The Littlest Brother and the Quest for the Grail
Part VI: 

The Miraculous Matzah Ball and the Secret Scroll of the Forgotten Feast

It was a dark and stormy Friday.

But then again, in Tasmania, most Fridays were either dark, stormy, or inhabited by at least one marsupial with a vendetta. This particular Friday, however, had a feeling. You know the kind—like Elijah was about to show up, ask for a glass of red, and tell you your destiny in riddles that rhyme.

The Littlest Brother was stirring his chicken soup when it happened. He was humming an old Hebrew chant (possibly backwards, accidentally), when a single matzah ball rose—yes, rose!—to the surface. It didn't float. It levitated. It spun in slow circles, like a tiny lunar orb, glowing faintly as if infused with Sephardic wisdom and Hungarian paprika.

“Brother,” gasped John Joseph, “your matzah ball is ascending.”

“It’s never done that before,” muttered the Littlest Brother, crossing himself and muttering a Shehecheyanu for good measure.

Then—plop! The matzah ball burst open. Inside it? Not gefilte fish, not a tiny prophet (though that was on the bingo card), but a miniature scroll.

Soaked, but still readable. Smelling faintly of garlic.

It was written in a strange blend of Hebrew and Latin, with flourishes that looked suspiciously like the doodles the Littlest Brother used to make during lectures at the University of Western Australia: swirly letters, winged lions, a small Madonna in a tabernacle with wheels.

The text began:

“Blessed are You, O Searcher of Hearts,
Who hides scrolls in soup and secrets in song…”

It continued:

“The true Grail lies not in gold nor stone,
But in the table shared, the bread broken,
The Woman who wraps the Word in her womb
And sings lullabies to kings yet unborn.”

There was also a diagram of what looked like a menorah crossed with a gothic cathedral, and in the center of it all: a radiant heart encircled by Hebrew letters spelling “Imma”—Mother.

The brothers gathered round.

Brother Stephen Joseph crossed himself.

Brother John Joseph said, “I think it’s telling us to follow the Feasts.”

“The Jewish Feasts?” the Littlest Brother asked.

“No. The bake sales,” John Joseph deadpanned. “Yes, the Jewish Feasts! Think of it—the Seder, Shavuot, Sukkot… what if they’re all doors?”

And so began their next stage of the pilgrimage. Each feast became a waypoint. Each festival, a window. They celebrated with more joy than ever—dancing on Sukkot with such abandon that the parish priest asked if they had started a Hasidic breakdancing troupe. At Purim, they told the Megillah with sock puppets. At Shavuot, they read the Book of Ruth by candlelight and swore the wind carried the scent of barley and roses.

And at each feast, the Grail would draw nearer. Not as a chalice of gold—but as a Presence. A mystery wrapped in mystery, clothed in veils, laughing softly behind the curtain of tradition.

One night, during their Havdalah gathering, the Littlest Brother turned to the others and said:

“She’s been with us the whole time.”

“Who?” asked Brother Stephen.

“The Grail. The Zoharic Madonna. The Lady of the Feasts. Miriam bat Zion, veiled in Mary of Nazareth. The Sabbath Bride, the Ark, the Immaculate Tabernacle…”

He paused.

“…my mother,” he added quietly, “and yours. And ours.”

They sat in silence.

Outside, the wind moved through the gum trees like the echo of an ancient song.

Inside, the Shabbat candle sputtered out.

And somewhere, in the valley of shadow and joy, the next door opened.

see

The Sabbath Bride and the Battle of the Bramble Rose

 Or return to the beginning

A Tale of Stars, Shadows, and Shabbat Candles