Vayera: Genesis 18:1 - 22:24, delivered by Rahel Bailie—There is a common Jewish saying, "If you don't ask a question, how will you ever get an answer?" and in this parasha, I want to focus on how Abraham questions G-d. Abraham debates with G-d, asking, "Will you ruin the righteous along with the wicked? Perhaps there are fifty righteous people in the city. If you kill the righteous along with the wicked, what's the point of having been righteous? I know that you would see this as an abomination. Where's your sense of justice?"

And G-d listens. G-d says, "If there be fifty righteous, I will forgive the city because of them." And Abraham doesn't give up, but counters with, "Aha, but what if there were only forty-five righteous? Or forty? Or thirty? Or twenty? Or ten?" And G-d continues the dialogue, saying, "I won't destroy the whole city if there are forty, or thirty, or twenty or even ten righteous people." In the end, the only people saved are Abraham's close relatives, as they were the only righteous in Sodom.

What's behind this parasha was eye-opening for me. First, some context. As a child, I was disturbed by the story of Noah. What bothered me was why all the children and animals had to die. But when I asked my mother why this merciful G-d could unleash what seemed to be so unfair a deal for the innocent, she told me that I was insolent to question G-d. So she called our minister, who told me that sometimes G-d had reasons we couldn't, as mere humans, understand, and that we should have faith that G-d did the right thing. I think it was at that point that I knew I had to find a spiritual home where I could ask questions.

At the time, I didn't realize that questioning was a Jewish tradition. When I was a child, I didn't know any Jews. In fact, I didn't know that Jews existed. And in that garbled way that children come to understand what they're taught, I thought Jews were an extinct people from the Bible. If I had known about Jews, and about Jewish philosophies, I would have known that the ability to confront and engage in debate with G-d, as opposed to unquestioning submission, is a distinguishing characteristic of Judaism.

Now, I know that Noah was called a "tzadik of his generation" while Abraham was called, simply, a tzadik. In other words, the way of Abraham is how we aspire to connect with G-d. Abraham not only debates and bargains with G-d, but G-d listens, and encourages this debate by engaging with Abraham. Jacob, the grandson of Abraham and son of Isaac, was given the name Israel, and it's quite fitting that one of the meanings of Israel is one who wrestles with G-d. As Jews, we teach even the youngest children to ask questions. At Passover, questioning is mandated with four questions build into the Seder.

The Talmud teaches us that the important questions are those asked spontaneously, ones that emerge from a true curiosity, a search for what is good and true and holy. The Talmud itself is about challenging and questioning. It isn't a book of answers, but a book of questions and arguments to be studied through a process of questioning. This sort of interactivity - with Talmud, with Torah, with G-d - is central to Judaism.

The ability to question comes naturally, and in some of us gets squelched. For a Jew-by-choice like me, having permission to question and debate is a closely-held privilege that allows me to get closer to G-d, to reach out for enlightenment. What is important for me is to remember that questioning is a sign of moral courage, not sacrilege, and questioning is a tool amongst the many ways we have of engaging with sacred text.