The Blogs: Lech Lecha: A Letter to Abraham — From a Son to His Spiritual Father | Mikhail Salita

Rabbi Moshe ben Yisrael Shlita (Mikhail Salita)

My dear father Abraham,

I write to you with reverence and love. You are the father of our people, and thus you are also my spiritual father. When I read in the Torah the words spoken by the Almighty — “Lech Lecha” — “Go to yourself” — I feel that they are addressed to me as well. You were the first to hear them, yet they echo in every generation, in the heart of every soul that seeks truth.

You left the house of your father — not out of rebellion, but out of faithfulness to the One Truth. You turned away from idols, yet you did not reject your father. You ascended spiritually, and in doing so, you elevated his name.

And so I understand: when a person walks toward Heaven, he does not destroy his past — he redeems it.

You were a shepherd. That is no coincidence.

A shepherd is one who bears responsibility for life entrusted to him.

Moses and David were shepherds before they became leaders of Israel.

It teaches that one who can care for the silent is worthy to guide those who speak.

I think of this when I care for the living beings that cross my path — human and animal alike.

Today I am studying to serve as a chaplain — a comforter of souls, a spiritual shepherd.

And I feel that this, too, is part of the path you began — to recognize the Divine breath (nishmat chayim) in every creature.

As it is written in Tehillim (Psalm 36:7):

“You save, O Lord, both man and beast.”

Not because they are equal, but because both live by His mercy.

You went forth to the land of Canaan, and through you it became the place of the Covenant.

And now, thousands of years later, I live far away — in Brooklyn — yet even here I feel traces of your journey.

On my own path, I have encountered the Canaani cats — born in the very land where you once walked.

And I see in this a quiet sign: holiness does not vanish; it simply changes form.

The name Canaan lives on in Kanaani, and the letter Mem shining on their foreheads recalls mysteries: Moshe, Mashiach, Mishnah, Malkhut, Mitzvah.

All are rays of the same light you kindled when you said “Yes” to the voice of Heaven.

You taught us that faith is movement — that Lech Lecha is not only a call to leave one’s land, but a call to journey inward, to the depth where the soul begins.

And when a person walks that road — even slowly, even stumbling — the Almighty walks beside him.

I do not know where I am on that path.

I am a rabbi formed in a world that teaches to see goodness in all people.

But the further I go, the more I feel drawn to the root — to the living Torah that flows from your covenant.

Perhaps everything I learn now is only preparation for returning to that fullness, to the light you set in motion.

You are a mirror for every generation.

You remind us that faith begins with a step,

and that to go toward oneself is to go toward God.

Thank you, my father Abraham, for opening the way.

Thank you to the One who said to you: “Lech Lecha.”

May He grant me the strength to keep walking — without turning away, without weariness, without losing the light.

With love, reverence, and a son’s gratitude —