The Rebbe and Sabu

 

A conversation beyond the veil

Sabu had been awake for a long time.

It was not that he couldn't sleep. He was simply tired of sleeping and waking up with the same questions.

He had spent years trying to understand things that most people never bothered thinking about. He had read, travelled, questioned, written, argued and changed his mind more times than he cared to remember. He had given his time to ideas that seemed important to him, even when nobody around him quite understood why.

And yet, here he was.

He knew what he had done. He knew what he had tried to do. But he had no idea what any of it meant.

What happened to all that effort? Did it matter? Was there something beyond this life that gave meaning to the things we did here? Was anyone keeping track? And if there was someone on the other side, did that someone know?

He had no answers.

Perhaps the hardest part was not knowing whether he had been right about anything at all.

That night, he saw the Rebbe.

The Rebbe was sitting in a chair beside a window. There was nothing unusual about the room. A small table, two chairs, a glass of water. It looked like the sort of place where someone might have a quiet conversation after dinner.

The Rebbe looked at him.

"You haven't been sleeping."

Sabu smiled faintly. "I suppose I've been thinking too much."

"About what?"

"Everything. Or perhaps nothing. I don't know anymore."

The Rebbe waited.

Sabu sat down.

"I've given everything I had. My time, my attention, my work. I've tried to understand things, to find something worth knowing and to tell people what I found. But I don't know what's happening. I don't know what's behind all this. I don't know what happens after we die. I don't even know whether the things I've spent my life thinking about will amount to anything."

He paused.

"And sometimes I wonder whether I've simply wasted my time."

The Rebbe looked at him for a moment.

"Do you think God Almighty has been watching you all these years?"

"I hope so."

"You speak as though you have been doing all this work alone."

Sabu didn't answer.

"Listen to me," the Rebbe continued. "You have been faithful. You have tried to be trustworthy with what was given to you. You have not always known what to do, and you have certainly made mistakes. But you have tried to do what you believed was right."

Sabu looked down.

"Will that be enough?"

The Rebbe leaned forward.

"God Almighty will take care of you. You don't have to solve the mysteries of the universe to deserve His care. You have a place in the World to Come. You needn't spend every waking hour wondering whether you will be received."

Sabu was quiet.

He had expected an explanation. Perhaps some account of the afterlife, some description of what waited beyond the veil. Instead, the Rebbe had given him something much simpler.

He felt his shoulders relax.

For the first time in a long while, he wasn't trying to work something out.

"Thank you," he said.

The Rebbe smiled.

They sat quietly for a while. Then Sabu spoke again.

"There's something else."

"I thought there might be."

"Nobody believes me. Or at least, nobody seems to understand what I've been trying to do. Sometimes I feel ridiculous. I spend so much time thinking about things that other people dismiss in a few seconds. Perhaps they're right. Perhaps I've made too much of things that don't matter."

The Rebbe gave a small laugh.

"Do you know, Sabu, the world has never had a particularly good record when it comes to recognising its visionaries?"

"That's a generous way of putting it."

"It is also a fairly accurate one."

Sabu laughed.

"People are usually comfortable with what they already understand," the Rebbe continued. "When someone comes along and points to something they haven't considered, they don't always know what to do with it. Sometimes they dismiss it. Sometimes they misunderstand it. Sometimes they simply move on."

"But what if nobody ever understands?"

"Then you must learn not to measure the value of your work entirely by the understanding of others."

The Rebbe picked up the glass of water and took a sip.

"Think about it. There are people who spend their lives doing important things without ever knowing what became of them. A teacher never knows which sentence a student will remember twenty years later. Someone plants a tree and never sits beneath its shade. A person tells the truth, and the person who needed to hear it may not be ready for another ten years."

He put the glass down.

"You have spent a great deal of time shining light on things you believed were important truths. Some people behind the veil did not understand the nature of your work. Some people ahead of it do not understand either. That doesn't mean the work was without meaning."

Sabu considered this.

"But how do I know?"

"You don't. That's the difficult part."

The Rebbe said it without hesitation.

"You may never know exactly where your efforts have gone. You may never see the consequences. There may be things you misunderstood, and there may be things you understood long before others were ready to consider them. Both can be true."

Sabu looked at him.

"Then what am I supposed to do?"

"Continue. Not because you are certain of the outcome, but because you still believe the work is worth doing. Be careful with your convictions. Be willing to correct yourself. But don't abandon something meaningful simply because it hasn't found an audience."

The Rebbe paused.

"And remember something else. There is a difference between work that comes from the desire to be recognised and work that comes from the soul. The first needs an audience. The second needs honesty."

Sabu sat back.

He had spent so much time wondering whether anyone had noticed. Whether anyone would remember. Whether the things he had said and written would survive him.

Perhaps he had been asking the wrong question.

"Do you think it will matter someday?" he asked.

The Rebbe looked at him.

"I think you should stop demanding that the future give you an answer tonight."

Sabu smiled.

"You're avoiding the question."

"Perhaps. But I'm trying to help you get some sleep."

They both laughed.

The Rebbe stood up and walked towards the window.

"You know, Sabu, you have spent years looking beyond the veil. Perhaps it is time to let the veil remain where it is."

"And if I still have questions tomorrow?"

"Then you can ask them tomorrow."

The Rebbe turned around.

"God Almighty knows where you are. He knows what you have carried, what you have tried and what you could accomplish. You are not required to understand everything. You are only required to be faithful to the life you have been given."

Sabu felt something leave him. Not his questions. They were still there, waiting for him, as stubborn as ever.

But the fear had become smaller.

He no longer felt that he had to figure out the entire universe before morning.

"Will I see you again?" he asked.

The Rebbe smiled.

"You're already asking about tomorrow."

Sabu laughed.

And for once, he didn't ask another question.

He woke up the next morning with no new answers about the world beyond the veil. The mysteries were still mysteries. The people who didn't believe him were still unlikely to change their minds. His work remained unfinished.

But he made himself a cup of tea, opened his notebook and began writing again.

Not because he knew where it would lead.

Because, after everything, he still felt there was something worth saying.

And that was enough for the morning.