In front of the rabbi is the creature he has built, a six-foot tall mass of hardened clay with stones for eyes. It looks more like a man than he had expected it would when he had started crafting it. It will grow taller over the next few days, but even now it looms in the center of the synagogue. The shadow it casts spreads over the rabbi and across the floor, stretching out towards the arching doorway. Finally, after a week of thinking of nothing else, the rabbi can rest. It is complete.
All that remains to be done is to bring it to life, something that has only been done once before. But the rabbi has researched it as much as he could. He has scoured the Talmud to find the story of the first time and has only been able to find descriptions of how it is done, not of the creature once it was awakened. He knows about the shem with the name of Adonai inscribed upon it that must be placed in his creation’s mouth. He knows about emet, Hebrew for truth, that must be carved into its forehead. He does not know whether the golem must rest on the Sabbath, if it is as Jewish as any man, if it counts for a minyan. These questions are not important, though; these questions can be answered.
What is important is the shem, done now and perfectly sanded, the four Hebrew letters engraved in the most perfect script...
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