The Divine Wink
“Happy is the man who is happy with his lot.” And I was tormented with this. How could a human say “no” to God? Then from the other room, the Rebbetzin yelled, “Well, what did He say?” “Who?” I asked. I missed the point. HaShem winks.
A million black dots on a paper where every mark is yours except for the red one. HaShem winks, not because you couldn’t have it, but because you didn’t need it. You just needed to find it on your own.
The nation of storytellers did not understand this. How were they to write stories if there were no pasts or futures; paths or pursuers. What would they write about? What could they be right about? The Yishba doesn’t tell stories. “Write about the now,” he says. “Write now,” he begs. HaShem winks.
The corner store that sold Sforim used to be very small. The owner was a Fishman and nobody knew his first name. His Zeide was a famous fisherman and his father was a fantastic fish filleter. Everyone came to him erev shabbas for Shabbos fish. I traveled with the Yishba once to Fishman’s in search of a secret Sefer. We arrived before lunch on empty stomachs. I stood by the window overlooking the river along the road, questioning things I didn’t need to be questioning. Inside, The Yishba meandered the rows, peeking through windows of books, like deer in the garden. His rounded shoes pressed the floor sounding swallows from beneath the carpet. Finally, his fingers found the forgotten treasure. Fishman left for lunch. He locked the door and let the rebbe learn in quiet. After 3 hours of clockless learning, feet unmoved, united with the angels, his bearded chin reached the Infinite Page. There, the letters were sounds and the apples were pomegranates. His eyes pulled at Three Glorious Words that I had never heard before but the irony was that I had. It was Vayakhel! He looked for me. His spirited projection shone unto me and I could hear the dolphins in his heart galloping outward louder than goulash. An entire pile of sforim exploded into confetti, and the surprising song of a spectacular shofar sang out from the texture in the wallpaper. What was happening?! What were those three words?
At the middle of the room, a fire arose with colorful smoke bleaching my nostrils. Had he finally come too close? Had he finally found the hole in the floor? I extinguished it quickly. It wasn’t the first time a soul in fire set something on fire. The depth of Torah drowned in the outer noise.
The room went black and the rebbe sighed. A thick solitude lingered a long moment. Suddenly, the light smacked back. The Sforim had all returned neatly to their places. The Yishba was smiling. “Ok that’s enough,” he whispered, and with great prominence left for lunch. Al Yaasu Od
“Everyone goes to sleep at night,” he told me. Take a rest; Never stop gathering; Never stop giving; And never stop starting. Always be still, my friend, and always be going. Shabbos is a weekday, when HaShem, our love, winks.
Night time came soon; Stars lined the seas and the weather was calm. I walked the Yishba into the field. After Shema he took three steps back, and as he entered the realm of realms, looked to me… and winked.
Sweetest friends, have a beautiful Shabbos!
- The Yishba’s Assistant
(Inspired by Parshas Vayakhel 2023)