The Supreme Leader

G-d knows what went through Avraham’s mind that fateful day when he took his son Isaac to be sacrificed at Mount Moriah to please his Boss—or what that story was truly meant to teach us. Your more Kabbalistic rabbis might tell us that the name “Isaac” (Yīṣḥāq) is a transliteration of “He laughs” or “He will laugh” and that Avraham was being asked to symbolically kill the part of himself that laughs—his joy, his ego, or his human attachments.

Meanwhile, the more literal rabbis, the ones eager to get to dinner without launching into a deep discussion, might tell us the story is about testing Avraham’s faith. It was never G-d’s intention to let Avraham go through with the sacrifice of his son.

Now, I am no scholar, and as shocking as this may be, dear reader, I am not a rabbi, although I have been called a master in front of many pancake pans. That said, I believe the story teaches us a lesson as old as humanity itself—a lesson that might even count as the unspoken 614th mitzvah: “When the Boss tells you to do something, no matter how irrational or absurd it seems, just do it!”

One young lady who seems to have read this story the right way was Hannah Arendt the Holocaust survivor who came to Israel to report on Adolph Eichmann’s trial. During the trial, Arendt observed Eichmann’s demeanor and reasoning. Because the Eichmann tapes, in which he confessed his crimes during the Holocaust alongside his deeply antisemitic ideology, were never presented, Arendt concluded that Eichmann’s actions were driven by his role as a mere bureaucrat, blindly following orders without questioning their morality, no matter how absurd or harmful.

Arendt compiled her conclusions in a book called Eichmann in Jerusalem: A Report on the Banality of Evil. This became the foundational argument for moral relativism, an ideology that asserts an individual cannot be held responsible for their context or moral values, and later paved the way for cultural relativism, though we had relatively enough of relativism for today.

My point is this: there is a reason why there is no 614th mitzvah. When the Boss tells you to do something, no matter how commanding or logical it may seem, never let it contradict your moral compass—whatever that may be. Let this small reflection serve as an introduction to my next bonne adventure into the world of fiction. Tage det gode med det onde.

I woke up to the sound of my cell phone ringing. It was Helmut Larsson, the Supreme Leader’s secretary, his obnoxious, broken voice screaming at me. I was late with the Supreme Leader’s mocha latte.

Jumping out of bed, I woke the seven dwarfs from their bunk beds and put them to work in the kitchen, concocting the coffee while I hurried to shower. By the time I was dressed and ready, they handed me the cup. Before I left, they added a sprinkle of cinnamon from Grumpy’s tears, and I was on my way.

The buses and mosquitoes were on strike, so I had to walk to the palace, comforted by the thought that, for once, I would not get bitten. In five years of work, this was the first time I’d been late to the Supreme Leader´s Palace, and I understood the gravity of the situation. That mocha latte was vital.

Without caffeine, the Supreme Leader would not be able to read 50 Shades of Grey in bed, and without his morning read, the impending invasion might proceed—with catastrophic consequences for the world.

On my way to the Palace, I encountered a massive demonstration with thousands of people. They were shouting loudly, but I could not understand what they were saying. I asked one of the protesters what they were protesting.

“We are protesting the Supreme Leader,” he replied.

When I suggested that it might be easier to run against him in an election, the crowd fell silent, as if the idea had never occurred to them. Then, from somewhere in the middle of the crowd, someone shouted back, saying something about democracy being a system for solving issues in the streets.

I started to feel uneasy. What if they realized I was heading to the palace to deliver the Supreme Leader’s mocha latte? Things took a turn for the worse when Julia Soares, the notorious gossip columnist who married her dishwasher, spotted me. She approached with a big grin, hugged me, and whispered, “I know where you’re going.”

Panic set in. I was terrified—what if the crowd turned on me? Worse, what if the Supreme Leader did not get his favorite morning beverage?

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’ll keep your secret, but you need to do something for me.”

Surrounded by a mob of angry demonstrators, I did not hesitate and agreed immediately. She slipped a piece of paper into my pocket and whispered, “This is my résumé. I’m the best foot massager in the country, and I want to work for the Supreme Leader.”

I knew Julia was not exaggerating—her skills as a foot massager were legendary. Her hands had led the Nigerian team to victory in that Table Tennis World Cup. I promised her that I would deliver the résumé.

I hurried away from the demonstration as quickly as I could. Just as I was leaving, Julia called out to me one last time. I turned back, and she shouted, “Tell him I believe in him!”

By the time I arrived at the palace, Larsson was furious. I had kept the Grand Priest waiting. According to the constitutional tradition, the Supreme Leader could only drink his mocha latte before receiving the blessing of the sunrise from the Grand Priest.

I glanced at the Grand Priest and greeted him. Old Toshiro nodded in return, tossed his joint to the ground, turned off the porn on his phone, stood up, and placed the ceremonial red hat with two horns on his head. “Alright,” he grumbled, “let’s do this sh—.”