D'vorahDavida
Yetzirah

Amber light streamed gently from the book shop window. It was only 5:15 in the evening but on this December night it was already dark. A fine sleet was beginning to fall driven by a persistent wind. A wind that promised snow before the night was over.

Will checked the address again on the package. It was his last delivery of the day and he was eager to be done with it and go home and get warm. It was an odd looking thing. It had the size and feel of a book but it was wrapped in the most curious heavy brown waxy paper, tied with sturdy twine. He had never seen such wrapping and all his eight months of being a delivery boy for Western Union.

The address was written in bold black ink, although to be sure, "Current residence of Samuel Zweeble" wasn't exactly an address. But he had a slip of paper from the office with the street address of this little book shop in front of him. It was the only shop still open on the block. As he approached the door, he noticed through the many paned window, neatly arranged books, mostly used ones with faded titles. " Zweeble's Booksellers" was printed in gold lettering on a dark green sign. This was definitely the place.

Will walked in, ringing the bell over the door. It was warm inside and smelled of old books and hot tea. And something else, it took a second to identify it because it seemed out of context, but yes, that was it, chicken soup.

"Come in, come in, I'm in the back.” He heard a voice call. He rounded a stand stacked with books and there, sitting near a small table by the back window was an older man slowly stirring his pot of soup on a hot plate.

"You've caught me cooking ! he said, smiling pleasantly. What can I do for you?"

"I have a package for Samuel Zweeble from Western Union sir."

What Will didn't know, was that this delivery order had been in the office for fifty years, with a delivery date of December 18, 2002. Over the years the office had received change of addresses from Mr. Zweeble whenever he had moved. There are about a dozen of them altogether in his file. Then one day a week earlier this package had arrived by special courier. The person who took the original instructions, and set up Mr. Zweeble's file was of course long gone. The new office manager was a particularly unimaginative person and was just happy to have this annoying loose end almost tied up. He had given the package to Will saying, "Good riddance to this ancient and annoying bit of business. I will be happy to finally archive this messy old file. Be sure and get his signature, and we can be done with it."

Will watched as Samuel's spoon became still in the simmering soup. His eyes rested on the package in the young man's hands.

"Oh my God, he said, it’s finally here."

“Here sit down, sit down, he said. What's your name son?”

"Will."

“Well Will, I have been waiting a long time for this book. A very long time indeed.”

Will sat down in the chair across the table from him and slid the package across the colorful oilcloth table covering.

"Would you sign here sir?" he asked, as he pulled out his receipt book. Samuel took it, and signed his name slowly.

"There you are." He handed the pad back to him.

Will knew he should go now, but he was curious about the strange package and wondered if Mr. Zweeble was going to open it.

Samuel was sitting quietly looking at the package resting in front of him. He ran his hands down the front of his pants before reaching over and working on the knotted twine. He made no indications to the young man that he should go, so Will found himself transfixed and silent as Samuel undid the twine and then began to remove the brown paper. It made a curious muted crinkley sound, an old-fashioned sound, so much more satisfying than the snap of plastic wrap or the zip of a cardboard mailer. When the paper was removed it revealed something wrapped in a soft blue cloth. Samuel unfolded it and there was a thick, leather bound book, of a golden brown color.

"Isn't that a beautiful thing?" he asked Will.

"Yes sir, it's a fine looking book."

Will was hoping that he had been wrong about the package being a book, he was hoping for something more like a box full of precious jewels or some mysterious electronic device, or better yet, an ancient relic of some kind. But a book, well books were OK. They required so much work. You know -- work.

Will was used to getting his information from the Internet. He had sailed along in high school where they really hadn’t challenged him very much. Little did he know how shallow his knowledge really was. There were not many things to remind him of this deficiency. If one was computer literate and plugged into all the information available, one could make a pretty good show of competence. Although he was due for a rude awakening as he was headed off to college in a few months.

He was curious about this book however, because he knew that old and rare books were valuable and wondered what this one was about.

"Would you like to hear the story behind this book?" asked Samuel.

Will would rather that he just open it up and tell him that it was worth thousands and thousands of dollars, it would make a good story to tell his friends. But Samuel settled in his chair a little, folding his fingers together, still looking at the closed book.

“Fifty years ago, I used to study with a very old member of our congregation. Reb Sirinski. He was training me for my bar mitzvah. One day when I came to this house for my lesson, I found him sitting over this book in a trance. I spoke to him and he didn't even hear me. I finally reached over and touched his arm and he jumped a bit and stared at me like he didn't know me at first. Anyway he quickly closed the book. I asked him if he was all right and what he had been studying. Being a very earnest young man, I wanted to know anything I could about a book that could affect someone in such a way. I remember he looked at me with a very long and intense gaze and finally he said,

‘Samuel, you might be ready to read this book a long time from now, but not yet. You won't understand it. You might start to read it, think it's nonsense, and put it down and never try to read it again. That would be a tragedy my boy. So I tell you what, you make sure you always let me know where you are and I will see to it that this book comes to you when you are ready.’

Then he gave me instructions for staying in touch with Western Union. And I have always let them know my new address every time I moved. Frankly, I'm amazed that after all this time they actually have the instructions.” (Yeah, thought Will, especially if you knew Mr. Bleckley)

They sat in silence for a minute and Will began to squirm in his chair thinking he should be on his way but at the same time he wanted to know what was in this book. There was no title on the front or the spine of the book, so no clues there. Finally Samuel leaned over and reached for the book. He glanced at Will again, giving him a closer look, and decided.

"You know times have changed Will, and perhaps the caution that Reb Sirinski used is not such a good strategy nowadays. Things are moving at a faster pace, not necessarily better, but faster. Would you like to hear the first page from this book?"

"Sure." said Will, finding himself leaning over the table sitting on the edge of his chair.

“We will read the first page together but that's all. I don’t want my old Rabbi to start haunting me or something, for sharing secrets he thought should be kept for older eyes.”

He opened the book flipping past the title pages and paused, looking for a moment at what was there. He began to read aloud.

"With 32 mystical paths of Wisdom
engraved Yah
the Lord of Hosts
the God of Israel
the living God
King of the universe
El Shaddai
Merciful and Gracious
High and exalted
Dwelling in eternity
Whose name is Holy-
He is lofty and holy-
And he created His universe
with three books (Sefarim)
with text(Sepher)
with number (Sephar)
and with communication (Sippur)"

Samuel ran his finger under one of the lines and read it again.
"Engraved Yah
the Lord of hosts."

A tear ran slowly down his cheek and plopped right onto the creamy page making a raised spot immediately. “Reb Sirinski was right. . . he was right.” He reached in his pocket for his handkerchief and dabbed at the wet place on the page and blew on it a little. He closed the book gently and smiled at Will. Thank you for delivering this book to me young man. I think I am ready to read it now.”

Will was a little embarrassed, he had never seen anyone cry while reading a book. It was a completely new concept for him. They sat quietly for a few moments. He didn’t know what to say. He became aware of the soup simmering on the hot plate not far away. He saw the steam rising from it, he heard the clock ticking from the shelf over the window and he looked again at the closed book on the table between them. And from some new place inside him he heard himself say, "Mr. Zweeble, when you are finished reading this book, may I borrow it?"

Samuel had been watching Will. He sat in thought for a moment and then said, "I'll tell you what, you tell your boss, what’s his name?”

"Mr. Bleckley."

"You tell Mr. Bleckley to keep my file, but put your name on it. And you make sure you let them know whenever you move. And when I'm finished learning from this book, I don't know how long that will be mind you, I will have it delivered to you. Do we have a deal?"

"Deal." Will said, and they shook hands.

“Here let me give you a note for your boss.” He wrote the instructions down on a piece of paper with the letterhead of the book store, signed it and handed it to Will. “You tell him to send me the bill. I think Reb Sirinski would approve of our arrangement don’t you?"

"I hope so sir. Well, I better get going now, it's been nice meeting you.”

"And you too. What's your last name by the way?"

" Kaplan, Will Kaplan."

Samuel’s eyebrow went up just a fraction and he smiled a very small smile. "Well, good luck Will Kaplan, and thank you again for bringing me my long-awaited book."

“No problem Mr. Zweeble."

Will made his way to the door and stepped out onto the freezing sidewalk. He flipped his hood up and shoved his hands in his pockets. He felt strange, like he was waking from a dream. And he realized that he still didn’t know the name of the book!

The thought ran through his mind, to look up the Rabbi from the synagogue his father used to take him to when he was little. His parents divorced when he was about 10 and his father had moved away. He hardly ever saw him after that. It had been a long time since he had been to the synagogue. But he was curious about this book, maybe that Rabbi could tell him what it was all about. Tomorrow was Saturday he might just go around and see if that guy was still there. Maybe he would remember me, he thought.

In the meantime however he couldn't wait to see the expression on old Bleckley's face when he handed him Mr. Zweeble's instructions.

This was going to be good.