A Question for Two Thousand Friends

A retelling for children, based on Mahmúd's Diary (entry of 12 October 1912).

One Saturday in San Francisco, a great door swung open and 'Abdu'l-Bahá walked into the largest synagogue on the whole western coast. It was a huge and beautiful place, and that afternoon it was packed. About two thousand people had come — so many that the rows of seats stretched far back into the hall.

The leaders of the city's Jewish community had invited Him. They thought of Him as a kind and honoured guest, a friend who had come to say warm and friendly words. They settled in to listen, expecting something pleasant and gentle.

What they did not expect was the question He was about to ask.

'Abdu'l-Bahá began, as a good guest should, by honouring what His hosts already loved. He spoke about Moses, the great messenger of long ago who had first taught their people. The whole world, He said, owed a great debt to the children of Israel, because the foundation Moses had laid was the cause of lasting honour. He praised what they treasured most, and you could feel the room warm to Him.

And then, very gently, He turned the whole talk around with a single question.

Why should not the children of Israel praise now Christ and Muḥammad?

The hall must have gone very still. To this crowd, those were not easy names to praise. But notice how carefully 'Abdu'l-Bahá had asked. He did not scold anyone. He did not say they were wrong. He simply wondered aloud why they had not yet honoured those two great figures — and then He explained His reason.

Think about it, He said. It was Christ who had carried the name of Moses across whole continents, to people who had never heard it. And it was Muḥammad who had carried that same name across the oceans, farther still. So to honour Christ, or to honour Muḥammad, was really to see how far and how wide the work of Moses had spread. It was like watching a small seed grow into an enormous tree, and being proud of every branch.

The foundation of the religion of God which was laid by Moses was the cause of eternal honor.

To truly love that foundation, He was saying, meant being glad to see it grow.

Then He reminded them what kind of time they were living in. This was not an age for clinging stubbornly to old quarrels, He said. It was the age of science — a time when people had learned to look closely, to ask questions, and to test what was true instead of just believing what they had always been told.

This century is the century of science... Does it behoove us to linger in our fanaticism?

In other words: now that we have learned to think so carefully about everything else, why would we hold tightly to old walls between us?

He never flattered the crowd, and He never insulted them. He treated every single person there as someone wise enough to weigh His words and decide for themselves. And here is the most surprising part. When He finished, the people were not angry. Many of them pressed forward through the crowd just to thank Him. Some had even walked in that day feeling annoyed or unfriendly — and they walked out quiet and thoughtful, turning His question over in their minds.

That is the brave and loving thing 'Abdu'l-Bahá did. He asked a hard question of people He honoured, but He asked it with so much respect that they could actually hear it. When we want someone to think about something difficult, the kindest and wisest way is to begin with what they already love — and to ask, never to shout.

This is a retelling for children. For the fuller account, see "Why Not Praise Christ and Muḥammad: 'Abdu'l-Bahá at Temple Emanu-El".

Maḥmúd-i-Zarqání, M.. (1998). *Mahmúd's Diary: The Diary of Mírzá Maḥmúd-i-Zarqání*. George Ronald.