Downtown Oakwood rested in quiet stillness as the morning sun began to stir life into its streets at an unhurried pace. At its center stood Keneseth Beth Israel, a synagogue whose humble facade concealed the majesty within.

  A tall man in black opened the door and stepped inside. With deliberate steps, he crossed the entry hall, paused at the basin, and washed his hands in the prescribed ritual manner. He put on a kippah and moved toward the sanctuary.

  Inside, a vast dome soared above, a structure so immense, it seemed to defy the laws of nature. At the eastern wall stood the Aron Hakodesh, veiled in curtains of royal purple linen. In front of it rested the bimah, encircled by semi-circles of solid oak benches, each one carved with delicate floral motifs.

  Toward the back of the sanctuary, an old wooden table held a quiet court, where an old Rabbi, the revered spiritual guide of the community, leaned forward, deep in conversation with a young boy, perhaps thirteen.

  The Rabbi noticed the presence of the tall man in black as a flow of cold air invaded the room. He paused, “Shlomele, give me a second.” He stood up and faced the tall man, who told him, "Hagzira hi sofit"—the decree is final.

  With a stern voice that shook the walls of the hall, the Rabbi replied, "Ata lo ratzuy kan!"—you are not welcome here! The man left without saying another word.

  Shlomo turned to look at the entrance but didn’t see anyone. “What happened?”

  “I scared away the cold.” The Rabbi winked at Shlomo and smiled. The room indeed became warmer.

  “Shlomele, your uncle says your Hebrew is good. I am so proud of you. Next week is Parshas Vayeira, your bar mitzvah. You are ready, my boy. You read beautifully, like a real mensch.”

  Shlomo looked at the floor and then up at the ceiling.

  “Is something on your mind?”

  “You said Abraham and Sarah loved their son.” He paused, trying to control his breathing. “My parents died before I even knew them.”

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  “Shlomele! You can feel their love here.” He pointed at Shlomo’s chest. “The neshama, the soul, comes to earth to fulfill a mission.”

  “A mission?”

  “Each neshama is given a mission in life. After completing it, the neshama is sent to its source after being cleansed, and afterward it may be sent on another mission; it comes back. Each time it comes back stronger.”

  Shlomo stared at the Rabbi, his lips straight, his eyes devoid of expression.

  The Rabbi, a seasoned judge of character, had seen that expression before. The scars on Shlomo’s face told a story of pain.

  “Imagine a purifying flame, my dear Shlomele, one that cleanses the neshama by burning away the schmutz. Once cleaned, it returns to this world, where it is reshaped according to the Divine will. Does that make sense to you?”

  “I think so. Like steel on the forge, and the hammer to bend it into shape? Is like a blacksmith.”

  “Oy, you said it beautifully, my boy.”

  “Bjorn tells me that I’ll be a great blacksmith. I’m his apprentice.” Shlomo’s uncle entered the sanctuary and waved at the Rabbi, who greeted him with a big smile.

  “Your uncle is here for you. Don’t forget, the neshama of yours has your tate’s fire. It burns in you, bright. Like Yaakov lives in his kinder, your tate lives in you, as you will in your kinder! I’ll see you on Monday. Keep practicing. Be a good boy, Shlomele.”

  The child stood up and headed towards his uncle, the rabbi stopped him. “Shlomele, I’ll give you a special blessing before you go.” He placed his hand upon the boy’s head, his fingers forming the Hebrew letter Shin, and said:

  "Yevarechecha Hashem veyishmerecha. Ya'eir Hashem panav eilecha vichuneka. Yisa Hashem panav eilecha veyasem lecha shalom."

  (May Hashem bless you and protect you.

  May Hashem’s face shine upon you and be gracious to you.

  May Hashem’s face be lifted toward you and grant you peace.)

  The child, puzzled by the suddenness of the Rabbi’s blessing, nodded and went to greet his uncle. They said goodbye and left the sanctity of the synagogue to face life once more. A single tear rolled down the Rabbi’s cheek. The sight of the tall man in black was not a pleasant one.