For our Chanukah party, each student was asked to prepare a piece of writing or art about his personal history or idea of Olam ha-Ba (The World to Come). I asked myself, What will Olam ha-Ba be like? Then, perhaps inspired by lack-or fear-of imagination, I asked, What is like Olam ha-Ba? And, suddenly, I had many more questions than answers. And then, I could only answer the questions with more questions.
Given over to the scent of infinity, I was paralyzed. Each implication that Olam ha-Ba would involve thus-and-such slipped away my grasp and recoiled me against other assumptions then scraped at and slid from. These parables, through their spaces left-open, attempt to open the possibility of regenerating that infinite egression.
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The great lion was born into the jungle, and not long after from the animals rose up an expansive chatter. All desired to know how the king would order the world. The vines shifted about creaking with expectation. Even the stones' silence became uncomfortable and obstinate. When at last the great lion ascended to receive his crown from the kingdom, some were relieved and stood by easily, some drew close with love, and some panicked and dived one fraction pushing forward into the coronation and another stampeding toward the jungle's edge.
Came the king to the stiff-necked oxen, and he said, "Thank you for your service plowing the fields all these years. Now you may put down that yoke." The oxen erupted into a cacophony conferencing one with another.
Eventually, one named Prachshorn called to the king, "But if we don't plow, what will we do?" Answered the king, "You may do whatever you wish, only act to each other with mercy and love." Asked the oxen, "May we continue to plow?" Answered the king, "You may continue to plow, though the earth has agreed to bring forth crops without your labor."
Prachshorn called up again, "Give us back then to the world before, for we know that the reward is greater for one who loves to do and must do than for one who merely loves." The great lion laughed, "Let it be that even I must plow with you!"
One night at the king's table, after all had enjoyed the second portion of the feast, he told this:
"Before I was born, I met the flickering sword. I asked him, 'Your twelfth blade is inscribed with hope for the birth of a great king when truly you want great peace, why is this?' And he answered, 'Because for great peace, there must be a great king.' Then I asked, 'On the same blade, you call out for justice and not perfection, why?' And he answered, 'Because perfection is like a palace for which I have no title.' Then I asked, 'Why is this blade shorter and less embellished than your others?' And he answered, 'Because I fear the craftsman who made me.'"
After the king spoke, some of the guests were silent, some of the guests cried and laughed, and some of the guests stared at their plates as though they were not there. The great lion himself laughed.
Came the king to the serpent and he said, "Now you may have legs."
The serpent wept and protested, "But if I have legs, my name will be unknown. I will be as if I were created a lizard!"
The king saw this would be no good, and he answered, "Remain a serpent but consume nothing of meat and observe the Sabbath." Then he imprinted upon the serpent as a sign for all eyes the letter with four legs.