{"id":9954,"date":"2013-10-11T16:23:22","date_gmt":"2013-10-11T22:23:22","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.crescentcityjewishnews.com\/?p=9954"},"modified":"2013-10-11T16:23:22","modified_gmt":"2013-10-11T22:23:22","slug":"a-bridge-between-two-worlds","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.crescentcityjewishnews.com\/blog\/a-bridge-between-two-worlds\/","title":{"rendered":"A bridge between two worlds"},"content":{"rendered":"

By TED ROBERTS, the SCRIBBLER ON THE ROOF<\/em><\/p>\n

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Shimmy, who carried corn for the farmers, had driven his wagon through the cemetery dozens of times – a short cut home, it saved him six versts – so why break out in goose bumps tonight? Was it because a full moon the color of Muenster cheese lit up the night sky and seemed to shape a cloud into the face of his faithful and dutiful wife?\u00a0 There she was, long forehead covered with shingled hair.\u00a0 And her nose with the turned up tip.\u00a0\u00a0 Not a beauty like you see in the art gallery in Warsaw, but definitely a woman who demanded a second, maybe even athird, look.\u00a0 And she could cook and clean and sew better than any
\nhousewife in Yennaveldt.\u00a0 And best of all, she awaited him at home.\u00a0 A blessing – such a woman – after eight years of a magic marriage.\u00a0 And she was healthy and strong, too, like a young heifer.\u00a0 He was one lucky wagon driver.<\/p>\n

But lurking in the graveyard was Shmuel, now a resident of a modest\u00a0 burial plot. Shmuel was what your rabbi would call an ignoramus. Excusable, since when in the land of the living he worked twelve hours a day in a factory where few rabbis lectured and time for Torah study was limited.\u00a0 Consequently, poor naive Shmuel was panting to find that crack between the two worlds.\u00a0 Ah, he thought, maybe I can finish up some unfinished business in the world above.\u00a0 The wooing of Rivka Kolodkin is what he had in mind.\u00a0 But nothing is perfect in the world above and the Angel of Death, an impatient fellow, just did not give
\nhim the necessary time.\u00a0 And now here was a wagon rumbling through – or maybe I should say over – his home.\u00a0 Just what he needed – a proxy.\u00a0 And who better than this fool, who was dumb enough to drive through a graveyard on Layla ha Ruach – a night when, unknown to mortals, the full moon made magic in the heavens.<\/p>\n

Who worried about a short cut home – through the cemetery – after a day hauling corn from the fields to the farmer\u2019s silo?\u00a0 So, why was this night different from any other Autumn night?\u00a0 Because it was Layla ha Ruach, a night inspired by a devilish angel (not an oxymoron\u00a0 – some angels inclined to the dark side).\u00a0 A night when the residents of the graveyard, including Shmuel, were paroled from their eternal and immobile solitude and could talk and frolic with their fellow dead \u201cRemember boiled chicken and barley soup, remember the hugs of our children?\u00a0 Remember the love of woman!\u201d) unseen, of course, by human eyes. Just the space that Shmuel, the unfulfilled lover, needed to squeeze through.<\/p>\n

Unfortunately, Shimmy knew none of this – nor did humans far more insightful or imaginative than him.\u00a0 All around his wagon the spirits cavorted.\u00a0 The night belonged to them.<\/p>\n

And that is when this impish little guy – subsequent historians have identified him as Shmuel – cartwheeled into Shimmy\u2019s wagon and burrowed deeply into the loose corn.\u00a0 He attempted the impossible – to break out of his eternal home.\u00a0 His fellows looked on with
\nastonishment – with disapproval – and returned to their confined space.<\/p>\n

Meanwhile, Shimmy plodded through the graveyard with his intangible passenger.\u00a0 And what he didn\u2019t know – because he was an uninformed peasant, innocent of Kaballah – was that residents of that other realm\u00a0 occasionally may do their will through one of us.\u00a0 And the will of Shmuel was Rivka Kolodkin, whose pulsing magnetism had pulled him from
\none world to another.<\/p>\n

Shimmy felt strange when he arrived home.\u00a0 The conversation at the supper table was stilted because for some reason all he could think of was Rivka Kolodkin.\u00a0 Why Rivka, he wondered?\u00a0 He barely knew her; yet. Ttwice he called his good wife, Malka – Rivka.\u00a0 And as she brought a steaming brisket to the table, he hugged her in gratitude and pretended she was the Rivka that his hay wagon passenger adored and frantically sought; as though he could climb over the fence that\u00a0 separated two worlds to get at her.\u00a0 Shmuel\u2019s possession ofthe prize would be his possession.\u00a0 Don\u2019t ask me to further explain.\u00a0 I have not read enough Kaballah to understand.\u00a0 Nor do we know enough of the connection of the two remote worlds. It is invisibly bridged. Knowledge that is forbidden to us.\u00a0 Only to the Creator of both worlds is the bridge visible.<\/p>\n

So, the ex-faithful husband lost interest in good wife, Malka, and pursued with passion Rivka Kolodkin while Shmuel applauded on the sidelines.<\/p>\n

Sad to say, the result of all this supernatural soup was a restless spirit who loved two worlds, but only had a passport to one, the unhappiness of a good wife, a polluted wagon load of corn, a confused Rivka, and poor Shimmy, who besieged two women without knowing why.<\/p>\n

Shimmy knew that his shortcut had started this misery – this violation of natural law.\u00a0 He was dimly aware that what comes from the cemetery should stay in the cemetery.\u00a0 Therefore, on the next night, illuminated by a full moon, back he went to that uncharted world.\u00a0 His horses, wild-eyed and anxious to be back in their stalls, banged into headstones and mounded graves.\u00a0 Bam – out bounced Shmuel into the world in which he belonged.\u00a0 The barrier between the two universes remained unbreached.<\/p>\n

Consequently, Malka, the good wife, lost her rival and peace reigned in her humble home.\u00a0 Shmuel, who foolishly tested the wall between here and there, lay down in restful repose.\u00a0 And Shimmy, needless to say, never drove his wagon through the graveyard for the sake of a few versts.<\/p>\n

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