Why did Abraham reach people whom Noach couldn’t?

Public Humiliation

This week, there was an incident here in Ohio in which a candidate was publicly humiliated, and it became an international news story, even reaching the Israeli press.

Now, as a rule, I don’t discuss politics here, in keeping with the Rebbe’s guidance. But sometimes a public event gives us something to learn from. And I think this story qualifies.

The First Story

The Talmud tells a story about Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi, known simply as Rebbi, the leader of his generation. One day, a legal document was brought to him, and he noticed that it appeared to have no date. How could the date be missing?

His son, Rabbi Shimon, who was sitting with him, suggested that the date might be hidden in the folds. This was a tactic that unscrupulous people would sometimes do, if they wanted the reader of the contract to overlook the date, for whatever reason. 

Rebbi opened the folds and found it. Then he gave his son a disapproving look, assuming he was the one who had written the document.

“I didn’t write it,” Rabbi Shimon quickly explained. “Yehudah Chayata did.”

Rebbi stopped him: “Stay away from that kind of negative talk.”

The Second Story

This story is understandable. Rabbi Shimon had meant to make clear that he hadn’t written the document, but his father objected to his naming the person who had. But the following story is more remarkable. 

Rabbi Shimon was reading from a Book of Psalms in front of his father. Rebbi admired the handwriting: “What beautiful, neat handwriting!”

“I didn’t write it,” his son replied. “Yehudah Chayata did.”

Again, Rebbi stopped him: “Stay away from that kind of negative talk.”

Now that seems puzzling. Rebbi had complimented the handwriting. What could be wrong with identifying the person who had written it?

The Talmud answers with a teaching from Rav Dimi, who cautions against praising someone—because praise can lead to criticism. (Bava Batra 164b.) Complimenting one person can take the discussion in a direction we never intended. That is how careful we need to be with what we say.

But there is another point here, one which is relevant to the elections. 

When you look at elections in Israel and the United States, you often see a pattern: humiliating a candidate or dismissing a large group of people can have the opposite of the intended effect. It makes them stronger, brings them together, and they end up winning. We’ve seen it happen again and again.

Why? For one thing, people don’t like to see someone humiliated, and they certainly don’t like to see an entire community treated with contempt. But there is also a spiritual side to this.

King Solomon says in Koheles, “V’ha’elokim yevakesh es nirdaf. G-d seeks out the persecuted.” G-d stands with the person who is being mistreated. When you humiliate someone, you make that person the persecuted one. Now that person has G-d on their side.

Words Like Fire

In the stories we are reading these weeks in the Torah, there seems to be a lot of messaging around this topic—about how to treat people, and how to influence people.

Last week, we read Parshat Noach. The Torah tells us that Noach built an ark, and our sages explain that he spent 120 years on it. People would ask what he was doing, giving him an opportunity to warn them about the Flood.

This raises a very important question: How could a righteous man like Noach spend 120 years trying and failing to persuade even one person to join him and change his ways?

The Talmud gives us an answer. Rava teaches that Noach rebuked the people of his generation with harsh words that “burned like torches.” They responded by mocking and insulting him. (Sanhedrin 108b.)

Why didn’t it work? Because scolding and threats don’t persuade people.

This week, in Lech Lecha, we meet Abraham. Everyone in his family and community worshiped idols. Yet from a very young age, he began to realize that there had to be a power behind all of creation. He set out to discover who had made the world and came to understand that it had a Creator.

He didn’t keep that discovery to himself. He tried to influence the people around him and persuade them to change. At first, he, too, tried to force the issue.

Many of us know the story of his father, Terach, who sold idols. One day, Terach went out of town and left Abraham in charge of the store. When he returned, all the idols except the largest had been smashed.

Abraham told him that the largest idol had broken all the others. Terach protested that the idols were incapable of doing anything of the sort.

“Then why do you worship them?” Abraham asked.

But Terach wasn’t convinced. He reported Abraham to Nimrod, who threw him into a fiery furnace. There was a lesson learned in this story: Abraham learned that force doesn’t bring people closer.

The Rebbe points out that the Rambam tells the same story—but adds a very interesting twist. 

According to the  Rambam, when Abraham first tried to persuade the people of Ur Kasdim about the wrong of their ways, he didn’t just smash the idols. He debated them and tried to prove that their beliefs were mistaken and that a Creator governed the world. And his arguments prevailed—he would actually win! And that is when the king sought to kill him. (Likkutei Sichot, vol. 20, p. 13 and onward; Rambam, Laws of Idolatry, 1:12–13.)

Nimrod wanted to kill Abraham not only because he had smashed the idols, but above all because he had defeated them in debate. They could not accept having their beliefs disproved, so they wanted to kill him. 

But then something  changed.

The Rambam says that Abraham continued this work after leaving Ur Kasdim for Haran. He traveled from city to city, calling out to people and gathering them around him. Through reasoned arguments, he brought idol worshippers to the “path of truth,” until thousands and tens of thousands joined his household. He “planted this great principle in their hearts.”

What changed? Why was he suddenly so popular?

That last phrase, the Rebbe explains, is the key. Abraham wanted more than agreement. He didn’t just want to convince them. He wanted faith to take root within each person. He “planted it in their hearts.”

Abraham’s followers did more than accept his arguments. They came to understand G-d through their own reasoning, through their own journeys of faith. Their belief became part of who they were, just as it was for Abraham. That is why they were then called “Abraham’s generation”: they shared his awareness of G-d.

A Little Love

How did he do that? How did Abraham suddenly manage to pivot? Other Midrashic accounts give us  the answer. It was his  kindness, his hospitality, especially his ‘eshel’ in Beersheba, where he offered food and drink and a warm welcome. Through his personal connection with people and his love for them, he brought them closer to G-d.

That is the lesson for us, today. If we want to influence someone, help them see the truth, and bring them closer, arguments alone won’t get us there. We have to reach their heart through love, care, and generosity.

You could say that Abraham was the first to ask the whole world to “vote” for G-d. He wanted everyone to recognize the Creator. But he understood that reaching people takes more than logic and proof. It also takes heart.

That is especially true when it comes to Judaism. Winning an argument isn’t the goal. The goal is to help another Jew feel at home and discover their own deep connection to G-d.

So offer a warm welcome. Show that you care. Don’t just try to convince—help someone feel they belong.