In 1974, a new apparition began to make its appearance in the streets of Manhattan. Even in that hubbub of crowd and clamor, this strange vehicle attracted attention. It was a standard van of the “U-Haul” or “Ryder” variety. It’s back door was rolled up, showing a cargo of one large wooden table, two wooden benches, and a dozen young men with beards and black hats. From a loudspeaker taped to its roof issued forth a medley of Chassidic songs played on high volume—that is, high enough to make itself heard above the din of a Manhattan street corner. Large posters taped to the sides of the moving van proclaimed: “MITZVAH TANK”, “Teffilin on board” and “Mitzvot On The Spot For People On The Go.”
There is an outer world and there is an inner world. As deep as you penetrate, as high as you reach, there is always something breathing inside.
The outer world is made of things. Breathing inside the things are words.
Words are the outside. Inside the words are stories.
The story is the outside. Inside the story is a thought.
Thoughts are the outside. Inside the thoughts is a...
