In the beginning there were four. There was Aba. There was Ima. There was Yeled. And there was Elohim. Aba and Ima were tall and wise and good, and Yeled was small and new and didn't quite know anything yet. They lived together in a clean, grey cave by a mountain.
The world was very quiet then.
There were only the four of them, all alone in a wide empty universe. Aba and Ima kept themselves busy; every day Aba went off to work in the fields and orchards, and Ima cleaned and sang and wrote words upon words upon words in the smooth dirt by the cave. Every evening when Aba came back from the fields he would read what Ima wrote and kiss the top of her head and laugh, delighted.
Yeled had nothing to do. He could not read the words Ima wrote, or work in the fields and orchards, or clean, or sing. So he would go out and sit in the sand by the foot of the mountain, under the shade of a scraggly tree, and listen to the world. There was never anything to hear.
And as he sat there one day, Elohim spoke to him.
Yeled, said Elohim, why do you sit there all day long, unhappy?
I have nothing to do, Yeled replied. I cannot sing or clean or write or read or work in the fields. So I sit.
Nothing to do! Why, Yeled, I fashioned this world for you and Ima and Aba. You have only seen the smallest bit of it. Go out and see my creation, dear child.
And so Yeled bade Aba and Ima goodbye, thanked Elohim, and left. He walked past the scraggly tree, past the foot of the mountain, and disappeared into the desert. Aba and Ima were saddened, but they trusted in Elohim.
A time later, someone emerged from the desert. He was slightly taller and slightly darker and slightly wiser.
Yeled? Is that you? Cried Aba and Ima, joyful and surprised.
I am no longer Yeled, I am Na'ar, said Na'ar.
Na'ar was almost exactly like Yeled, but now he could work in the fields and read and write and clean and sing. And he did, helping Aba and Ima every day and drinking in his new abilities like cool water.
But after a while Na'ar began drifting off and sitting in the sand under the scraggly tree by the foot of the mountain again. And as he sat there one day Elohim spoke to him.
Na'ar, said Elohim, why do you sit there once more, unhappy? You now know how to read and write and clean and sing and work in the fields. What more could you possibly wish for?
I am scared, Na'ar replied. I went out and saw a whole empty world and not another soul inside of it. I'm afraid Aba and Ima and I are the only ones.
The only ones! Why, Na'ar, this world is too big for just the three of you. There are others out there, don't you worry. Go out and find them, dear child.
And so Na'ar bade Aba and Ima goodbye, thanked Elohim, and left. He walked past the scraggly tree, past the foot of the mountain, and disappeared into the desert. Aba and Ima were worried, but they trusted in Elohim.
A time later, someone emerged from the desert. He was quite a bit taller and quite a bit darker and quite a bit wiser.
Na'ar? Is that you? Cried Aba and Ima, relieved.
I am no longer Na'ar, I am Ish, said Ish.
Ish was similar to Na'ar, but not exactly. He could do all the same things he could as Na'ar, but his soul was lighter and his mind was broader and his love was greater. He had met others on his trip, learned more than he had ever known before, and he drank his new knowledge in like cool water.
But after a while Ish began drifting off and sitting in the sand beneath the scraggly tree by the foot of the mountain again, and he seemed more morose than he had before. And as he sat there one day Elohim spoke to him.
Ish, said Elohim, why do you sit there once more, unhappy? You have seen the world and discovered people, and you know you are not the only one. What more could you possibly wish for?
I am lonely, Ish replied. I am not alone but I am lonely. When I met other people they all lived together, and I am a recluse with Aba and Ima. I long for another.
Lonely! Why, Ish, you can't stay here forever. I created the world to be good to its people, but you must try! Go out and find yourself another, dear child.
And so Na'ar bade Aba and Ima a final goodbye, thanked Elohim, and left. He walked past the scraggly tree, past the foot of the mountain, and disappeared into the desert for the very last time. Aba and Ima shed many tears, but they trusted in Elohim and they trusted in Ish, and they knew it was time for him to go.
Ish never returned to the cave by the mountain. But Elohim sees and hears and knows.
Elohim sees that Ish writes in the dirt. He writes letters to Aba and letters to Ima, poems for a girl whose smile looks like sunshine. He writes his story.
Elohim hears that Ish sings. He sings of a cave tucked beside a mountain, where Aba kisses the top of Ima's head. He sings of a baby, his tender Yalda, who will never feel lonely or sad or uncertain.
And Elohim knows.
