Two violinists make a pact that whoever dies first, he will contact the other and tell him what life in Heaven is like. Poor Max has a heart attack and dies. He manages to make contact with Abe the

Two violinists make a pact that whoever dies first, he will contact the other and tell him what life in Heaven is like.

Poor Max has a heart attack and dies. A week later, while Abe is polishing his violin in his quiet apartment, the room suddenly fills with a warm golden light, the air smells faintly of rosin and fresh sheet music, and Max’s voice floats down as if piped in from a celestial rehearsal hall.

“ABE! It’s me, Max!”

Abe nearly drops his metronome. “Max?! You actually did it! You made contact! So? What’s it like up there?”

Max says, “Oh Abe… it’s magnificent! Endless concert halls, perfectly tuned instruments, and every piece you’ve ever wanted to play — with the actual composers! Just this morning, I played a duet with Paganini. And let me tell you, he cheats less than I expected.”

Abe chuckles. “That’s incredible! And the audiences?”

“Always packed,” Max says. “And polite! They don’t cough during pianissimo passages, and no one claps between movements!”

Abe gasps, “It is heaven!”

Max continues, “Oh, and get this — in Heaven, everyone always has perfect rhythm. Even triangle players.”

Abe laughs. “This sounds better than I ever imagined. So is it all good news?”

“Well…” Max pauses.

Abe narrows his eyes. “What do you mean well?”

Max sighs. “You’re not going to believe this, but… I’ve been promoted to lead violin in the Celestial Philharmonic.”

“Hey, that’s amazing!”

“Yeah, it was. Until I checked the rehearsal schedule… Abe… you’re booked to conduct next Tuesday.”