Little Avram and the Mighty Idols: A Rhyming Story for Children (Parsha Lech Lecha)

Avram in the Idol Shop

Once upon a time in a land that’s far away
There lived a man named Terah, who sold idols everyday.
He owned idols by the thousands some were big and some were small.
He sold idols to his customers, idols short and idols tall.

He sold idols by the handful. He sold idols by the dozens.
He sold idols to his nieces to his nephews and his cousins.
He sold idols by the bundle. He sold idols by the case.
He sold idols all day long in the village market place.

Terah had a lovely family. Five boys, six girls, two wives.
Making idols for the market was the way they spent their lives.
They made idols out of iron, they made idols out of wood.
They made idols you could hang on walls, and idols that just stood.

They made idols out of silver, they made idols out of gold.
They made idols even if they had a fever or a cold.
They made idols in the wind, they made idols in the rain.
They shipped them off to China, England, Amsterdam and Spain.

The children worked on idols from the moment they could walk.
They started selling idols from the minute they could talk.
They all loved selling idols in the family idol shop,
From sunrise until sunset it seemed they never stopped.

Each day after breakfast, to work they’d quickly go.
They polished up the idols and arranged them row by row.
Now one of them named Avram was different from the rest.
He was funny, smart and curious and sometimes quite a pest.

One day it just so happened, he was in the store alone.
While all the others took a break to eat/eating lunch at home.
A man soon walked into the shop, and looked Avaram in the eye.
He said, “Hey kid, can you show me an idol I can buy.”

“Why, surely Sir,” Avram replied and showed him down the aisle,
He gave the man a handshake and he smiled a friendly smile.
“What kind of idol do you need? Please tell me what you want.
Do you need one for your home, a store or restaurant?”

“As you can see,” the man replied, “I am a big strong fellow.
Give me an idol stout as I. What do you have in yellow?”
“Of course good Sir,” said Avram. “Why here is just the thing.”
“An idol big and strong like you, it can do anything.”

“Don’t mock me, boy!” the big man said. “I am a busy guy.
I’ve better things to do today, than to listen to you lie.”
He handed back the idol and demanded back his money.
“I don’t think that your dad will find your salesmanship so funny.”

No sooner had he left, than an old lady walked in.
A purse was wrapped around her arm, a kerchief round her chin.
“I need an idol that’s fragile, tiny, meek and old, like me.”
“Give me your arm,” said Avram, “I’ll show you two or three.”

She gripped and squeezed each idol, and held them upside down.
“I’ll take this one if its on sale,” she mumbled with a frown.”
“I’m sure you’ll love it,” Avram said. “It’s just the thing, you know,
To keep the mice from getting in and help your plants to grow.” “

Give me back my money, boy!” The lady shouted back.
“You should be taught a lesson child, it’s manners that you lack.”
She shook her little fist at him and stomped upon the floor.
She left the shop in anger, just like the man before.

Then a baker wandered in with flour all over his face.
He looked at Avram and said, “I’ve heard about this place.”
“I need an idol that protects my flour and yeast from rot.”
“Come with me, good baker,” Avram said. “I’ll show you what we’ve got.”

“We have an idol for barbers, for blacksmiths and shoemakers,
But I’m afraid I just can’t find a single thing for bakers.”
“What’s wrong with you,” the baker cried, “this one’s just fine right here.”
“So sorry sir,” Avram replied, “it only blesses beer.”

“Nonsense,” said the baker, “a curse upon your head.”
“Your dad won’t like this one bit, when I won’t sell him my bread!”
Avram laughed and watched him go, but then he saw the clock.
He knew his dad would soon be back, to check up on his stock.

“When he asks me why nothing sold,” thought Avram to himself,
“I’ll tell him that a fight broke out on every idol shelf.”
He found just what he needed in the handle of a mop
And pretty soon there weren’t any idols in the shop.

He smashed them all to pieces, they spread across the floor.
No sooner had he finished, than his dad walked through the door.
“What on earth has happened here,” the idol seller cried,
“A battle broke out, Papa. I’m afraid the idols died.”

“What’s that you say,” asked Terah, his whole face turning red.
Tears were filling up his eyes, his hands were on his head.
“I couldn’t stop them father. I shouted, begged and cried.
But they simply would not listen, no matter how I tried.”

“Stop your lying,” shouted Terah. “They are made of clay and stone.
You’re the one who did it, only you and you alone.”
“But father,” Avram answered, “if it is just as you say,
Why do we bow down to these things we just made yesterday?”

“How can they rule the sun, the stars, the planets and the moon?
That seems a lot of power for a thing we made at noon.”
Why do we bow down to these things you say are only stone?
If they’re so great, why can’t they stop a child all alone?”

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