AND THE EDITORIAL BOARD
Library, September 6, 2009
God, in his wispy self,
relaxing in the chair at the head of the large oval table. Overhead,
ceiling was a limitless clear blue sky. Beneath, the floor was a
clear blue sky. The occasion was an extraordinary meeting of God and
Celestial Editorial Board. It was extraordinary because it was perhaps
a millennium that God actually attended a meeting. Seated around God
were the senior
members of the CEB, those human and existential beings charged with
promulgating the divine proclamations of the editor-in-chief.
“Got me an idea,” said the
disembodied voice at the head of the table.
“Lay it out for us, Boss,” said
“We’ve been sitting here for, oh
hell, what year is this anyway?”
“It’s about 1,200 BC, Boss,”
replied Yussel Cloxicles, “more or less.”
“That’s Hellenic time, Boss,” said
“You know all those stories we tell
each other when we’re partying?”
“Yeah, yeah, Boss,” said Ephraim
“I’m thinking it’s time - Hellenic
time - as it were,” God said, then paused and chuckled. “Get it,
“Got it, got it, Boss,” said
“Good! Good!” said God.
A couple of groans could be heard
around the table. A few chairs scraped impatiently on the cloudless
“I’m thinking it’s time we wrote
all those stories down, sort of a record of the times we had, the
A lengthy pause as a few sharp
wisps escaped the wispy whole. “…the girls.”
“You really want to? Nah, Boss,”
said Shmuel Brassicles, “You might be asking for some negative
all they know about is those two yolds who couldn’t avoid one lousy
maybe they’ve heard a whisper - excuse me, Boss - about that old drunk
“Well, there are those, agreed God.
But we’ve also got that nut and the lions.” God paused. “How lucky was
that he hadn’t bathed that week?”
“Good thing for him you gave lions
a great sense of smell,” said Shmuel Brassicles.
“Probably talked them to sleep.
Listening to him, even a lion could lose his appetite.”
“How about Jonah, Boss? Huh, Boss?”
asked Ephraim Toadicles.
“Whale of a story,” acknowledged
“Good one, Boss. Good one,” said
“Can we use the ‘sin cities’
story?” asked Yitzchak Scripticles.
“Why not?” said God. “Salt of the
earth, that Lot. Good man. Too bad about the women.” God paused again.
it’s not like they were exactly pillars of society.”
“Wait! Wait! I think I have an idea
for that story,” said Yitzchak Scripticles. Quickly, he outlined his
idea for a
story involving the so-called “sin cities,” and the women turning into
“Yitzchak, that’ll never fly,” said
God. “But, hey, we’re just brainstorming here. Maybe you should work it
Let’s see how it reads. And Shmuel, you tackle that story about the
“You know, Boss,” said Yitzchak
Scripticles, “unless we’re careful with our timeline, that Aesop -
whomevers he may be - may try to steal our thunder.”
God’s wispy self seemed to swirl a
tad faster. “What we have to do,” he said, “is push our story back to a
before I thought of writing.”
“You’re going to create the oral
tradition of story telling, Boss?” asked Yitzchak Scripticles.
The wispy self seemed to turn a
faint shade of pink. “Perceptive, Yitzchak. Quite perceptive.”