Chapter 5 — Teaching the People
The morning air carried the crispness of a world on the edge of revelation. The sun had only begun its ascent, casting golden streaks through the city streets as Adam, Eve, Jadz, and I prepared to embark on our mission. Today, we would begin introducing the 72 Names to the people, offering them tools to overcome their struggles, even if they did not yet understand the depth of what they were being given.
Adam stood beside me, adjusting the sleeves of his borrowed sweatshirt. “This material is strange,” he muttered, pulling at the fabric. “What is it made from?”
“Cotton,” Jadz replied, sighing as she adjusted her own modern clothing. “You guys have to blend in. If you walk around in ancient robes, people will just think you’re cosplaying.”
Eve chuckled, the sound soft and knowing. “We are cosplaying, in a way. Playing the role of teachers, though we are still students ourselves.”
I nodded, feeling the weight of her words settle in my chest. The journey ahead would be as much about our own growth as it was about guiding others. Would we be able to convey the power of the Names in a way that truly resonated? Or would we be met with resistance, skepticism, or even hostility?
Our first encounter came quickly.
A man sat slumped against the wall of a coffee shop, his face lined with exhaustion. The weight of the world seemed to press against his shoulders, and the energy around him buzzed with despair. I exchanged glances with Jadz, who gave me a slight nod. This was a test—not just for him, but for us.
I approached gently. “Good morning. Are you alright?”
The man exhaled sharply. “Not really. Just another day of feeling stuck. I lost my job last month. Bills are piling up, and I don’t even know where to start.”
I hesitated. My instinct was to offer sympathy, but sympathy alone wouldn’t change his reality. Instead, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small card with three Hebrew letters: סלט (Samech, Lamed, Tet).
“This is one of the 72 Names,” I explained. “It’s for removing negativity. Sometimes, the first step to moving forward is clearing out the negative thoughts that keep us paralyzed.”
The man raised an eyebrow. “What am I supposed to do with it?”
“Close your eyes. Breathe. Visualize these letters and allow their energy to replace doubt with certainty.”
He scoffed but, perhaps out of desperation, did as I instructed. Adam and Eve watched silently, their expressions unreadable.
A few moments passed, and when he opened his eyes, something had shifted. The lines on his face seemed less pronounced, his shoulders a little lighter. “That... was weird. But I do feel different.”
“Negativity is like a heavy coat,” Jadz said. “Sometimes you don’t realize how weighed down you are until you take it off.”
He nodded slowly. “Alright. I’ll give this a shot.”
It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
Not all our encounters were as smooth.
Later in the afternoon, we found ourselves in a park, engaging in quiet conversations with passersby. A woman in a business suit stopped to listen as Eve spoke about the Name for dissolving fear: מיכ (Mem, Yud, Kaf). Her expression hardened with skepticism.
“So you’re telling me that looking at three letters is going to fix my problems? That’s absurd.”
Eve, ever patient, simply smiled. “The letters are a tool. They don’t do the work for you, but they help you access a higher state of awareness. Fear is often an illusion—when we dissolve it, we see possibilities we couldn’t before.”
The woman crossed her arms. “And you know this how?”
Adam stepped forward. “Because we have lived it. And we are still learning.”
For a moment, I saw hesitation in her gaze. A crack in the wall of doubt. But she wasn’t ready yet. With a dismissive shake of her head, she walked away.
“Not everyone is open,” I murmured.
“Not yet,” Eve corrected. “But the seed has been planted.”
The day continued, filled with moments of impact and moments of rejection.
A teenage boy, no older than sixteen, sat on a park bench, his fists clenched, jaw tight. His eyes burned with frustration, the kind that comes from feeling misunderstood for too long. Jadz knelt in front of him, her voice steady but gentle.
“There’s a Name for this,” she said, writing עין (Ayin, Yud, Nun) on a small notepad and handing it to him. “This Name helps release emotional burdens. You don’t have to carry all that anger alone.”
The boy scoffed at first, but something in her tone made him glance down at the letters. “How does it work?” he asked, suspicion laced in his voice.
“Close your eyes,” she instructed. “Take a deep breath. Imagine the anger as a heavy stone in your chest. Now, see these letters lifting it away, dissolving it. Let it go, just for a moment.”
He hesitated, but then, perhaps out of curiosity—or exhaustion—he did as she asked. His breathing slowed, and his shoulders relaxed just a fraction. When he opened his eyes, the sharpness in them had dulled. He looked at the letters again, tracing them with his thumb. “I don’t know what just happened,” he admitted, “but I feel… different.”
A mother grieving a lost child sat beneath a tree, clutching a locket in her trembling hands. Her grief was palpable, an ache that seemed to weigh down her entire being. Eve knelt beside her, not speaking at first—just being there, sharing in the silence. Then, slowly, she pulled out a small slip of paper and wrote Mem Hei Shin.
“This is a Name for healing,” Eve whispered, placing the paper in the woman’s hands. “It won’t erase the pain, but it can help you breathe through it. It can help you find a moment of peace.”
Tears welled in the woman’s eyes as she traced her fingers over the letters, her breath hitching. “I don’t know if I can heal,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Eve placed a hand over hers. “Healing isn’t forgetting. It’s remembering with love instead of just pain. Try breathing with the Name—inhale as you read the letters, exhale, and let the pain soften, just a little.”
The woman closed her eyes, clutching the paper to her chest. Her lips moved in silent prayer, and though the tears didn’t stop, her body seemed a little less burdened, her hands a little steadier.
An elderly man sat hunched on a bench near the fountain, his face creased with bitterness, his eyes cold and distant. He had heard our words but dismissed them with a wave of his hand. “Nonsense,” he had muttered. “Superstitions won’t change anything.”
We didn’t argue. We had learned that forcing the Names upon someone only created more resistance. And yet, later, as I turned to leave, I saw him again—his hands gripping the armrest of the bench, his lips barely moving. It was faint, but I recognized it.
He was whispering one of the Names.
I didn’t interrupt. I didn’t approach. But as I walked away, I felt something stir—proof that even the most hardened hearts could soften, given the right moment, the right Name.
As the sun began to set, we gathered together, reflecting on the day’s events.
“Teaching is humbling,” I admitted. “I thought we would simply share the Names, and people would see their power immediately. But it’s not that simple.”
Adam chuckled. “Nothing worth learning ever is.”
Eve turned to Jadz and me. “And what about you? Have you begun to see your own roles more clearly?”
Jadz exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “I still feel like I’m figuring it out. But today proved that this matters. Even if people resist, even if they don’t accept it right away, we’re planting something. And maybe that’s enough for now.”
She was quiet for a beat, then turned to look at me directly — not at Adam, not at Eve, but at me. “You were good out there today,” she said. “I mean that. You knew exactly what people needed to hear.”
I didn’t know what to say. She didn’t give compliments easily, and she never gave them unless she meant them. I reached for her hand and held it.
“We both were,” I said.
She shook her head slightly. “You were better. And that’s okay.” A small smile crossed her face. “That’s why we’re a team.”
I thought of the man from the coffee shop, of the boy with anger, of the grieving mother. “Maybe the real lesson is trust. Trusting the Names. Trusting the process. And trusting ourselves.”
Eve smiled. “Now you are beginning to understand.”
That night, as I lay in bed, I traced the letters of a Name in the air above me.
Vav Hey Vav.
The Name of Time Travel. The Name that allowed one to correct past mistakes at their root. Adam and Eve, more than anyone, had carried the burden of their past. Could this be the key to their redemption? To all of ours?
Sleep took me before I could find the answer, but for the first time in a long time, I felt closer to it than ever before.