Adam Levin - The Instructions

And my father did leave my mother for a year or he left for two years or three years or a day or an hour or he left for good or he never left at all but they had or adopted a little girl who I’m not allowed to meet or even see pictures of, let alone hold to my chest and tell stories to, or my mother will allow me some of these things or all of these things but my father won’t allow me any of these things or my father on occasion (usually just before Yom Kippur) shows me some pity and lets me see my sister but he acts so nervous whenever they bring her that I don’t tell her anything I wish I could tell her for fear that I’ll say the wrong thing and they’ll leave even sooner than I know they’re already going to leave and I come off cold and my sister is afraid of me because no one else comes off cold to my sister because she’s so warm and pretty and small and she says funny things when she’s not inside a prison or my sister is afraid of me because of what they tell her at school or because she’s just been frisked by a polite man with a machine gun and she’s surrounded by other polite men with machine guns and the smile on the face of her brother seems just as forced as the smiles on the faces of the other polite men or it doesn’t seem forced but she imagines it does and refuses to look at my face for fear that it does and therefore persists in her delusion that it does or my sister is afraid of me because my father is afraid of me because of my size or because a couple years back when we got in a fight over something he thought I’d caused in Judea that I hadn’t caused but might have caused had I thought to cause it he put his hands on me and I took his hands off me and held them away from me until the guards rushed us or til my mother said my name or until my mother slapped me or no one interfered but I held his hands away from me for longer than was necessary or longer than I should have or longer than I would have had I thought for a second or it’s all the same thing, or I don’t have a sister but I might as well have a sister because I wouldn’t be allowed to see my sister anyway, or I don’t have a sister and that is too bad because I would, if I had one, be allowed to see her because everything between my parents and me is the same as always and nothing will change.

And I broke off all manner of contact with June at the age of thirteen or eleven or the moment I arrived here because knowing her was killing me and yet I wouldn’t die or because I was “selfless” and couldn’t stand to make her wait or because I needed to write this scripture and I couldn’t write this scripture with hope in my heart and June gave me hope, relentless hope, or I didn’t break contact but bound June to me with romance and guilt and sly manipulations typical of sociopaths, or it was June who did all the contact-breaking, and any which way it was all for the best, or no one broke contact or manipulated anyone and any which way it was all for the best, or it was all for the worst, and June underwent a ceremonial conversion out of love for me or spite for me or because she’d been an Israelite all along or all of the above and she saw it was easier to just do the ceremony, or she didn’t participate in any type of ceremony but she lives by the Law and she lives as if married because she is insane and she thinks we are married or because we are in fact married or will be a few months from now when June turns eighteen and makes aliya or because she believes that that’s what will happen when she turns eighteen and makes aliya but that won’t be what happens because I’ll be dead because this scripture isn’t really scripture at all but the single longest suicide note in history or because although it’s scripture it’s also that note or because I no longer believe she’s an Israelite because Adonai wouldn’t let her into the valley, or we will be married despite what He thinks or because of what He thinks or despite and because or regardless of what He thinks.

Choose your own adventure. Keep on blogging. Just leave June alone and stay away from my brothers. Those are my instructions for all you wicked sons. What you write matters little, your scholarship is nothing, it will die as soon as you.

For those sons among you who don’t know how to ask: I don’t know what would have happened had I entered the valley, no one knows what would have happened had I entered the valley, and the details of what happened between the time that it closed and the news of my presence in Israel went public just aren’t germane to the scripture at hand. Even if they were, there were friends who helped me, enemies who didn’t, and to fink out the enemies would compromise the friends. I arrived here between November 18 and November 25, 2006, was guilty of everything with which I was charged, pled guilty to everything with which I was charged, was found guilty of everything with which I was charged, and the rest, insasmuch as it concerns you — the rest is minutiae, Moshe’s shoe size.

Same with name you give to the holiday. Last Day of School Day, Day of Damage, Yom Nezek — I prefer the Hebrew, but call it what you want.

And whether or not I think I’m the messiah, or the potential messiah, or ever thought I was one or thought I was both and now think I’m neither — that’s minutiae, too.

Whether I daven, and where I daven, if I don’t just stand here — at six-foot-three and one-buck-ninety or six-foot-six and two-bucks-thirty or five-foot-nine and thirteen stones — in my digitally tricked-out nine-by-nine cell. What I’ll do when they release me in 2017. Whether or not I’ll join the IDF. Whether or not I’ll go into hiding. Whether or not I’ll attend yeshiva. Whether or not I’ll open a yeshiva. Whether or not I’ll lead my own army or enter Shin Bet or run for office for Shas or Labor or start my own party. None of it matters. You don’t need to know it. It is all minutiae. Quit with the minutiae. Become the wise son. Isn’t that what you want? That should be what you want.

Become the wise son and instruct your simple brothers: “The Temple is not descending from the sky. The Side of Damage was good and the underdog is good. Fear Adonai and look after June.”

And instruct those brothers who don’t know how to ask yet: “The Temple never would have descended from the sky. The Side of Damage was complicated, Adonai is fearsome, and anyone can tell his own underdog story. Be wary of underdogs. Look after June.”

Recognize your wicked brothers are beyond all instruction, that that’s why they’re wicked, but keep your eyes sleepy and instruct them nonetheless: “Stay away from our brothers and leave June alone.”

He thought we should fucken waterboard each other. How can you protect somebody like that?

You’ll know when the Gurionic War is over. Every day is Yom Nezek except for Shabbat. Observe Yom Nezek. Celebrate and celebrate. Adonai is damaged. Look after June. I led the Side of Damage before I led you. Doubt your underdog story no less than any other. I’m an Israeli, Chicago born. There will be more damage, I’m the end of the Jews, and the Temple will never descend from the sky.

Damage, damage, and damage, the end.

Thank you, Lanny and Atara Levin, for pretty much everything, especially the sisters.

Thank you, Rachel and Paula Levin, for always showing up, all funny and kind, and for allowing me to be your older brother all these years.

Thank you, Leslie Lockett, for always being Leslie Lockett, for every last thing your being her entails.

Thank you, Susan Golomb, for your acts of agency.

Thank you, Summer Literary Seminars, for the white nights and boat rides.

Thank you, Sid Feldman, for introducing me, way back when, to the work of Philip Roth and Charlie Chaplin and the Marx Brothers, and for then, not so way-back-when at all, inviting me over for home-cooked meals — scores of home-cooked meals — to which I couldn’t bring wine or dessert or even a sixpack, and for never making me feel like a shnorer. You too, Renee Feldman.