Recently I was thumbing through an old notebook of mine that included, among other tidbits, a list of stories that I had used in homilies twenty-five years ago. The story that follows caught my eye, maybe because when I was growing up one of our family dinner rules — in the words of my dad was — “Get your elbows off the table, Mabel.” My brothers and sisters seemed less prone to this violation, but with me it was a rule frequently broken and consequently a rule I was reminded of often enough to wonder if my baptismal name was Mabel Daniel. Maybe I was the obvious target because my elbows still had dirt from the infield on them. Had I known of this story when I was nine, I might have used it on my dad to diminish the not-so-eternal import of Emily Post.

It is a story about the difference between heaven and hell. It’s food for thought and action.

There once was a Rabbi whose name was Haim. He was a wise man and a renowned preacher who traveled from town to town delivering religious sermons.

One day while preaching, Rabbi Haim was emphasizing the importance of treating all people with reverence and dignity. He said, “have I ever told you the difference between heaven and hell and how I found out?”

The heads of his listeners all shook sideways, “No.”

I once was gifted with a rare gift. I ascended to the firmaments. I was met by a divine docent who said, “come with me. I will show you what hell looks like.” I followed him down a long hall to two giant doors. He stopped and said, “This is hell,” as he opened the large doors. Inside there was a long, extra high table that ran as far as his eyes could see. It was filled with platters of every kind of sumptuous food one could imagine. The table was set with plates and glasses and pitchers and silverware and napkins. And on either side of the narrow, long, but elevated table were people for as far as Rabbi Haim could see.

The sight and sound were equally horrifying. The people seated and standing beside and across from one another were pale and emaciated, moaning and groaning, and wildly gyrating. At first, the Rabbi could not locate the cause of their torment. But then he saw it. The source of their disturbance and their gauntness. All the people at the table were missing elbows. Their arms stuck out straight and stiffly so that, though they held forks with food and spoons with soup and glasses with drink, they could not get the food or drink to their mouths and the table was too high to simply forgo utensils and manners and dive right in with their faces. The delicious looking, intoxicating aroma of the food was right there, but they couldn’t get it to their mouths.

Greatly disturbed, Rabbi Haim looked at the docent who said, “Would you like to see heaven?”

“Yes, please,” said the Rabbi.

The docent closed the door to the poor, howling people and led the Rabbi down the hall. On the opposite side of the hall of hell were two large doors. The docent stopped and said, “Here is heaven,” as he pulled the doors open.

Inside he saw a long, high table that ran as far as his eyes could see just like in hell. It also was filled with platters of every kind of sumptuous food one could imagine. Here too the table was set with plates and glasses and pitchers and silverware and napkins. And on either side of the narrow, long, but elevated table were people for as far as Rabbi Haim could see.

But unlike in hell where there was the cacophonous sound of upsetting noise, in heaven the sounds were of laughter and delight and singing and conversation and music and excitement. The setting of heaven looked identical to hell. But something was different. At first, because he was focused on the different spirit of the sound, the Rabbi didn’t notice the cause for the people’s delight. But then he saw it. Just like in hell, the people sitting and standing beside and across from one another had no visible sign of elbows. As in hell, their arms stuck straight and stiffly out from their bodies. Here too they held forks with food and spoons with soup and glasses with drink. But unlike in hell, here the people at the table from time to time would reach across and feed a dinner companion or offer someone a sip from a glass. And the room filled with the sounds of pure enjoyment: “Mmm, so good.” “Wow, that is delicious.” “Oh my, that is wonderful,” so that the Rabbi could not tell if they were talking about the food and drink or about their delight in feeding one another and being fed.

The people were hanging on every word about Rabbi Haim’s experience. After a long pause, he said, “Our joy and our responsibility is to bring heaven to earth.”

~ Author Unknown