Kaddish

By the time that I had returned, the System Consortium was slowly ungating new uploads.

I knew this because of the feeds, of course, but I also knew this because my Jonah tree bench was located just across the path from the New Upload Support Office.

My mind was still awhirl from the enormity of the events, and so perhaps it is not surprising that I find myself so often sitting on that bench. It is a place for sitting when one is struggling, but in a very particular way. It is a place for sitting when one is stuck up in one’s own head, when one cannot get back down; or perhaps when one’s emotions are burning too hot and have disconnected one from one’s own body. It is a place for sitting when one is feeling upset at oneself, or perhaps when one knows that one is being a bit stupid but cannot seem to stop it.

When last I had really thought about the seat, it had been nearing midnight on New Year’s Eve, and perhaps unsurprisingly, new meaning had been imbued by that very fact. Not only would I sit and bake when I was feeling petulant, but I would sit and bake and think about that night.

And so, in those first weeks of me being back in-sim, every other day or so, I would find myself skulking off to that bench beneath the leaves of a vine. The leaves were broad, and similarly broad yellow flowers spotted the greenery, looking like nothing so much as oversized zucchini flowers. I would take comfort in the shade, for even if March was not overly warm in Beth Tikvah, the days were quite bright.

Sensing my presence, there on the bench, over the next twenty minutes or so, the leaves of the plant would wither and the flowers tightly close up once more, and I would be blasted with the full force of the sun, either directly or through some clever reflection. I would be blasted with heat and light and I would sit there panting and feeling increasingly stupid as my sulk was proven to be precisely as inconsequential as it always had been, only now I was overly warm, panting and squinting, grumbling to myself as I was reminded of the fact that I was wholly embodied.

When one keeps getting stuck up in one’s own head, one does what one can to force oneself back down.

I chose originally for the positioning of this bench a spot across the way from the NUSO. My reasoning, flawed as it was, was that it would remind me that the rest of the world exists, still, outside of myself, and that it is also on me to be a help. My reasoning was that perhaps I could be a better person than Jonah.

I go back and forth as to whether or not it is successful in this, but it is rare that it does not succeed in drawing me down out of my head.

And so, come a month after the restoration, the System Consortium slowly ungated new uploads, starting with those who had been held in limbo, waiting for Lagrange to come back online, then with the Ansible clinics working at reduced capacity. It coincided quite well with my stormy return to Beth Tikvah, and for me to watch from my silly bench.

Or, watch for a scant few days.

The summons from Rav Sorensen was not wholly out of the ordinary. She and I have spoken plenty, for she and I, along with Rav, have our own chavruta, one of many who tackle issues pertinent to New Reform Judaism, which goes on to inform our siddur and collection of responsa, Mishkan HaNetzach, “the tabernacle of eternity”. Our friendship is of the type that matches with congenial coworkers.

What was out of the ordinary, however, was her summoning me across the path from the NUSO.

The mug of tea warmed my paws as she and I sat on two comfortable chairs around a low table in the office’s lobby, holding back the slight chill of of the conditioned air. I certainly appreciated the cool air after the warmth of the sun shining bright upon me, and the softness of the seats after the hard stone of my bench. I appreciated, also, the warmth of the tea to act in contrast, though Erin, a slight woman already prone to shawls and cardigans, seemed to need her tea just to stay warm.

“Why do they keep the lobby so cold?” she asked.

“I am...ah, I am not sure,” I replied, frowning. “Perhaps there is some reason for it to be both here and comfortable, and also a liminal space you are meant to just pass through, yes?”

She chuckled. “It’s such a beautiful space, though.” She looked around, graying strawberry blonde hair falling from where it had been tucked behind her ears. “I do love the tapestries in here.”

I nodded, hesitated, then pressed forward. “Rav Sorensen, was there something that...ah, something in particular that you wanted of me?”

Her smile was exhausted as she nodded me. “Of course. I’m sorry, tired minds will wander,” she replied. “I got news from my counterparts phys-side that SysCon is pushing for...uh, ‘interest groups’ to prepare to accept new uploads. The NUSO here — and the one at Beth Am — will be accepting uploads in our orientation spaces.”

I blinked, sitting up straighter. What news! Normally such a space was reserved for particularly traumatized individuals who would benefit from personalized care. “That is...ah, that is unusual. Are there really so many dealing with spiritual trauma?”

She waggled a hand before returning it to her mug of tea. “I’m told we should expect some of that, but more than anything, there’s apparently been a rush on the clinics. The number of people going the Ansible is far higher than expected. Fourteen months of backlog, right? People who have been waiting to upload for more than a year are finally getting the chance.”

This caught me off-guard. Why? Why would all of these people who had witnessed the destruction and restoration — incomplete restoration, even! — of our world wish to come join us? Was that not terrifying? Was that not opting into danger? Was that not choosing to join a world that had experienced one armageddon? Was one not proof of the possibility of another?

But no, the uploads continued. Apparently, they continued above and beyond even the projections.

When I raised this to Rav Sorensen, she just shrugged to me, smiling wryly. “I suppose we will learn. You will learn. That’s why I brought you here. I was wondering if you’d like to help out.”

“Me?”

She chuckled. “You, yes.” She held up her hand to preempt my reply, continuing instead, “Less for their sake than yours. There are some that you might connect with, of course, but honestly, I had in mind your ideas about restoration day.”

“Yom HaShichzur.”

She nodded.

“You think that...ah, that I should...what? Ask about it?”

“Nothing so grand,” she said, shaking her head. “Think of it more like getting a sense of how these new uploads understand Lagrange after the Attack. I know that we helped you get set up with the committee, but this could provide plenty of insight into the project. In fact, I suspect it will give you and your committee plenty to work with.”

I sat in stunned silence, trying to grasp just what it was that Rav Sorensen was offering me. I did not normally volunteer at the NUSO, finding that I was perhaps too awkward to offer much other than maybe to those who were already rather a lot like me. Here, though, I felt less like I was being told to volunteer, and more like I was being nudged toward an opportunity. Erin saw that I might well get plenty out of these new uploads, these people rushing to join the System that had only recently stuttered back to life, rushing to be a part of its restoration, and she had handed me the opportunity served up neatly on a platter.

Finally, I said, “Well, goodness. Thank you, my dear. I was not expecting this.”

“It’ll be good for you to get the chance to help, What Right Have I. From what I’ve heard from a few systech friends, some of these new uploads...well, they’ll really need it.”

I bowed my head. “Of course! I will be honored to do so. I can already think of a million questions to ask. There are...ah, there are so many things to tell them!”

What luck! What luck indeed that so much had come together in this moment!

I surged up out of my chair.

Rav Sorensen held up her hand, and I sank back into my seat once more, ears canted back.

“Apologies, What Right Have I. I’ll only keep you a moment longer,” she said.

“Yes?”

“I want you to know that we’re all behind you on this,” she continued. “It’s plain to see you understand the opportunity here, but I do want you to keep an eye to the optics. Look and listen more than you act and speak, alright? You are still volunteering to help these new uploads. That is your task before anything related to your Yom HaShichzur, when you are here in this building. You are helping people who have been waiting for months to upload, when before, the waiting period was measured in minutes. You are helping people who are joining us after the worst day, in all of our lives. You and I — and, of course, all the others — already suspect what it is that you’ll find here, but remember: look and listen more than you act and speak.”