It had been a while since Baruch had time-traveled. Over the winter, he had met some of the biggest Tzadikim who ever lived: Reb Zisha, the Sfas Emes, and many more, but that had been interrupted by – what was his name? Baruch only knew the man’s license plate number, AMALEK10. The last time he was in Mr. Shpeiter’s basement, the man had been locked up behind some sort of force-field prison. Mr. Shpeiter had caught him after a long series of events, and of course, with the power of tefillah. Was it time for a new adventure? He walked slowly down the street, kicking at loose pieces of asphalt. It was worth a try.
Baruch approached Mr Shpeiter’s house. He was going to press the mailbox, but he wasn’t sure if it would work. What could be worse than going back in time only halfway? Too many things could go wrong. It wasn’t worth it. He knocked on the door. The sound of feet. A creak. “Baruch! So happy to see you! Come in! You look like you’re ready for some new adventures! Follow me!”
Baruch followed Mr Shpeiter down into the basement.
There in the middle of the room was the crock pot, bubbling full of great smelling cholent, the battery of the Time Machine. Baruch couldn’t contain his grin. He was so ready!
“New feature!” called Mr. Shpeiter. “I can get you going from here!” Mr. Shpeiter pressed a few buttons, and the pot lit up. And… nothing happened. Confused, he pressed them again, nothing. “That’s so strange!” Mr Shpeiter exclaimed. “I was sure it would work!” Mr. Shpeiter pulled off his work gloves. “What do you say for a little snack? And then we’ll come back here and see how the machine is doing!” Baruch was fine with that. Mrs. Shpeiter made great food. He could wait.
The two of them marched up the creaking stairs and into the kitchen.
Mr. Shpeiter opened the kitchen fridge. He rummaged around: wrapped up Shabbos leftovers, salad, some deli, ketchup, mustard, drinks, the regular. On the bottom shelf was a salmon from Shabbos, in a plastic bag. The fish seemed to be looking at Baruch. Baruch stood, frozen, staring back. Suddenly, Baruch began to spin through a tunnel of light and music. He recognized the tune – Reb Isaac Kaliver’s niggun! He spun around and around, as the sounds of Mr. Shpeiter’s house faded away.
The next thing he knew, he was sitting on the ground in front of a little building. What had just happened?! A fish?! Baruch looked up and gasped. He recognized the small building in front of him.
Kerestir!
To be continued…
This article was found in Nekuda Tova Issue 32.