Apocalyptic Torah

My Rebbeim were right. I could save the world.

Fire rained from the sky. Millions of voices screamed out and were suddenly silenced. I slept soundly. The world’s ravaging finally reached my room. That’s when I awoke, and continued chanting the gemara.

When the destruction started, no one knew why. It happened one beautiful June morning without warning. The earth started shaking. Meteors began falling from the sky. Water turned to blood. Panic and confusion reigned everywhere. It finally happened, just like my rebbeim always said it would happen.

It was over 85 years ago, but I remembered my mashgiach's shmuez well:

“The Torah is what’s holding the world up!” the mashgiach would scream. “If there’s ever a second where someone in the world isn’t learning Torah, the world will immediately be destroyed!”

Well, they were right. It’s been so many years since I was in yeshiva, and I’ve watched the world change during that time. The OTD trend became more and more popular. Somehow, yeshiva had failed and more and more people stopped sending their children to yeshiva. Kollels were non-existent anymore. Even I myself stopped being a believer. I hadn’t thought of yeshiva in so long. Everyone I knew was secular. Most of my grandchildren weren’t even Jewish. People didn’t think about Judaism anymore.

Then it happened. No one in the world was learning, and the world started trembling. It was a gradual process. The first earthquake was all over the news. It hit the middle of the financial district and destroyed giant buildings. No one knew how. Even I didn’t understand yet. Then, the world quaked. People started dying by the millions. I still hadn’t figured it out. It was on June 7, 2150 when I realized. I saw a ball of fire coming down from the sky right in my direction.

“Shema Yisroel!” I screamed instinctively, although I didn’t believe.

The world stopped. The fire ball stood in its place as I screamed. I stood shocked, as the world seemed to be on pause. When I didn’t continue, the fire ball resumed its course.

“Ad-onay Elo-heynu!” The fireball stopped again. This time I realized what was happening and I didn’t stop again.

“Ad-onay Echaaaaaaaaadddd!”

I said “Echad” the way the shtarkest bochur in yeshiva used to say it. As I screamed that word, the ball of fire receded back into the sky. I had stopped it! I realized then why the world was falling apart. I also realized I was the only one who can stop it.

“Yevorechecha ad-onay veyishmarecha, ya’er ad-onay eilecha vichuneka, yisa ad-onay panav eilecha veyasem lecha shalom.” I said that verse over and over and over again.

I said it as I watched the incredulous reporters talking about how the destruction suddenly stopped and how the great scientists are trying to figure out why. I said it as I called my grandson to see if he can bring me a proper sefer.

“Hey Grandpa,” he said, picking up the phone. I didn’t stop muttering that passuk under my breath.

I, at 107 years old, was the only thing standing between this world and its destruction.

“Quick, Jack. Bring me a Sefer,” I said quickly, and then resumed my chanting. Every word I spoke in divrei chol meant thousands of deaths around the world.

“Grandpa, what are you muttering?” he asked.

“Never mind, never mind. Just bring me a sefer. I need a sefer now. It’s urgent.”

I didn’t know how long I can go saying this one passuk over and over again, and if that would satisfy the world. Didn’t I hear a term long ago about being mevatel torah for torah? I felt if I really wanted to send away this destruction my learning had to be on the highest level.

“Sefer, grandpa? What’s a sefer?”

“A Hebrew book, honey! Get me a Hebrew book!”

“A Hebrew book? Like, an Israeli novel?”

“No, Yankele!” I shouted frantically. I could see the firebomb appearing in the sky again. “A Jewish book. A Toirah book!”

“Yevorechecha ad-onay veyishmarecha,” I went back to muttering. “ya’er ad-onay eilecha vichuneka, yisa ad-onay panav eilecha veyasem lecha shalom.”

“Okay, okay,” he said with a sigh. “Where am I gonna get one of those?”

“In my attic. There’s an old box of seforim. Just get it for me. It’s important.”

“Oh, you just need me to help you get something from your attic? Alright, Grandpa. I’ll be there soon.”

When he knocked on the door, I opened immediately. I didn’t say anything to him, but continued repeating the passuk as I pointed him to the attic and he went up there and got my box of seforim for me. I don’t know why I had kept it after all these years. Nostalgia, I guess. There wasn’t much left in any condition to learn, but I found an old dusty kesuvos and a kovetz mefarshim. It was enough. I grabbed it from the box, the kotvetz heavier than I remembered and almost too heavy for me, but I heaved it with all my might straight to the living room and sat down to learn.

“Oy, zukt the heilege heilege gemara,” I started, and I began to learn, the first time in over 50 years. Before I opened it, I had been scared I wouldn’t remember how. My fears were for naught though, and I read it flawlessly. I started with the first Mishnah and I could feel such a geshmakeit from learning, I began to sing. The world was fine! We had Torah back!

“Grandpa, what are you doing?” I remembered my grandson standing over me.

“Oh Yankel, come join me,” I said, although knowing in my mind that every word I spoke to him was bittul torah and would be killing hundreds. “We can hold up the world together.”

“Grandpa, I don’t know what you’re talking about or what name you’re calling me, but I need to go. I love you.”

“No! Don’t go! The world needs you! I can’t do this myself. I’ll teach you how to learn. You can help me hold up the world.”

“Sorry, Grandpa. I need to go. I need to make sure Jessica and the kids are okay. I’ll see you later.”

“Come back!” I shouted in desperation at his turned I back as he walked away. “The world needs you! I need you!”

He didn’t return. It was down to me. I turned back to the gemara and started learning the Rashi. I had forgotten how amazing gemara is. I learned the tosafos, the ritva, rashba, and shitta mekubetzes. I felt like I was back in yeshiva. I lost myself in the gemara. But then I got thirsty. I paused to get a drink, and as I walked to the kitchen, I felt the ground quake beneath me as the apocalypse continued. I needed that water to continue though. Finally, I walked back and went back to the torah. The apocalypse paused. I stand at the brink of destruction now. Every time I get up to use the bathroom or eat or drink something, I hear thousands of voices scream out and be silenced. There’s no choice though. I’m slowing the world’s collapse until someone else opens their gemara. Every night, exhausted after a day of learning, I fall asleep on my gemara. I sleep until the morning, while the world falls apart and hundreds of thousands die, maybe even millions. I don’t know. I awake and go back to learning, stopping the world’s destruction and saving everyone. I had made it. I had finally become the masmid my rebbeim always wanted me to be.