Gaze at the lights, at what they contain.
Do not let the Names, phrases and letters swallow up your soul.
They have been given over to you.
You have not been given over to them.
Orot Hakodesh I, pp. 83-84
Rabbi Barton, walking down the tree-lined path to the yeshiva study hall, inclined his head and analyzed a subtle Talmud passage.
Suddenly, he tripped on a wooden slat jutting up to ankle height. He barely had time to note that it formed part of the rim of a great barrel lying at his feet and sinking beneath the ground. Then he plunged headfirst into the barrel, catching a momentary glimpse of an expanse of whiteness beneath him, and he broke through the surface and dove into a heavy sea of sour cream.
Lost in the thick whiteness, Rabbi Barton gesticulated frantically and attempted to cry out, but his mouth was filled with sour cream, and the desperate motions of his expressive hands could not redeem him. He realized suddenly that these were his last moments. Before he could arrange an appropriate frame of mind, he was asphyxiated.
A period of blank whiteness passed. And then, a sour cream-wrapped entity, Rabbi Barton rose from the great barrel and hovered above the yeshiva grounds. Through a window of the study hall that poured forth light, Rabbi Barton saw that he had been replaced by Rabbi Knaitch — the nerd! Flying cylindrically into the cobalt air, Rabbi Barton shed his skin of sour cream. Gleaming and translucent, he floated high above the town of Monsey, whose lights glowed beneath him like the...
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