abraham, but gladly and cheerfully and trustingly, and with a resonant voice he made answer: "Here am I." And we read further: "And Abraham rose up early in the morning.⁵" He made haste as though for some joyous occasion, and early in the morning he was in the appointed place, on Mount Moriah. He said nothing to Sarah, nothing to Eliezer, his steward; for who would have understood him? Did not his temptation by its very nature demand of him the vow of silence? "He laid the wood in order, and bound Isaac his son, and laid him on the altar upon the wood. And Abraham stretched forth his hand, and took the knife to slay his son.⁶" My listener! Many a father there has been who thought that with his child he lost the dearest of all there was in the world for him; yet assuredly no child ever was in that sense a pledge of God as was Isaac to Abraham. Many a father there has been who lost his child; but then it was God, the unchangeable and inscrutable will of the Almighty and His hand which took it. Not thus with Abraham. For him was reserved a more severe trial, and Isaac's fate was put into Abraham's hand together with the knife. And there he stood, the old man, with his only hope! Yet did he not doubt, nor look anxiously to the left or right, nor challenge Heaven with his prayers. He knew it was God the Almighty who now put him to the test; he knew it was the greatest sacrifice which could be demanded of him; but he knew also that no sacrifice was too great which God demanded—and he drew forth his knife.

We read in Scripture: "And God tested Abraham and said to him, Abraham. And he said, Here I am.³" You, whom I am now addressing, did you do the same? When you saw the terrible acts of Providence approaching, did you not say to the mountains, Fall on me? And to the hills, Cover me?⁴ Or, if you were stronger in faith, did you not slow your steps along the way? Were you not longing, as it were, for the old familiar paths? And when the voice called you, did you answer, or did you give no answer at all? If you answered, was it perhaps in a low voice or a whisper? Abraham did not answer that way. Gladly, cheerfully, and trustingly, he answered in a ringing voice: "Here I am." And we read further: "And Abraham got up early in the morning.⁵" He hurried as though going to some joyful occasion. Early in the morning, he was at the appointed place, on Mount Moriah. He said nothing to Sarah, nothing to Eliezer, his steward. For who would have understood him? Did not the very nature of his trial demand a vow of silence? "He arranged the wood, bound his son Isaac, and laid him on the altar, on top of the wood. And Abraham reached out his hand and took the knife to kill his son.⁶" My listener! Many fathers have thought that losing their child meant losing what was dearest to them in all the world. Yet surely no child was ever a pledge from God in the sense that Isaac was to Abraham. Many fathers have lost their children. But then God took the child, through the Almighty's unchanging and unfathomable will and by his hand. Not so with Abraham. A harsher trial was reserved for him. Isaac's fate was placed in Abraham's hand, along with the knife. And there the old man stood, with his only hope! Yet he did not doubt, look anxiously to either side, or challenge Heaven with his prayers. He knew that God Almighty was now testing him. He knew that this was the greatest sacrifice anyone could demand of him. But he also knew that no sacrifice God demanded was too great. And he drew his knife.

Who strengthened Abraham's arm, who supported his right arm that it drooped not powerless? For he who contemplates this scene is unnerved. Who strengthened Abraham's soul so that his eyes grew not too dim to see either Isaac or the ram? For he who contemplates this scene will be struck with blindness. And yet, it is rare enough that one is unnerved or is struck with blindness, and still more rare that one narrates worthily what there did take place between father and son. To be sure, we know well enough—it was but a trial!

Who strengthened Abraham's arm? Who supported his right arm so that it did not hang powerless? For anyone who contemplates this scene loses their nerve. Who strengthened Abraham's soul so that his eyes did not grow too dim to see either Isaac or the ram? For anyone who contemplates this scene will be struck blind. And yet, people rarely lose their nerve or are struck blind. Still more rarely does anyone tell the story of what happened between father and son as it deserves. Of course, we know well enough. It was only a test!

If Abraham had doubted, when standing on Mount Moriah; if he had looked about him in perplexity; if he had accidentally discovered the ram before drawing his knife; if God had permitted him to sacrifice it instead of Isaac—then would he have returned home, and all would have been as before, he would have had Sarah and would have kept Isaac; and yet how different all would have been! For then had his return been a flight, his salvation an accident, his reward disgrace; his future, perchance, perdition. Then would he have borne witness neither to his faith nor to God's mercy, but would have witnessed only to the terror of going to Mount Moriah. Then Abraham would not have been forgotten, nor either Mount Moriah. It would be mentioned, then, not as is Mount Ararat on which the Ark landed, but as a sign of terror, because it was there Abraham doubted.

What if Abraham had doubted as he stood on Mount Moriah? What if he had looked around in confusion? What if he had happened to discover the ram before drawing his knife? What if God had allowed him to sacrifice the ram instead of Isaac? Then Abraham would have returned home, and all would have been as before. He would have had Sarah and kept Isaac. And yet how different all would have been! For then his return would have been an escape, his salvation an accident, and his reward disgrace. His future, perhaps, would have been damnation. Then he would have testified neither to his faith nor to God's mercy. Instead, he would have testified only to the terror of going to Mount Moriah. Then neither Abraham nor Mount Moriah would have been forgotten. But Mount Moriah would not have been remembered like Mount Ararat, where the Ark landed. Instead, Mount Moriah would have been remembered as a sign of terror, because Abraham doubted there.

Venerable patriarch Abraham! When you returned home from Mount Moriah you required no encomiums to console you for what you had lost; for, indeed, you did win all and still kept Isaac, as we all know. And the Lord did no more take him from your side, but you sate gladly at table with him in your tent as in the life to come you will, for all times. Venerable patriarch Abraham! Thousands of years have passed since those times, but still you need no late-born lover to snatch your memory from the power of oblivion, for every language remembers you—and yet do you reward your lover more gloriously than any one, rendering him blessed in your bosom, and taking heart and eyes captive by the marvel of your deed. Venerable patriarch Abraham! Second father of the race! You who first perceived and bore witness to that unbounded passion which has but scorn for the terrible fight with the raging elements and the strength of brute creation, in order to struggle with God; you who first felt that sublimest of all passions, you who found the holy, pure, humble expression for the divine madness which was a marvel to the heathen—forgive him who would speak in your praise, in case he did it not fittingly. He spoke humbly, as if it concerned the desire of his heart; he spoke briefly, as is seemly; but he will never forget that you required a hundred years to obtain a son of your old age, against all expections; that you had to draw the knife before being permitted to keep Isaac; he will never forget that in a hundred and thirty years you never got farther than to faith.

Honored patriarch Abraham! When you returned home from Mount Moriah, you needed no words of praise to console you for what you had lost. For you had indeed won everything and still kept Isaac, as we all know. And the Lord never again took him from your side. You sat happily at the table with him in your tent, as you will forever in the life to come. Honored patriarch Abraham! Thousands of years have passed since then. But you still need no admirer born in a later age to rescue your memory from being forgotten. For every language remembers you. And yet you reward your admirer more gloriously than anyone else does. You make him blessed in your embrace and capture his heart and eyes with the wonder of your deed. Honored patriarch Abraham! Second father of the human race! You were the first to recognize and bear witness to that boundless passion. That passion scorns the terrible struggle against the raging elements and the strength of wild beasts, choosing instead to struggle with God. You were the first to feel that highest of all passions. You found the holy, pure, humble expression for the divine madness that amazed the pagans. Forgive the man who wishes to praise you, if he has not done so fittingly. He spoke humbly, as if speaking of his heart's desire. He spoke briefly, as was proper. But he will never forget that you waited a hundred years for a son in your old age, against all expectations. Nor will he forget that you had to draw the knife before you were allowed to keep Isaac. He will never forget that in a hundred and thirty years you never got beyond faith.