To Dennis Prager, my thanks for writing your Rational Bible and doing Men’s Hour. I listen here in Amarillo, Texas, on 940 KIXZ right after 911. Your program was on for a year or so here in Amarillo, Texas.
I do not know if I would have kept listening to Charlie Kirk if he had not mentioned Dennis Prager. Which kept me interested. The Rational Bible was in my Amazon E-Books. I started listening to Charlie because Rush passed away. I tuned in because Rush was gone, and that silence hurt—like losing a grandfather who argued with me over coffee. After hearing Charlie Kirk for a week. I knew he was the next Rush.
So there I was listening to Charlie March twenty-first, twenty twenty-one, flipping stations, landing on your voice. You were loud, unapologetic—Jesus as the answer, the world’s savior. Pastors on your show kept saying, “Jews will see Him one day, before the end.” I’d grip the wheel, mutter, “Not happening.”
Back then, I wasn’t Orthodox yet. I was a Baptist until I was seven years old. I served as an altar boy at Saint Martin’s Catholic church. Then the military pulled me back to Bible study. Loved the verses—read ’em like maps. Non-denominational by eighty-eight, Trinity Fellowship till two thousand one. Then Mom drops the bomb: “You’re Jewish.”
Hebrew Roots Messianic Jew
Messianic phase kicked in—Jesus plus Torah, trying to square circles. But by twenty twelve, the proofs ran dry. Virgin birth? Didn’t match Isaiah. Suffering servant? Not a god-man. End-times conversion? Torah says Israel stays Israel. I exhausted it all. What stuck? The nation—scattered two thousand years, hated, reborn nineteen forty-eight. That’s no accident. God left a sign: land, people, heritage.
So I walked. No more cross. Back to shul, davening, learning Hebrew like it was oxygen. Became Hazan at Beit Hashoavah—B-E-I-T H-A-S-H-O-A-V-A-H—leading services, singing Torah portions. Vayakhel-Pekudei? Mine. God gathers Israel after the calf mess and says to keep Shabbat. Not rules—reset. Holiness in the grind.
Now? The Iran war is twenty-one days old. Missiles arc over Jerusalem, Iron Dome lights up. Natanz gone again—no leak. The US and Israel hit energy grids and leadership. Proxies decimated. And I see it: prophecy live. Ezekiel thirty-six—mountains produce fruit for My people Israel. Land was swamps under Ottomans, Brits, Arabs—barren. Now? Galilee vineyards, Negev farms, tech exports. Only for us. Miracles stack—strikes miss civilians, wind shifts rockets. God steers.
Charlie Kirk- Socrates The Philosopher
Charlie, you preached truth. I yelled because your truth felt like erasure. But here’s mine: Israel isn’t a relic—it’s proof. Every word of God is true. No replacement. No fade-out. We’re waiting on the last war—redemption. And yeah, I still carry that Christian curse: Revelation’s drama, two witnesses, beasts. But now? I see ’em different. Not doom—testimony. America, Israel—Bible-believers standing amid chaos. Trump and Netanyahu? Preemptive hits, ending threats. Like Churchill vs. fascism.
So if you’re listening somewhere—reach me. We’ll sit Shabbat, unpack verses. God is involved every day. Don’t drift. Anchor there.
Prager’s Quiet Voice
Dennis, if Charlie were here, I’d tell him: you were the reason I didn’t shut off the radio that day. After the anger at his Jesus talk, your name came up—like a lifeline. I’d been hearing you since two thousand one, right after Mom’s revelation. 940 AM KIXZ only carried your program for a year or so, and I did not chase it down.
You weren’t yelling; you were reasoning. Rational Bible? That series changed everything. Not sermons—just logic: Torah’s not myth, it’s blueprint. Shabbat? God’s gift to everyone—unplug, recharge, honor the Creator. No halacha pressure, just human need.
Charlie raved about it. He devoured 245 hours and called you weekly. He even dedicated his last book, Stop in the Name of God, to you. I paused. He wasn’t borrowing; he was soaking it up. You flipped his life from grind to rest. And mine? From Messianic confusion to Orthodox clarity. You bridged worlds without forcing.
The Kippah – The One Above
“Live as if God exists,” you say—because without Him, good and evil become opinions. Your new book, If There Is No God: The Battle Over Who Defines Good and Evil—out February twenty-fourth—nails it. Morality floats without an anchor. “All is permitted,” Dostoevsky warned. You’re not proving God; you’re showing what happens if we pretend He isn’t there.
Look at this war—twenty-one days in, Iran missiles over Jerusalem, Iron Dome blazing. US and Israel hit back—Natanz dust, leadership gone. Proxies crumbling. Without God steering, it’s chaos: feelings rule, blame flies. But here? Purpose. Land blooms only for Israel—Ezekiel thirty-six: “mountains produce branches and fruit for My people.” Not random.
God’s involved, every day. You say reason fails alone—we need a divine compass. That’s why I stayed tuned: you taught me to clarify. You also taught me to listen to clarify what the other side believes. You unpacked the truth. Shabbat as reset, family as holy space—stuff Charlie echoed, but you rooted it deeper.
The World Needs Shabbat
Charlie got close—kids rushing in Friday night, everything off. But you? You showed why: time’s not ours. God sets the clock—new moons, festivals, Shabbat. Abraham kept it pre-Sinai. Noah’s rainbow? Universal sign—rest for all flesh. Your voice whispered: unplug, honor. No drift. As a Hazan, I sing it—Torah portions like Vayakhel: gather, keep holy. Home’s Mishkan now. Table, altar, meals, prayers. You taught that without saying it—steady, calm, like a lighthouse in fog.
So Dennis—thank you. You kept me listening when others would’ve shut me out. Charlie learned from you; I learned too. Now, with Iran raging, EU hedging, threats everywhere—your words ring: live like He’s real. Because He is. And if Charlie’s out there somehow—reach me at Beit Hashoavah. We’ll talk over coffee. God steers. We don’t drift.
Kirk’s Fire & My Anger
Charlie, you were all heat from day one. I remember that first broadcast—your voice booming, no brakes. “Jesus Christ is the savior, the world’s gotta know Him.” Pastors rolled in: “Jews will recognize Him before the end—it’s the final piece.” I’d sit in traffic, radio cranked, yelling back: “That’s not Torah! That’s replacement!” Felt personal—like you were erasing me. I fired off two emails: prophecies don’t match; Isaiah 53’s not a god-man; no mass conversion at the close. Nothing came back. Silence stung worse than the words.
I was fresh out of Messianic—still raw from ditching the cross. Baptist upbringing taught me the Bible’s literal; Catholic altars gave me ritual. But Jesus as Messiah? Proofs folded. So hearing you push it—hard, as truth demanded—hit like a betrayal. You weren’t just conservative; you were missionary. Every guest echoed: “Israel sees Him, game over.” I’d think, “Charlie, you love truth—why ignore this?” It grated because I wanted dialogue, not doctrine. Felt aimed at me, at every Jew who’d just found roots.
Turning Point
But then, your Prager mentions. You talked about the Rational Bible as if it saved you. “Dennis changed my life—Shabbat’s real, unplug, recharge.” Called him weekly, devoured hours of commentary. Even dedicated Stop in the Name of God to him—arguing Christians should keep Shabbat, phone off, family on. That cracked the door.
Prager wasn’t preaching Jesus; he was unpacking Torah—rest as God’s rhythm, time not ours. Suddenly, you sounded… student, not conqueror. Like you’d tasted something older, deeper. “Jewish thinking,” you’d say—discipline, cycles, Creator over chaos.
Anger eased. Not gone—your Jesus core stayed—but I kept listening. Saw overlap: Shabbat as reset, not rule. You lived it—Friday nights, kids piling in, everything else quiet. No grind, just holy. That’s what Torah whispers: Vayakhel-Pekudei, gather after mess, keep Shabbat. Home’s Mishkan—table altar, meals, prayers. You echoed it without knowing. Prager bridged us—you borrowed his wisdom, I found mine.
The Christian Bible
Still, the split lingered. Your Bible ends with Jews bending—Torah gone, Temple dust. Mine? Israel endures. No fade. Church Fathers backed that hate—Justin twisting Scripture, Chrysostom raging. But you? You weren’t venomous. Just… honest to your script. And yeah, it hurt. But Prager kept me tuned—your fire had light too.
If you were here, I’d say, “Thanks for the push.” Made me dig deeper. Now, with Iran missiles flying, EU hedging—your Shabbat call feels urgent. Rest under God, not drift. Reach me at Beit Hashoavah—we’ll talk. Truth’s bigger than any one verse.
Shabbat – Humanity’s Blueprint
Charlie, if we were sitting here with coffee, I’d lean in and say: Shabbat wasn’t just a Jewish practice. Shabbat was one you admired. The Sabbath was much more meaningful. It was something much more meaningful. It was the heartbeat you kept circling back to.
You’d describe coming home Friday night, kids running into your arms, phone off, everything else fading. “The world stops,” you’d say. “Family first.” That wasn’t rules or religion for you; it was reset. Recharge. Something deep and human. And here’s the truth I want you to see: that instinct wasn’t invented at Sinai. It’s baked into humanity from the very beginning—God’s blueprint for all of us.
Look at Genesis. Creation ends with day seven—God rests, blesses it, sanctifies it. Not because He was tired, but to stamp rest into the rhythm of the world. Then the flood hits: total wipe, chaos waters again like day one. But post-flood? It’s re-creation.
Noah steps out as the new Adam—blessed to be fruitful, multiply, rule the earth. His name? Noach—from “nuach,” meaning rest or comfort. Lamech named him, hoping he’d ease the curse on the ground, but really, Noah reboots rest for everyone.
Rabbi David Fohrman nails it in his Aleph Beta series on Noah: the flood is de-creation, then full reboot. Ark rests on the seventh month. Clean animals come in sevens. Rainbow covenant? Not “between Me and Israel”—it’s “with you and with every living creature,” all flesh, all Noah’s descendants.
Universal. Seven colors, seven-day waits—echoing creation week. Shabbat isn’t Sinai-only; it’s stamped into the reset world for all humanity. Before any Jew exists, God wires rest into humanity’s DNA.
Then Abraham picks up the thread. He wasn’t the first monotheist—Shem and Ever already knew God. But he broadcast it: your time isn’t yours. God sets the rhythm—new moons, appointed times, Shabbat as the big one. Genesis twenty-six verse five makes it clear. God tells Isaac, “because Abraham obeyed My voice.
I Am With You
He kept My charge, My commandments, My statutes, and My laws.” Full Torah language—before Sinai. Sages say the Torah was with Adam, passed from father to son. Abraham guarded it and taught Isaac. Rabbi Akiva Tatz puts it beautifully: Abraham wanted everyone to understand that time belongs to God, not us. Stop claiming your days. Honor the schedule.
My Torah Reading, Vayakhel-Pekudei, brings it home. After the golden calf chaos, God gathers Israel. “Six days’ work shall be done. On the seventh day, there shall be to you a holy day. It is a Sabbath of solemn rest to the Lord.” Not optional—anchor. Rabbi Warren Goldstein teaches that the home became the new Mishkan when the Temple fell.
Table turns altar, challah the offering, wine like libations. Every meal echoes the daily prayers—shacharit, mincha, and maariv. Elders sit, teach Pirkei Avot ethics. Kids learn: life isn’t an endless grind; it’s set apart for holiness. Focus higher than ourselves—individual gifts merge into one holy project, like the Mishkan builders. Contrast Babel: unity for self, no heaven—so scattered. Mishkan? “We built it” because God was the center.
You pushed this, Charlie—Shabbat for Christians too. Prager showed you the way. But Torah says it’s for everyone first—a pre-Sinai promise, a post-flood gift. Noah’s rainbow whispers it to all flesh. Abraham taught it widely. Sinai made a covenant for Israel, but the wording was always human.
That’s why your Friday nights hit different. Kids in arms, rest under God—not hustle. Judaism lives it: higher birth rates, strong families, and purpose. Without that anchor? Drift. Opinions clash, no unity. With it? Holy reset.
So yeah—Shabbat’s not Jewish-only. It’s humanity’s blueprint. God wired us for rest, for a higher purpose. In this war, with missiles flying and fear rising, we need it more than ever. Unplug. Recharge. Remember who’s steering.
Hazan Gavriel ben David