I’m a storyteller, and sometimes old stories with deep significance need to be retold so a new generation can truly understand them. This is my attempt—not to change, but to revise—the story of the lost son who came back home.
Everyone reading this, or listening when I raise my voice, is here because you were born to a mother and father. I don’t know what your family looks like today—whether they’re still alive or close to you—but all of us come from some kind of family. It’s a universal truth of human life.
I’ve heard heartbreaking stories of children raised in violence and hatred, with no love at all—yet even they grew up in families.
Today, I’m going to use you to revise the story a little. Let’s pretend your name is Qahal, and your brother’s name is Yisra’el.
Imagine this:
You grow up in a family where your brother, Yisra’el, decides to leave, saying, “I’m taking what’s mine.” He walks out with everything he can, wastes it all, and ends up giving himself away to people who never cared about him in the first place.
At first, you’re hurt. You feel that heavy sadness deep down because you know he’s making a huge mistake.
Then one day, while you’re lost in thought, your Father walks into the kitchen. He gently puts a hand on your shoulder and says, “Don’t worry—they'll come back.”
Then He just walks away, calm and confident, like He already knows how the story ends.
Years go by. Decades even. Yisra’el’s still gone. You’ve seen and heard what he’s done—the mess he’s made, the shame he’s brought on your Father’s name. And honestly, it makes you mad.
Then one random day, you’re coming home—you step off the elevator and hear music playing. There’s laughter, people moving around, a whole celebration happening. You stop someone in the hallway and ask, “What’s going on?”
They grin and say, “You won’t believe it—Yisra’el’s back! After all these years, he came home!”
For a second, you remember your Father’s words: “Don’t worry—they’ll come back.”
But instead of feeling joy, anger hits you.
You’re thinking, “Are you serious? That fool’s been gone all these years—out there ruining our name, causing pain, and now we’re just supposed to throw a party like nothing happened? No. I can’t.”
Right then, your Father comes out and says, “Yisra’el’s back. Come inside—welcome him home.”
But you can’t hold it in anymore. You blurt out, “Why are you happy about this? Why aren’t you mad like me? I’ve been here the whole time—doing what I’m supposed to do, staying loyal—and you’re celebrating him?”
Your Father looks at you with understanding. You’re His child too, and He gets it. You’ve been faithful all these years. You stayed when it would’ve been easier to leave. You’ve made mistakes, sure, but you never walked away. He knows your heart.
Then He reaches out—same gentle hand He used to comfort you the day Yisra’el left—and says:
“My child, remember what I told you? That he wouldn’t be lost forever? I said that because I knew this day would come. I knew I’d welcome him home. I’ve been waiting for this moment—when both my children could finally stand together again. Everything I have is already yours. But now, your brother is back. He’s safe. He’s home. This is what I’ve been preparing you for. Come inside—celebrate with us.”
So… what would you do?