What may be said of the Tzaddik?
Surely nothing that any mortal mind can grasp.
For who can speak of a love so intense, so pure and untained that not even the pure breath of a newborn child can compare.
Like a budded rose, its beauty hidden from the world until it blooms with a radiance like the heavens,
with a song like that of the stars in the midnight sky.
Nothing can touch it,
nothing can grasp onto it,
It is too holy,
A concencrated kiss from the Shekinah, Oh holy Virgin! Holy Mother!
The very presence is like a soft carress, the breath as terrifying as thunder, Words like lightning striking the earth.
What may be said of the Tzaddik? He has eaten my heart and swallowed it,
May my skull be made a cup of offering if it will please him,
my body ripped open upon the altar of sacrifice to appease this great hunger!
Let every gesture, every hair on the head of the taddik be blessed by our Io Adonai, for ever and ever,
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