Authors: L.L. Fine
Nucleotide: Rabbi Eligad… a holy man. Amazing man.
Mr fate: I thought you’re Exrel.
Nucleotide: I am… nothing to do with it. Rabbi Eligad is an
occultist. A Kabalah man. He's a truly a holy man, a special man.
Mr fate: Explain.
Nucleotide: He's a prophet.
*
"Rabbi Eligad want to see you."
The thin voice surprised him. At thirteen-and-a-half, and
being a real "Shababnik" (a street resident) Zomy's voice got to the
point in which one moment it could be squeaky and a moment later – deeply
mature.
The special thing was, Zomy knew to play with his voice at
will. When he was with the other "Shababnikim", meeting other
children thrown into the street, he preferred to use the new-found
authoritative bass voice. In other cases, such as when he asked, with awe, half
a shekel from a passerby, or a slice of bread, he made use of the thinner,
babyish voice.
That was very similar to the sound that called him from
above.
He looked up the stairs. There was a beautiful girl, about
16, dressed with proper modesty, her cheeks freckled, her hair light brown and
crystal blue eyes shining. Eyes that were focused on him.
Still he looked around, not sure who she meant. After all,
he was playing a hot game, and around him were quite a few children, all
refugees, like him, proud citizens of the lane.
"Excuse me?" he said.
"You. Rabbi Eligad wants to see you."
"Are you sure? Do you know who I am?"
"Yes. Come with me."
With a graceful wave of her blue dress she turned on her
heel, leaving Zomy no more than one second for hesitation.
This was the first time Zomy realized how one second, just
one second, can be long. And fatal. At the beginning of that second he was still
a child, in the world of children, in the midst of a fateful bet, chained in
brutal rivalry with another child. His past, his future, his present - they all
had one particular shade, childish.
But in that instant he saw as for the first time, the exposed
ankles of her maturity. Slender, shiny ankles. And above them a feminine dress,
blue, waving, hiding mature curves, unseen by him - until that second.
And without knowing why, and without giving a reason, he
left behind the backstreet, his stunned friends, and his former life. The blue
fairy soared up the alley, her long steps marching through milestones, Zomy
panting after her.
The race went uptown, passing between the cracks of streets,
between dubious addresses that didn’t formally exist, between tiny stores, worn
baby strollers, pungent scents, shouts in Yiddish, old discarded wigs and torn
black plastic sheeting.
The fairy didn't slow down, didn’t look back, didn’t
hesitate for a moment. She kept a very fast rate, on the verge of running. The
pace forced Zomy to run, walk a little, jog a little, stumble forward, just to
keep up. Another street, another turn, another ascent, more steps, and Zomy
felt he could not go any further.
"Hey, wait a minute!"
Blue Fairy stopped, mid-step, in the middle of a narrow
alley. Looked back, smiled at him, surprised. Zomy was glad to know that she
breathed heavily, though only slightly. In a heavy, tired, step, he covered the
few feet separating them.
"How much further do we have to go?" he panted.
"We're here," the fairy smiled. And tapped lightly
on the side door, hiding in the shadows to her right. Zomy looked at her
incredulously.
"It's here. Come," she raised her voice a half
octave, to convince him to come up the remaining stairs to her.
The door opened from the inside, and the fairy went in, then
stuck her head out, her eyebrows like question marks over the blue lights.
"Are you coming?"
Zomy held his nerve, and climbed the remaining steps.
*
At first glance, the house of Rabbi Eligad was exactly as he
remembered. Whitish linoleum floor, well-washed. Red carpet finely poised at
the entrance. Total lack of pictures on the walls, light aroma of food cooking
over a low flame - lentils, barley, rice. Three doors, one of which led to the
kitchen, through which went the fairy. The other was open, leading to a larger
room, where guests were received. The third was closed.
"Come in, please," an old voice was heard from the
front desk.
Zomy slowly moved inside. Yes, the reception room was as he
remembered. Bright wicker sofas along one wall, wicker chair isolated on the
other wall. Blue carpet, more ancient than the red, it seemed. And white walls,
in which one window overlooked a hidden garden with a lemon tree.
Rabbi Eligad stood under the window.
A small-sized man, he was very short, only slightly taller
than young Zomy, and very thin - but without the hardened quality, typical of
the elderly. With a white beard and a simple white robe, he showed flexibility,
stability, poise. His eyes were completely black, two dark holes on white
background. His feet were encased in white cloth shoes, in which he stepped
without making any noise.
"Sit down," he said, and Zomy sat immediately on
the spot, on the carpet, a meter away from the sofa usually used for sitting.
Zomy liked to sit on the floor. Felt more connected to the earth, safer. Only
later in life would he develop sympathy for chairs.
"You've grown since then," the rabbi continued to
send sentences into the air, and Zomy heard and said nothing. "You became
wiser."
"Not wiser, Rabbi." It was the boy’s voice he
chose to answer the rabbi. "On the contrary. I got away from the
Torah."
"You've stayed away from words, but not from the
Torah," replied the rabbi and made his way to the chair. "The Torah
is all around us, in everything we do, in all that surrounds us. How can you
stay away from it?"
Zomy weighed the words in his mind, knowing they were right,
but still afraid to adopt them. You cannot get away from the Torah, he thought.
The Torah is around us. God is within us. In our lives, in our deaths,
anywhere. At any moment.
"Why have you called me, Rabbi?" It never occurred
to him to ask how the rabbi knew how to find him. Zomy, as is the way of people
who aren't yet fully mature, accepted the mystery.
"I have a job for you, son."
"A job?"
*
The job waited for him in the closed, third room. It had a
quite comfortable chair, a small desk, a TV without an antenna, and one
additional item, one Zomy had never seen.
It was a strange-looking plastic box on which many buttons were
arranged; on them were foreign letters. The box was connected to a TV by one
cable, to the electricity by another.
"What is it?"
"This is your future," Rabbi Eligad answered.
"I think its name is Commodore 64. Here, the operating instructions are
nearby. There are some newspapers there to help you. Whenever you want to eat
..."
But Rabbi Eligad paused, and smiled. The young boy was
already deep in the future, an eye focused on the opening glimmers of the
screen, his other reading the instruction booklet of the first computer he had
ever seen in his life.
*
Mr fate: Commodore 64?!?!?!?!?!?
Nucleotide: Don’t tell me you don’t know them, you also had
one.
Mr fate: I know I did! You started with one too?
Nucleotide: I knew every byte and bit in it. I think it was
the best computer I've ever had, even when I now command computing power
billions of times stronger.
Mr fate: Peeks and pokes?
Nucleotide: LOL, remember?
Mr fate: How could I forget? Without it nothing worked. So
wait - you learned to program it?
Nucleotide: I learned to program it, then he brought me a
Sinclair Spectrum, I learned that too. Then Apple 2 C, then IBM.
Mr fate: A Brief History of Time.
Nucleotide: AT later, then 386 ...
Mr fate: How did he get them?
Nucleotide: Rabbi Eligad? I have no idea. Every few months
there was the new computer waiting for me, or a new book about programming, or
a new brochure from abroad... waiting for me to start to learn it.
Mr fate: Did you see how he bought them?
Nucleotide: Never.
Mr fate: Such a strange, little rabbi dealing with
computers…
Nucleotide: I told you, he's special.
Nucleotide: But at the time I didn’t think about it at all.
I finally had a real new home, I had a reason not to be on the street, I had a
hot meal every day...
Mr fate: And your mother knew?
*
"It is a great honor," she finally said.
They sat in the yellowing small kitchen. The kitchen Zomy
knew so well until three years ago. The kitchen that today was almost
completely foreign to him. Just like his mother.
She was now shorter than he was, he noticed. Low, bent, old.
Absolutely not the same tall, exalted figure that he remembered. She wore a
head cover, as always. But she was wrinkled, like her dress.
"You…do not ask why?"
"Anyway, you lost all control. You became a savage. Now
someone else will take responsibility for you. Blessed be the rabbi."
The words carved deep into Zomy's heart. Savage? Him? Deep
voice or not, he still felt a yearning for a time when he had a father. And
mother. And a house. And brothers. Tears sprouted in both eyes, but did not
find any other expression.
"And you don’t want to take responsibility for me,
Mom?" He surprised himself with his old thin voice.
"You… like your father. Dreaming. Well, when you were
here, you could not be understood. After he left…I do not know. You chose to
flee."
"I didn’t choose, Mom ..."
"Look at your brothers. Nobody left the house. Two
married, already. Their father died too, but they...”
And she stopped talking, choking a little.
Hid her face in her hands. Turned.
"Didn't you worry for me all this time?" he almost
whispered. "Mom?"
But his mother did not answer. Instead, she turned to the
tiny, white stove, and started working on some old pots, containing dishes Zomy
hadn't tasted for years. The aromas aroused him, but he fought the urge to look
inside.
In the past, he would get to taste without asking.
But that was in the past.
*
Nucleotide: It was an honor to be adopted by Rabbi Eligad.
Mr fate: Adopted?
Nucleotide: Not as you understand it. Adopted - to school.
Mr fate: And they knew he taught you about computers?
Nucleotide: LOL... no one knows what Rabbi Eligad really
teaches. He's a Kabbalist.
Mr fate: Like Rabbi Kaduri?
Nucleotide: Oh, don’t mention Kaduri and Eligad in the same sentence.
Eligad is a Hidden.
Mr fate: Today you are full of riddles.
Nucleotide: A Hidden person is one that not everyone knows.
You won’t find Eligad supporting politicians, or people citing him. He doesn't
make Halkha rulings, and really - if he didn't invite you, you're probably
never going to find him at all.
Mr fate: What about your father? The time you went to Rabbi
Eligad?
Nucleotide: I don’t know how we got there, I was little.
Mr fate: Maybe he invited you?
Nucleotide: Maybe. I told you he looked at me at every
visit?
Mr fate: Something like that.
Nucleotide: Yes, it was strange to me then.
Mr fate: Maybe he really wanted you, not your father.
Nucleotide: Hmm…
Mr fate: Interesting, no?
Nucleotide: I'm almost tempted to believe it. He IS a
prophet,
Mr fate: A prophet like the prophets? Jeremiah, like them?
Nucleotide: A prophetic prophet. One who forecasts the
future.
Mr fate: You know, I believe you.
Nucleotide: You don’t have to. But it is what it is.
Mr fate: So tell me, what’s in it for a Hidden Kabbalist and
you? Why did he teach you about computers?
*
Rabbi Eligad Smiled and sniffed. The air had the aroma of
too many days in a closed room: The scent of ten different computers, of
different ages, some occasionally working, some not, a mixture of old meals
that had been removed from the room, a mixture of old newspapers and even older
books.
There was another scent, different than usual. Rabbi Eligad
smiled again to himself. The boy was active. With whom? The answer was clear.
And suddenly he realized.
*
Mr fate: Wait, what was there?
Nucleotide: What?
Mr fate: This ‘active’. With whom were you active?
Nucleotide: Oh, come on!
Mr fate: Come on, what? Tell! Spill it all!
Nucleotide: You know. Adolescence. You can understand.
Mr fate: Who!!!?????
Nucleotide: Well, you know.
Mr fate: I don't know! With whom?
Nucleotide: Well…it's not that hard to guess.
Mr fate: Ho. And he knew?
Nucleotide: Knew? I think he sent her.
Mr fate: Who was she?
Nucleotide: His daughter.
Mr fate: This makes no sense, you say he was really old and
she was really young.
Nucleotide: Still, that's what I know.
Mr fate: Didn't it seem strange to you? Didn't you check?
Nucleotide: Oh, you're so annoying sometimes. What could I
find out? Seventeen-year-old boy, come on! Don't make me pissed about it.
Mr fate: And her name was?
Nucleotide: Talia. Her name was Talia.
*
And suddenly he realized.
He realized all he'd been through in recent years. He
realized the residence with Rabbi Eligad. Realized why all these computers were
at the wall, as a stone unturned, as monuments of days which will not return.
Suddenly he understood why the rabbi scrimped the normal
Torah studies of a Yeshiva, but loaded on him workbooks in computers,
mathematics, cryptology…and Kabbala books, as well as occult carvings. Yes, it
was so obvious. Why couldn't he see it before?