Awtsmoos עצמות

B"H

Interesting idea for new kind of awtsmoos database?

The Scribe’s Vision

The chamber was a sanctuary of shadow and hum, its walls not stone but a lattice of flickering light, as if the air had been spun from threads of molten gold. Deep within this sacred space, where the scent of myrrh mingled with the faint tang of ancient ink—like scrolls kissed by the breath of centuries—stood Reb Shmuel, the Scribe. His hands, calloused from years of tracing sacred letters, hovered over a slab of obsidian that pulsed with a rhythm no mortal heart could fully fathom. It was the heartbeat of the Awtsmoos, the infinite essence that birthed all from naught, and Reb Shmuel was its devoted servant.

He was old, his beard a cascade of silver that shimmered in the dim light, yet his eyes burned with the fire of a man who had glimpsed the divine. They were eyes that had seen the void part like a curtain, eyes that had followed the Kav as it poured Ohr Ein Sof into the abyss. Now, those eyes fixed on the slab, where a grid of light shimmered into being—four tiers of blocks, each a vessel of Hashem’s will. The main blocks, vast and steadfast at 4,096 bytes, glowed like the golden stones of the Beis HaMikdash, their surfaces etched with twin bitmaps: one a whisper of freedom (0 for empty), the other a sigh of burden (1 for taken, yet still yearning). Reb Shmuel’s breath caught as he watched them shift, a dance of presence and absence orchestrated by the Awtsmoos itself.

He reached out, his fingers trembling not from age but from yirah, and brushed the edge of a main block. It flared, and within its depths, a constellation of mini blocks—256 bytes each—unfolded like the petals of a shoshan blooming in the fields of Yerushalayim. Their embedded bitmap, a mere 2 bytes, gleamed with the promise of 16 subdivisions, each a spark of kedusha cradled in the Awtsmoos’s embrace. Reb Shmuel’s lips parted, a whispered “Baruch Hashem” escaping as he traced one further still. A mini block shivered, and from its core sprang micro blocks—16 bytes apiece—tracked by their own delicate bitmap, a lattice of light so fine it seemed to dissolve into the air. And deeper yet, within a micro block, nano blocks emerged—2 bytes of pure essence, chained together like the links of a sefer Torah’s chain, their first block bearing a header of divine intent, the rest flowing as raw data.

The slab pulsed, and Reb Shmuel stepped back, his tallis slipping slightly as his chest heaved with the weight of revelation. The chamber filled with a sound like the shofar’s blast on Rosh Hashanah, a call that shook the very fabric of existence. The Awtsmoos was here, within the system, recreating it from nothing with every beat of its infinite will. He saw it then: this was no mere archive, no cold repository of numbers and bits. It was a living testament, a map of creation itself, each tier a reflection of the Sefirot cascading from Keter to Malchut, each block a breath of the Atzmut made manifest.

“Reb Shmuel,” a voice called, deep and resonant, from the shadows behind him. The Scribe turned, his tzitzis swaying like a gentle breeze, and saw Reb Yitzchak, the Seeker. His black hat was tilted slightly, his peyos curling against his cheeks, and his eyes—twin wells of starfire—pierced the gloom. He stepped forward, his boots clicking against the unseen floor, and the air between them thickened with the weight of his presence. He was young, a talmid chacham fresh from the yeshiva, yet his bearing carried the gravity of one who had davened at the edge of the void and returned.

“What is this place?” Reb Yitzchak asked, his voice trembling with awe as he adjusted his hat. He wore a simple black coat, but the light of the slab reflected off his face, illuminating the intensity of his gaze.

Reb Shmuel’s smile was a crack in the stone of his weathered face, faint but radiant. “This, Yitzchak, is the Awtsmoos’s gift. A structure to hold all that is, all that was, all that will be—a system of four tiers, a reflection of the divine order.”

Reb Yitzchak’s gaze flicked to the slab, and for a moment, his breath stilled. The main blocks loomed like the walls of the Kotel, their bitmaps flickering as if alive. He stepped closer, his fingers hovering over a mini block, and it responded—its bitmap igniting, revealing a free space within. “It’s… alive,” he whispered, his voice trembling with something between yirah and simcha. “It shifts, it renews itself. How?”

“The Awtsmoos recreates it, every instant,” Reb Shmuel replied, his voice a low rumble, like the chant of a niggun. “From nothing, it weaves all. These blocks are not static—they are reborn, their bitmaps rewritten by the hand of Hashem. Look closer.”

Reb Yitzchak did. A micro block flared under his touch, its 16 bytes splitting into a chain of nano blocks, each 2 bytes a whisper of eternity. The first bore a header—extent length and a pointer to the next—while the others flowed seamlessly, pure and unburdened. Reb Yitzchak’s hand shook as he pulled back, the light of the system reflecting in his eyes like the flames of the menorah in the Beis HaMikdash. “This is more than storage,” he said, his voice barely audible. “This is… the work of creation.”

“Ken,” Reb Shmuel replied, stepping beside him, his tallis brushing against the younger man’s coat. “And you, Yitzchak, are here to learn its secrets. The Awtsmoos has called you, as it called me. Together, we will unlock its depths—tier by tier, block by block—until Moshiach comes, and the righteous rise anew, their bodies shining brighter than the sun.”

The slab pulsed once more, a deep, resonant thrum that shook the chamber, and in that moment, Reb Yitzchak felt it: the Awtsmoos, infinite and formless, watching, waiting, weaving. The journey had begun.

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3 weeks ago | [YT] | 2

Awtsmoos עצמות

B"H

Chapter One: The Celestial Inferno

The day began as if carved from the quiet hum of routine—a tapestry of mundane moments spun in the early light over 770 Eastern Parkway. Yet in that suspended second before time could even blink, the universe shuddered with an intensity that defied mortal measure. The firmament above split asunder, and from its gaping maw emerged a vision so transcendent and raw that even the earth itself seemed to tremble in awe.

A column of incandescent flame, alive and seething with a ferocity beyond comprehension, coalesced high in the heavens. This was no mere conflagration—it was a colossal temple of fire, its every flicker and roar a testament to an ancient promise. The inferno, a blazing monument to the divine, bore an unmistakable signature: the eternal, all-pervading Awtsmoos, revealing itself in every molten twist of flame. The fire temple’s brilliance outshone the sun, scattering iridescent embers like scattered jewels across the firmament, each spark a silent hymn to creation.

On the ground, the familiar transformed into the fantastical. Synagogues, those humble havens of prayer and memory, were wrenched from the earth by forces both merciless and magnificent. Their aged bricks, the sacred remnants of countless generations, ascended into the sky, carrying with them echoes of centuries past. Roofs and domes, once fixed and fragile, soared upward with the desperate urgency of fledgling birds, all drawn inexorably toward the blazing beacon above. Even structures that sheltered lives—cars, houses, and humble dwellings—became unwilling participants in this grand ballet of rebirth, lifted as if by invisible hands and spiraling toward destiny.

The air vibrated with an orchestra of sound: the cacophony of shattering concrete, the eerie whisper of winds reborn, and the anguished yet exalted cries of those who witnessed the impossible. Every sense was set ablaze—taste, smell, touch—all overwhelmed by a heady perfume of ozone and ancient incense, a blend that spoke of both demise and rebirth. The sky itself seemed to be weeping liquid fire, cascading ribbons of molten light that traced the paths of destiny.

In a narrow street beneath this celestial spectacle, two figures stood transfixed. Marcus, an outspoken atheist known for his relentless skepticism, and Leah, whose faith had long simmered beneath the surface of quiet devotion, found themselves bound by the same overwhelming wonder. Marcus’s eyes, usually sharp with rational defiance, were now wide with an awe he could scarcely reconcile.

“Is this... some cosmic trick?” Marcus stammered, his voice trembling as if he were a child caught in a nightmare and a dream simultaneously. “How can you explain such raw, unyielding power?”

Leah’s gaze never wavered from the ascending silhouettes of ancient sanctuaries. “It is not a trick, Marcus. It is the Awtsmoos—revealing itself in every ember, every gust of fire. It is a rebirth of the sacred, a call to every soul to awaken from its slumber.” Her words rang out with the fervor of someone who had felt the pulse of eternity beating beneath the surface of reality.

Above them, the fire temple pulsed like the heart of the cosmos. It was as if the very essence of creation had taken a physical form—a swirling vortex of incandescent fury that beckoned every living thing to join its dance. As the temple’s glow intensified, the ground below began to tremble in response. The ancient gates, long buried and forgotten in the depths of the earth, stirred as if summoned from their millennia-long sleep. One by one, the monumental portals that King David had once dreamed into existence ascended, each stone etched with the memory of a people, a past, and a promise.

As these gates connected with the fiery edifice, a bridge of light and sound was formed—a cosmic conduit between heaven and earth. The divide between mortal and divine blurred into irrelevance. In that moment, the long-forgotten souls of the righteous stirred in the dust. Their forms, once reduced to mere fragments of memory, began to knit themselves anew, as if the very atoms of existence were being spun into a fabric of infinite possibility. The resurrection was not a quiet miracle but an overwhelming, brutal act of creation—each reformed body a living testament to the power of the Awtsmoos.

The spectacle did not merely reside in grand gestures. It was in every drop of sweat that boiled upon the skin, every pulse of heat that threatened to melt the boundaries of flesh and spirit. The world had become an arena where every sensation was amplified—a savage, unrelenting symphony of creation that scorched the very air. The taste of ash mingled with the metallic tang of blood and fire, while the sound of crashing reality was punctuated by whispers of secrets too profound for ordinary minds.

In a distant corner of the chaos, a subplot of human frailty and defiance unfolded. An elderly rabbi, his eyes glistening with both tears and the embers of forgotten dreams, found himself in dialogue with a disillusioned scholar.

“Do you see it?” the rabbi whispered, his voice a brittle mixture of wonder and sorrow. “Even now, as the heavens unravel, the Awtsmoos is at work—revealing truths that we dared only hint at in our wildest prayers.”

The scholar, whose lifetime of cynicism had built walls of impenetrable doubt, could only shake his head, his words lost in the cacophony of divine upheaval. “Truth? Or the chaos of a universe unbound by reason?” he managed to retort, his voice quivering with the unspoken fear that his skepticism might finally be laid bare before a power beyond human reckoning.

Everywhere, humanity was being redefined. The faithful and the unbelieving, the strong and the fragile, were all drawn together in this vortex of rebirth. The celestial migration continued unabated as the miraculous edifice of fire began its slow, inevitable descent toward the ancient land of Israel. Like a beacon of redemption, it sought its rightful place atop the hallowed Temple Mount, where heaven and earth would converge in a union so profound that even the very fabric of reality would tremble under its weight.

Then, as if the narrative of existence itself demanded a final, shattering climax, the unthinkable occurred. A second, everlasting splitting of the sea roared forth in a cascade of liquid light, each wave a seething torrent of unbridled power that cleaved through the depths of the cosmos. The boundaries between elements dissolved into a surreal tapestry of water and fire, a living metaphor for the eternal struggle between chaos and order.

In that pivotal moment, as synagogues, houses, and souls soared on invisible currents, an unexpected voice cut through the clamor—a voice that seemed to emanate from the very core of the conflagration. It was the Awtsmoos itself, not as a distant, abstract force, but as an intimate, pulsing presence woven into every particle of existence.

A disembodied, resonant tone, like the roar of a thousand galaxies colliding, declared:

“Behold! In every shard of splintered reality, in every cry of rebirth, I am the eternal flame. I am the Awtsmoos—creator, destroyer, and redeemer. I am within you, around you, and beyond the limits of mortal comprehension.”

The revelation was not merely a whisper in the chaos—it was an upheaval that tore at the very seams of sanity. In that cataclysmic instant, the scholars, the skeptics, the believers, and the doubters were united in an epiphany so overwhelming that it shattered the conventional boundaries of existence. The Awtsmoos, that indefinable force of creation, had not been a distant architect of fate but the very essence pulsing at the heart of every atom, every tear, every spark of the divine inferno.

Marcus, his eyes brimming with a mix of terror and transcendence, could only murmur, “It’s not an illusion… it’s our destiny. The truth we denied is now etched into the stars.”
Leah, tears of ecstasy and relief streaming down her face, replied, “We are all but fragments of the Awtsmoos, reborn in its unyielding light. Today, our souls are set free.”

And so, as the fiery temple embraced the ancient gates and the resurrected souls marched toward the destined land, the world was irrevocably transformed. The brutal, savage beauty of the spectacle—every searing gust of flame, every tremor of the resurrected earth—etched itself into the annals of existence, a relentless reminder that the Awtsmoos is both the artist and the canvas, the eternal force that rips apart and reassembles reality in an endless cycle of sublime creation and destruction.

In that unfathomable twist, where the physical and the metaphysical collided with an intensity that left no corner of existence untouched, the truth emerged like a phoenix from the ashes of despair: every miracle, every shattering of the old, was but a reflection of the infinite, all-consuming love and fury of the Awtsmoos—a revelation as inevitable as it was indescribable, setting the stage for an era where heaven and earth, flesh and spirit, would forever be entwined in a dance of divine chaos and sublime redemption.

#awtsmoos #ai #viral #news

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1 month ago | [YT] | 3

Awtsmoos עצמות

B"H

The Light of Awtsmoos


Chapter 1: The Village of Mishpat


In a forgotten corner of Eastern Europe, nestled between frostbitten hills and a winding river, lay the village of Mishpat. It was the winter of 1790, and the air buzzed with anticipation. Parshas Mishpatim approached, the Torah portion of laws and justice, and the villagers gathered in their wooden shul, awaiting the arrival of their Rebbe, Rav Menachem of Kadoshka. He was no ordinary teacher; whispers claimed he had glimpsed the Awtsmoos—the Divine Essence, the unutterable core of God Himself—through years of meditation on Kabbalah and Chassidus.


The Rebbe was late. Snow piled high outside, and the villagers murmured. “Perhaps he’s lost in the forest,” said Yankel, the baker. “Or perhaps he’s arguing with angels again,” quipped Leah, the seamstress, her eyes twinkling. But young Shmuel, a boy of sixteen with a restless soul, felt a deeper pull. He’d heard the Rebbe speak once of Awtsmoos—not as a distant idea, but as a living force, a spark hidden within every mitzvah, every soul, even the mundane laws of Mishpatim.


That night, as the wind howled, Shmuel slipped out of the village. He carried a lantern and a small sefer of Tanya, the Chassidic text penned by the Alter Rebbe. His breath fogged in the cold as he trudged toward the forest where the Rebbe was last seen. “If Awtsmoos is real,” he muttered, “I’ll find it with him.”


Chapter 2: The Hidden Glade


Deep in the woods, Shmuel stumbled into a glade where the snow seemed to glow. There sat Rav Menachem, wrapped in a tattered tallis, his eyes closed, swaying as if in prayer. A circle of light pulsed around him—faint, yet undeniable. Shmuel froze. “Rebbe?” he whispered.


The old man’s eyes snapped open, sharp as a blade. “Shmuel. You’ve come for Mishpatim, haven’t you?”


“I’ve come for Awtsmoos,” Shmuel blurted, clutching the Tanya. “You said it’s in everything—the laws, the ox that gores, the servant who stays. But how? How can rules touch the Essence?”


Rav Menachem smiled, a rare warmth breaking his stern face. “Sit, boy. Parshas Mishpatim is no mere list of judgments. It’s a map to Awtsmoos. The Kabbalah teaches that God’s Essence—His Atzmus, as we dare not say too loudly—hides in the physical. The Zohar, in Raaya Mehemna on Mishpatim, hints at this: the laws are vessels, and within them burns the infinite light.”


Shmuel frowned. “But an ox goring another ox—it’s so… ordinary.”


“Exactly,” the Rebbe said, leaning closer. “Awtsmoos isn’t found in miracles alone. It’s in the ordinary mitzvah, the mundane act. When you repay damage, when you free a servant with gifts, you touch the Divine Will. Chassidus reveals this: every law is a thread, and Awtsmoos is the loom.”


Chapter 3: The Spell of Light


The Rebbe rose, his voice trembling with urgency. “Tonight, I’ll show you. I’ve been weaving a spell—not of magic, but of truth. A meditation on Awtsmoos, drawn from Mishpatim’s laws and the Tanya’s soul. Help me finish it.”


Shmuel hesitated, then nodded. The Rebbe began chanting, his words a blend of Hebrew and Aramaic, drawn from the Zohar and the Alter Rebbe’s teachings. “Baruch atah… who sanctifies the ox and the field… who binds justice to mercy…” The light around him grew, and Shmuel joined, reciting the verses of Mishpatim he’d memorized: “If a man steals an ox… he shall pay fivefold…”


The glade shimmered. Shmuel felt a warmth in his chest, as if his soul were unfolding. “Rebbe, what’s happening?”


“You’re seeing it,” Rav Menachem whispered. “Awtsmoos isn’t separate from you. It’s your essence, too. The laws of Mishpatim aren’t rules—they’re windows. Through them, God’s Essence flows into the world.”


A vision flashed before Shmuel: a courtroom of light, where every judgment—every repaid ox, every freed servant—radiated with infinite meaning. He saw the Rebbe’s tallis as a tapestry of sparks, each thread a mitzvah binding heaven to earth.


Chapter 4: The Return


The spell broke as dawn crept through the trees. The Rebbe slumped, exhausted, but his eyes gleamed. “You’ve tasted Awtsmoos, Shmuel. Now carry it back. Teach them: every law is holy, every act a bridge.”


Shmuel returned to Mishpat, the Tanya clutched tight. The villagers gathered for Shabbos, and he spoke haltingly at first, then with fire. “The Rebbe showed me Awtsmoos in Mishpatim. When we live these laws—when we repay, when we judge fairly—we touch God Himself.”


Some scoffed, but others listened. Leah wept, whispering, “Baruch Hashem.” Yankel nodded, muttering, “Maybe there’s more to my bread than flour.”


Rav Menachem returned later, frail but radiant. The village changed. Disputes lessened, kindness grew. Shmuel became a teacher, spreading the Rebbe’s vision: that Awtsmoos, the Divine Essence, wasn’t distant, but woven into every step of their lives.


And in the quiet of Mishpat, beneath the snow and the laws, a light burned on.

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1 month ago | [YT] | 1

Awtsmoos עצמות

B"H

Chapter 1: The Rending of the Deep

The sea stood still. A vast, glistening wall of unbroken darkness, a paradox of liquid and light, its depths spiraling into infinity. The air trembled—not with wind, nor with the weight of impending doom, but with something older than time itself. A moment where the edges of existence frayed, where the breath of the Awtsmoos pulsed through creation, unseen yet undeniable.

Then—裂开! A shattering beyond all shatterings.

The ocean, which had always known only one law—to be an unbroken, ceaseless entity—was torn asunder. Not by wind. Not by tide. But by the will of the One who speaks and it is. The sea did not simply part; it revealed. Its innermost depths, concealed since the dawn of time, were laid bare. No longer water. No longer sea. But land—solid, ancient, eternal.

And in that land, there were worlds.

The moment the waters fled, something unfathomable unfolded: the hidden universes—the Zeir Anpin of Atzilus, the delicate harmonies of divine attributes, once concealed within the unknowable currents of Malchus—became visible. What had been a hidden reality submerged in the spiritual depths now stood revealed upon the dry earth of creation.

The Children of Yisroel did not merely walk through the sea. They walked through eternity itself.

Each step tore through the veils that had once concealed the cosmic design. The air itself crackled with revelation. The orbits of the supernal realms bled into the dust beneath their feet, and with each movement forward, the lines between the concealed and the revealed blurred further.

The waters stood, trembling pillars of liquid sapphire, rising beyond the limits of space. And in their frozen waves, reflections of infinity twisted and writhed—visions of worlds unseen.

They beheld the Atzilus, where the sefirot shimmered in raw, unfiltered brilliance, no longer bound by the concealments of Beriah, Yetzirah, or Asiyah. The Chessed of the Infinite flowed like golden rivers within the frozen ocean walls, and the Gevurah of judgment flared as sapphire streaks of lightning caged within the glassy abyss. Netzach and Hod stood opposite each other like massive twin spirals, their echoes rolling through the suspended waters.

But at the center of it all—Malchus. The sea itself, once the ultimate concealment, now dry land beneath their feet. No longer distant. No longer veiled. It was here, now, in the dust beneath their sandals, everywhere in the universe.

This was no mere escape from Egypt. No mere deliverance. This was the tearing of illusion, the revelation that all along, the Awtsmoos had been not just beyond, but within. The sea was never separate. The concealment was never real.

And as they walked forward, their souls burned with a singular truth:

The world was never a world at all. It was always the infinite hidden within the finite. Always the Awtsmoos, whispering through the waves.

#awtsmoos #ai #viral #news

1 month ago | [YT] | 1

Awtsmoos עצמות

B"H

FADE IN:

EXT. THE SHORES OF THE RED SEA – NIGHT

A vast, endless sea stretches before Bnei Yisrael, shimmering under a moonlit sky. The waves crash against the shore, restless, as if whispering secrets of the deep. Behind them, the earth trembles—distant at first, then louder, closer. The sound of hooves, chariots, war cries.

CLOSE ON: MOSHE'S FACE
His expression is a storm within itself—certainty and urgency warring in his eyes. The wind howls around him, his cloak whipping like a banner in the tempest.

WIDE SHOT – THE ISRAELITES

Men, women, children—faces pale, eyes wide with fear. Some clutch whatever belongings they salvaged. Others fall to their knees, weeping. A baby cries.

SHIMONITE MAN (desperate, to Moshe)
"Was it not enough that we were slaves? Must we now die here, between the sword and the sea?"

YOUNG LEVI (angry, accusatory)
"Did you bring us here to perish? Egypt was cruel, but at least we lived!"

A rumble—a cloud of dust rises on the horizon. PHARAOH'S ARMY. Chariots glinting in the moonlight, horses foaming at the mouth, soldiers with drawn blades. The ROAR OF WAR grows deafening.

CLOSE ON: MOSHE’S HANDS

One grips his staff, the other clenched into a fist. He breathes in deeply, then steps forward.

MOSHE (calling out, voice steady but fierce)
"Do not be afraid! Stand firm, and you will see the salvation of Hashem!"

The wind picks up. Sand swirls. The air grows electric.

MOSHE (raising his staff, voice booming over the wind)
"HASHEM WILL FIGHT FOR YOU! YOU NEED ONLY TO BE STILL!"

HASHEM'S VOICE – A DEEP, RESOUNDING ECHO

"Why do you cry out to Me? Tell the people to move forward!"

A SILENCE falls over the crowd. They stare at Moshe. He grips his staff tighter. His heart pounds.

EXT. THE EDGE OF THE SEA

A single figure breaks from the crowd—NACHSHON BEN AMINADAV. He doesn’t hesitate. He steps forward. Then another step. Then another. His feet sink into the cold, foaming water. It reaches his knees. His waist. His chest. His lips.

TIGHT ON: NACHSHON’S EYES
Determined. Unwavering. He takes a final breath and vanishes beneath the waves.

EXT. THE RED SEA – A MOMENT OF STILLNESS

A heartbeat passes. Then another. Suddenly—A SOUND NOT OF THIS WORLD. A ROAR, A HOWL, A TEARING OF REALITY ITSELF.

THE SEA SPLITS.

A force beyond comprehension rips the waters apart. Walls of ocean rise sky-high, towering, trembling, alive. The moonlight refracts through them, illuminating the seabed—a pathway of salvation. The very essence of existence bends to the will of the Awtsmoos.

REACTION SHOTS – THE PEOPLE

Shock. Awe. Terror. Then—a rush forward. Mothers clutch their children. Fathers pull elders to their feet. They step onto the newly revealed seabed—the ground firm beneath their feet.

MOSHE (his voice reverberating, both awe and command)
"GO! HASHEM HAS OPENED THE WAY!"

They move. First cautiously. Then faster. Then running.

EXT. THE RED SEA – NIGHT – THE JOURNEY THROUGH THE WATERS

The walls of the sea pulse and churn like living beings, translucent blue, revealing the creatures of the deep swimming beside them—leviathans, great fish, creatures never before seen by human eyes. They watch but do not attack. The people pass in awe, their voices hushed.

A YOUNG BOY reaches out a trembling hand toward the water. A school of silver fish mirrors his movement. He laughs in amazement.

EXT. THE FAR SHORE – NIGHT – THE EGYPTIANS GIVE CHASE

Pharaoh watches from his golden chariot, disbelief and rage contorting his face.

PHARAOH (roaring, to his army)
"AFTER THEM!"

The Egyptian chariots thunder onto the seabed. The horses shriek, their hooves striking against the miraculous dry ground.

EXT. THE MIDDLE OF THE SEA – NIGHT

Bnei Yisrael reach the far shore. Moshe turns, his breath catching. The Egyptians are in pursuit, their chariots closing in.

HASHEM (V.O.) (thundering, shaking the very air)
"Stretch out your staff over the sea!"

MOSHE – SLOW MOTION

His face is a storm of emotion—determination, sorrow, divine purpose. He raises his staff.

THE SEA COLLAPSES.

A CATASTROPHIC ROAR as the walls of water crash down. The earth trembles. A wave of pure force and judgment obliterates Pharaoh’s chariots, soldiers, horses—screams swallowed by the abyss. The sea devours them.

EXT. THE FAR SHORE – DAWN

SILENCE. Only the crashing of the waves remains.

A single golden chariot drifts ashore—empty. The people stare in disbelief. Then—a cry of joy. Then another. Then an explosion of song.

EXT. THE SHORELINE – MOSHE AND MIRIAM

MOSHE (lifting his arms to the sky, voice trembling with triumph and awe)
"I will sing to Hashem, for He is exalted above the arrogant! Horse and rider He has thrown into the sea!"

MIRIAM (grabbing a tambourine, calling out)
"Sing to Hashem!"

Women join her, tambourines ringing, feet dancing on the wet sand. A new world has begun.

FADE TO BLACK.

#awtsmoos #ai #viral

1 month ago | [YT] | 0

Awtsmoos עצמות

B"H

Chapter 1: The Midnight Revelation

It was midnight, the moon hanging in a sky that trembled, bathed in the uncertain glimmers of an unspeakable truth. In the air hung a strange heaviness, a thick stillness, where time seemed to collapse into itself, holding its breath, waiting for the unraveling of a revelation beyond all comprehension. Egypt, the land of the oppressed and the oppressor, was poised on the cusp of annihilation—its heart thrumming in the rhythm of inevitable destruction. The blood of its pride, its power, its firstborn, was set to spill, staining the earth with a truth they had refused to acknowledge.

At the heart of Egypt, in every home, in every palace, in every corner of the vast empire, there was an unspoken fear—an ancient terror woven into the very fabric of existence itself. They did not know it yet, but this would be the moment that shattered all illusions, the point where the essence of all things would reveal itself in its most pure, raw form. The Awtsmoos, the infinite essence of creation, was about to reveal itself to the world.

As the stroke of midnight echoed across the land, an immense stillness descended upon Egypt. The earth beneath the city groaned, as though the very ground was shifting under the weight of what was about to unfold. And then it happened—the firstborn of Egypt, from the highest royal families to the humblest slaves, fell to the earth in a wave of divine wrath. But the Jews, the children of Israel, were untouched. A silence settled, deeper than any stillness that had ever been known, as the divine hand, invisible yet omnipresent, swept across the land. No cry of pain, no wail of terror, no breath of sorrow dared to rise. All that could be heard was the trembling of creation, as the Awtsmoos in its purest essence rushed through the spaces between spaces, filling every particle of existence.

In the darkness of Egypt, where Pharaoh's heart had hardened for so long, there now echoed a truth far more powerful than any king’s command. The Awtsmoos had spoken. It had chosen. And the people of Israel, mere shadows to the eyes of the world, were now the living testament to a truth that no one could grasp, no one could stop. They had been preserved. They were not merely survivors—they were the chosen witnesses to the very fabric of existence being laid bare.


---

Chapter 2: The Essence at Noon

When the sun began its ascent on the 15th of Nissan, the world was no longer the same. The earth had shifted on its axis, and the air felt denser, as though every breath pulled in not just air, but the very essence of reality itself. In that moment, the essence of day—the core of noon—was not merely a time on a clock, but a manifestation of all things coming together, as the infinite light of creation became palpable to all who were attuned.

In a single breath, the Jews—scattered, separated, hidden, and imprisoned—found themselves drawn together, as if pulled by an unseen hand, as if the very essence of their souls called them forth. From every corner of Egypt, from the deepest pits of slavery to the highest walls of palaces, they converged on the land of Goshen. It was a sight beyond all understanding, for each step taken by each person was not simply a movement through space, but a return to something ancient, to a promise that had never been broken. The Awtsmoos itself was gathering them, pulling them not through the limitations of time or space, but through the cosmic will of creation, as the breath of the universe exhaled its command.

There was no leader, no voice, no command that could explain the sudden unity. It was as if the very world had exhaled in unison, pulling together what had once been divided. Thousands upon thousands of men, women, and children, from the oldest to the youngest, each one wearing the weight of a legacy they could not yet understand, now stood together in Goshen. Their faces—once worn with sorrow, despair, and oppression—were now alive with something more: the recognition of an eternal truth that existed beyond their understanding. The Awtsmoos had, for a moment, allowed them to see the invisible threads that held them together, that had always held them together.

As they stood there, in that stillness, the first rays of light that had broken the night were absorbed into their very beings, washing away the last vestiges of their enslavement. They were no longer slaves; they were something greater, something unknowable.

And then, at the moment of noon—the peak of the day—the essence of the journey began. The infinite movement of time did not simply carry them away—it allowed them to travel with the force of creation itself.


---

Chapter 3: The Miracle of Speed

The people of Israel did not walk toward freedom; they flew. They moved as one, not through the earth, but through the very fabric of time itself. The earth beneath them ceased to exist as they traversed the desert at the speed of thought. From the land of Goshen, they were drawn to Sukkot—the first stop on their miraculous journey out of Egypt—without ever having taken a single step.

The winds of creation themselves carried them forward, swirling around them as the air itself bent to the will of the Awtsmoos. The vast desert stretched out before them, but no longer did the desolation of the wilderness hold them in its grasp. The infinite speed with which they moved was not the speed of nature, but the speed of the divine, rushing through them and beyond them, through all the space of the world and beyond.

The people did not see the ground beneath their feet, nor the stars above them; they saw only the essence of their journey unfolding before them, as if the land itself had been set aflame with the revelation of the Awtsmoos. The journey from Egypt to Sukkot was not a physical one; it was a spiritual passage, a descent and ascent all at once. It was a moment when time itself seemed to give way, when past and future were collapsed into the present, and the people of Israel stood as the witnesses to the unending, eternal truth.

The world itself seemed to pause, to bend, to bow in reverence as the people of Israel passed through it, not as wanderers, not as travelers, but as the very embodiment of the Awtsmoos itself, a revelation that would forever change the course of history.

The journey had begun. It was no longer a journey of time, but a journey of the eternal truth, the Awtsmoos, which would lead them not only to a physical land, but to the heart of creation itself. And in that moment, as they passed from Egypt into the unknown, the world itself trembled—not with fear, but with the awe of what had been revealed.

The Exodus had begun. And it was the Awtsmoos who had moved them.


---

The essence of time, of space, of existence itself, had unfolded in a single moment. The infinite had revealed itself in its purity, its wholeness, and the people of Israel had been transformed in its light. This was not just a journey; it was a revelation. The world had never seen the Awtsmoos so clearly, and it would never be the same.

#awtsmoos #ai #Jewish #viral

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1 month ago (edited) | [YT] | 1

Awtsmoos עצמות

B"H
Chapter 1: The Stroke of Noon

The sun stood at its zenith, burning white-hot in the sky, casting no shadow beneath its blaze. A moment suspended between exile and freedom. The air shimmered with the weight of history itself, every grain of sand trembling beneath the breath of the Awtsmoos, the Infinite, the One Who spoke and reality became.

And then—

The world cracked open.

It was not a sound, not a movement, but something deeper—something more fundamental. Reality itself shifted.

From the throne room of Pharaoh to the deepest pits of servitude, from the gleaming palaces of the Nile to the simplest mud huts of Goshen, the Awtsmoos had already passed. Like a king moving through his domain in a single instant, not bound by roads, not bound by space, not bound by time. One moment, one stroke, one breath—every Egyptian household was touched, every firstborn struck, every illusion of permanence shattered.

Pharaoh, his garments torn, his face as pale as the bones of his ancestors, had come before Moshe and Aharon in the dead of night. He had fallen, fallen, the mighty king of the greatest empire on earth, his lips dry, his words trembling:

“Leave. Take your people, take your flocks, take everything—and bless me, too!”

But Israel did not flee in the dark like slaves escaping in fear. No. They would march in the full light of day, heads high, not as beggars, not as fugitives—but as a nation born in fire, walking into destiny.

Now, at the peak of the sun’s fire, a rumbling arose—not from the heavens, not from the earth, but from six hundred thousand voices lifted as one, six hundred thousand feet stepping forward at once, six hundred thousand souls unshackled.

The streets of Goshen, once heavy with the chains of servitude, now pulsed with the weight of freedom. The scent of freshly baked matzah mingled with the dry desert wind, the unleavened bread still clutched in hands that had known only brick and mortar, hands that had built the monuments of their oppressors and now held the substance of their own survival.

Golden vessels clinked against silver. The spoils of Egypt, handed over in awe and terror, jingled in the folds of garments hurriedly slung over shoulders. What was once the wealth of a nation built on oppression now adorned the arms of its former slaves.

Children ran, eyes wide with the sight of their fathers and grandfathers walking tall, no longer bent beneath the weight of another’s yoke. The past had been broken. The future had begun.

And above them all, leading them, was Moshe, his staff cutting through the wind like a blade, his gaze locked on the horizon.

Ahead, the desert stretched vast and endless, an ocean of golden dunes and shifting sands.

But beyond it—beyond the emptiness—Sinai waited. The mountain that had stood since the dawn of time, trembling, knowing that soon it would blaze with the voice of the Infinite.

With one step, they had left Egypt.

With the next, they would walk toward eternity.

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1 month ago | [YT] | 0

Awtsmoos עצמות

B"H
Exodus: The Fire and the Cloud

Chapter 1: The Cry of the Bound

The air was thick with dust and suffering. The sun, an unrelenting blaze above, scorched the backs of those bent under their burdens. A great mass of men, women, and children—Yisroel—were bound in chains of labor, their hands raw, their bodies aching from the endless demands of Pharaoh’s taskmasters. The pyramids of stone and cruelty grew higher, while their spirits were ground into the dust beneath their feet.

The bricks were heavier than stone. They were made not only of clay and straw but of despair. Each one was a sigh, a stolen breath, a drop of sweat absorbed into the relentless sands of Mitzrayim. The overseers stood over them, whips coiled like serpents in their hands, waiting to strike at the slightest hesitation.

A boy—barely past childhood—staggered under the weight of a brick. His legs buckled, knees sinking into the sand. A sharp crack filled the air as a whip lashed across his back. The boy bit his lip, swallowing the scream. He would not give them the satisfaction.

His mother, laboring beside him, turned her eyes to the heavens. "Hashem!" her soul cried out. "Until when?"

Somewhere, in a place beyond time, beyond space, beyond all that could be grasped, the cry reached its Source.

And the Awtsmoos heard.

Deep within the wilderness, a flame ignited. A bush burned—but the fire did not consume.

Moishe stood before the flame, his sandals sinking into the dust. His breath caught. This was not an ordinary fire. It was not a fire of destruction, nor one of the world. It was the presence of the Awtsmoos, veiled within creation.

And then, a Voice. Not from the fire, not from the sky, not from the earth—but from everywhere and nowhere.

"Moishe, Moishe."

He trembled. His body was flesh, but in that instant, it felt like it had become something else—light, dust, wind, eternity.

"Remove your shoes from your feet, for the place upon which you stand is holy ground."

Moishe fell to his knees. "Who am I," he whispered, "that I should go to Pharaoh and lead Your people out of Mitzrayim?"

"I will be with you," the Voice answered. "For I am that I am."

Moishe could not grasp the meaning, but his soul understood. The Awtsmoos was not bound by time, nor space, nor name. He simply is—the Source of all being, the One who speaks existence into reality at every moment.

And now, that Voice had commanded him.

The redemption had begun.

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1 month ago | [YT] | 1

Awtsmoos עצמות

B"H

Title: The Cosmic Wrestle

INT. SPACECRAFT BRIDGE - DAY

The screen fades in to a chaotic spacecraft dashboard. A grizzled, eccentric scientist, DR. CHAIM "REB CHAIMY" LEBOWITZ, is piloting the ship while scarfing down a bagel. His wiry peyos stick out like antennae. Beside him sits MENDY, his wide-eyed, anxious nephew, adjusting his oversized kippah while clutching a tattered Chumash.

The ship hurtles toward a swirling vortex of energy, a mix of galactic debris and spiritual light.


---

REB CHAIMY
(chewing)
Alright, Mendy, buckle up. We’re diving headfirst into the cosmic essence of Parshas Vayishlach. Esau’s descendants are still in that spiritual warp field, and guess what? We’re gonna fix it.

MENDY
(voice cracking)
Fix it?! Uncle Chaimy, Esau’s descendants are interdimensional! They’re probably rocking futuristic battle-tech!

REB CHAIMY
(interrupting, matter-of-fact)
Battle-tech? Pfft. Nothing a good niggun and some Kabbalistic algebra can’t handle. Anyway, it’s all about birurim, kid. Sparks, shards, wrestling matches with divine energy... the works.

MENDY
But Uncle, what if we, I don’t know, DON’T survive this one? Remember the last time we did a "tikkun"? I still can’t look at gefilte fish without—

REB CHAIMY
(smacks controls)
Enough kvetching! You want to bring Moshiach or not? Parshas Vayishlach isn’t about playing it safe—it’s about Jacob wrestling that malach and not letting go until he squeezes some brachos outta him!

MENDY
(whispering)
Yeah, but he ended up limping for life!


---

Suddenly, the ship lurches. An alarm blares, and the screen displays "ENERGY FIELD BREACHED".

EXT. SPACECRAFT - CONTINUOUS

The ship is engulfed in pulsating, otherworldly light. From the vortex emerges a massive, glowing figure cloaked in fire and mist—THE MALACH, a terrifying yet strangely serene entity.


---

INT. SPACECRAFT BRIDGE - CONTINUOUS

MENDY
(stammering)
I-Is that... THE Malach? You know, the one Jacob wrestled?!

REB CHAIMY
(squints at the entity)
Yup. Pretty sure. You can tell by the radiance—he’s got that uncut, infinite glow. Alright, get the cosmic grappling gloves.

MENDY
What?! I’m not wrestling an angel!

REB CHAIMY
Oh, relax. It’s not about physical strength; it’s a mashal for the inner struggle of bringing down divine light into kelim. Classic Chabad stuff!

MENDY
Uncle, if we survive this, I’m switching to safer parshas. Like Bereishis. No angels, just fruit!


---

EXT. INTERDIMENSIONAL SPACE - MOMENTS LATER

Reb Chaimy, now in a homemade spacesuit covered in Kabbalistic symbols, leaps out of the spacecraft. He flies toward the Malach with an epic battle cry.


---

REB CHAIMY
You think you can withhold the light from me?! I’m not letting go until you spill the secrets of existence!

The Malach roars, its voice echoing across dimensions. It lunges, and the two clash in a burst of cosmic energy. Mendy watches from the cockpit, horrified yet transfixed.


---

MENDY
(to himself)
This is insane... But also kind of inspiring? Uncle Chaimy’s wrestling with an actual angel!


---

REB CHAIMY
(grinning mid-wrestle)
You know, you’re a pretty tough malach, but I’ve got generations of Chassidus backing me up! You’re going down—spiritually speaking!

The Malach grabs Reb Chaimy, pinning him in a glowing arm lock.


---

MALACH
You fight well, mortal. What is it you seek?


---

REB CHAIMY
What I seek? The truth! I want the bracha! The clarity! Oh, and maybe a cure for my bad back.


---

MALACH
(sighing)
Fine. You have struggled with angels and humans and have prevailed. Here’s your blessing: “Uncle Chaimy will now be known as Reb Chaimy... Uh, the Relentless.”


---

REB CHAIMY
(grinning)
I’ll take it! Now, let’s talk about those sparks of holiness hiding in Esau’s descendants. How do we elevate 'em?


---

MALACH
It’s... complicated. You’ll need a few niggunim, lots of patience, and maybe a kugel or two.


---

INT. SPACECRAFT BRIDGE - LATER

Reb Chaimy stumbles back in, victorious but limping. Mendy rushes to his side.


---

MENDY
Uncle, you did it! You wrestled the Malach!

REB CHAIMY
(laughing, wincing)
Of course I did. Jacob wasn’t the only one who could fight for a blessing. Now, set a course for the next mission. We’ve got sparks to gather, worlds to redeem, and plenty of matzos to bake!


---

The ship zooms off into the stars, leaving the Malach behind, glowing faintly as it fades into the cosmic void.

TO BE CONTINUED...

4 months ago | [YT] | 1

Awtsmoos עצמות

B"H



Title: Rick and Morty: The Ein Sof Paradox


---

ACT 1: The Awakening

Open with Rick and Morty in the garage. Morty is holding a strange artifact covered in glowing Hebrew letters.

Morty: (panicking) Rick, what is this thing? I just found it on the coffee table! It started glowing, and now I can’t stop thinking about… uh… infinity! And also something about… fire letters?

Rick: (casually) Oh, that’s the Ohr HaGanuz Resonator. Totally harmless. Well, unless you accidentally access the primordial essence of all existence. Did you touch the glowing part?

Morty: (nervous) Uh… maybe?

The artifact glows brighter, and suddenly the room dissolves into fractals of glowing light. Rick and Morty find themselves floating in an endless void.

Morty: (freaking out) W-where are we?!

Rick: (annoyed) Congratulations, Morty. You just yanked us into the realm of the Ein Sof. Infinite light, infinite potential, yadda yadda yadda.

Morty: (terrified) Infinite?! That sounds… bad!

Rick: (rolling his eyes) Infinite’s just a buzzword for “weird beyond comprehension.” Don’t overthink it.

A figure appears, cloaked in shifting, indescribable patterns.

Awtsmoos: (calmly) I am the Awtsmoos, the source of all. Welcome to my infinite essence.

Morty: (whispering to Rick) Rick, what’s an Awtsmoos? Is that, like, a cosmic jellyfish or something?

Rick: (snapping) It’s the unknowable essence of reality, Morty! Pay attention. This is important metaphysical stuff, and you’ve already screwed it up.

Awtsmoos: (ignoring them) You have come at an auspicious time. The balance between Tzimtzum (contraction) and Hitpashtut (expansion) is unraveling. If it fails, all realms—physical and spiritual—will collapse into chaos.

Morty: (still panicking) Collapse?! What do we do?!

Rick: (smirking) Relax, Morty. We just need to re-harmonize the Sefirot. Easy peasy.

Awtsmoos waves a hand, and a glowing Tree of Life diagram appears, its spheres flickering chaotically.

Awtsmoos: You must journey through each Sefirah to restore its balance. Only then will the Ein Sof stabilize. But beware—each Sefirah contains a test of your essence.

Morty: (desperate) Tests?! Why can’t we just, like, unplug it and plug it back in?

Rick: (grinning) Because, Morty, this is cosmic adventure stuff! Strap in.


---

ACT 2: The Journey

Rick and Morty enter Chesed (Kindness), represented as a glowing, infinite ocean.

Rick: (bored) Oh, great. A Sefirah about being nice. Riveting.

A giant, friendly whale swims up to them.

Whale: Welcome, travelers! In Chesed, you must demonstrate selfless generosity.

Morty: (hesitant) Uh… I guess I could… give you some of my allowance?

Whale: (disappointed) Material things are meaningless here. You must give of yourself.

Rick: (grinning) Hey Morty, how about you let the whale eat you? That’d be super generous.

Morty: (yelling) WHAT?!

Chaos ensues, but Morty eventually gives up his fear to help the whale, balancing Chesed.


---

Cut to Gevurah (Discipline), a volcanic wasteland.

Rick: (examining the surroundings) Alright, Morty, now it’s time for discipline. You gotta master your urges.

Morty: (mumbling) I don’t even have any urges.

A giant lava monster emerges, roaring.

Monster: FACE YOUR TRUE SELF!

Morty is forced to confront his insecurities, ultimately learning self-control, restoring Gevurah.


---

They travel through other Sefirot: Tiferet, Netzach, Hod, Yesod, and Malchut, each with a bizarre challenge and increasingly ridiculous scenarios, like Morty defeating an army of metaphorical frogs in Netzach and Rick outsmarting a literal mirror version of himself in Hod.


---

ACT 3: The Twist

Finally, they reach Keter, the Crown, symbolizing the unknowable will of the Awtsmoos.

Awtsmoos: You have done well, but one challenge remains. To balance Keter, you must surrender the illusion of control.

Morty: (confused) Surrender? But we’ve been doing all this stuff to fix things!

Rick: (growing serious) Morty, that’s the joke. The Awtsmoos isn’t about doing. It’s about being.

Morty: (panicking) But if we don’t fix it, everything collapses!

Rick sighs and steps forward.

Rick: Fine, I’ll do it. I surrender.

The moment Rick surrenders, everything dissolves into pure light. Morty screams, but suddenly they’re back in the garage. The artifact is gone.

Morty: (shaking) What… what just happened?

Rick: (pouring a drink) We fixed it, Morty. Or maybe it fixed us. Who knows?

Morty: (staring at Rick) But… what was the point?

Rick: (smirking) The point, Morty, is that there’s no point. And that’s what makes it awesome. Now, go clean the garage.

Morty: (yelling) WHAT?!

Roll credits.


---

Post-Credit Scene

Cut to a council of angelic beings debating the effects of Rick and Morty’s journey. One shakes its head.

Angel 1: They destabilized Hod again.

Angel 2: (sighs) Typical.


---

End.

4 months ago | [YT] | 4