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It's Friday night, January 28th 2037. Pittsburgh Pennsylvania, USA.
The setting: The house of a revered Hassid-- eccentric by reputation, but nonetheless impeccable and unquestioned in his faith, and in his observance of Jewish rites and traditions. His name is Mordechai Meyer Mendelhsohn, of the Mezritch Mendehlsohns.
Holding a piece of Shabbos Challah, Rav Mendelsohn leaned in to talk with his honored guest-- a young Jew, not of the Observant persuasion. Wearing a ball-cap out of respect for the family, and appreciation for their hospitality, the young lad nods intently-- taking in the words of the Rabbi as he responds dutifully to the subject at hand.
“You know why I do it?” The Rabbi asked in a near whisper, pointing a piece of ½ baked bread at his guest. The Rabbi's head, bread, and hat bouncing in concert, if not unison-- the Rabbi asked again: “You know why? And if I tell you-- which I will, ha! It doesn't leave this house... Or if it leaves this house, it changes as these things always do, or should I say often do... Ah, better yet-- it doesn't really change, and your memory of it, and MY memory stays the same-- in our minds, but in reality... in reality it changes-- so much so, so that almost no one will recognize it-- ha! Except you and I will! See?” The young Jew, fascinated, not so much by the words of the old man, but that somehow those words are actually making perfect sense to the speaker, if to no one else in the world.
“
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