The innkeeper approached and began to pour out his grief. “Woe is me, Rebbe. Advise me!” he cried. The boy did not answer, but dug holes in the ground and set sticks into them. “Dear Rebbe, what counsel shall I take away with me?” the innkeeper demanded. “You fool,” the Rebbe said angrily, “don’t you see these holes I’m digging?” The innkeeper caught an inkling of his meaning and went back home. There his wife ran to greet him, crying, “The wicked squire is dead, may his bones be scattered! He was careless as he was hunting and shot himself. We’re saved.”
110
The Disciple Who Went Astray
A former disciple paid a visit once to the Rebbe of Ostrovets. The Rebbe observed that the young man had changed in some way—something was amiss with him. The Rebbe asked him what had gone wrong. The disciple explained that while studying for his rabbinical examination he had begun to read secular books, and that they so absorbed him that he was neglecting his studies.
The Rebbe inquired, “Have you read one of those books today?”
“Yes,” the disciple replied.
The Rebbe said, “Tell me what the story was about.”
The disciple said, “Why should I trouble the Rebbe with an old wives’ tale?”
But the Rebbe insisted, and so the disciple told the story. It was about a man on a journey who was terribly hungry because he had nothing to eat. He found a lump of iron that was as round as a head and covered with mud. He picked it up, but he couldn’t eat it. He went on his way and came upon a man who was carrying a horse’s head. And of course the head could be eaten. So he said, “Give me the horse’s head, because I’m dying of hunger.”
The other man said, “Let me have the lump of iron and I’ll give you the horse’s head.”
And so the hungry man gave him the lump of iron and got the horse’s head to eat.
The other man took the lump of iron home with him. After he scraped the mud off, he discovered that it was a lump of gold. He said, “If the other fellow had known that it was a lump of gold, he never would have made the trade.”
The Rebbe said, “Do you know who that story is meant for? It’s meant for you. You had a golden head, and you’ve traded it for the head of a horse.”
111
The Rebbe’s Melody
The Hasidim held that deep secrets of the Torah could be found hidden in melodies. According to the teller of this tale, it was said of Reb Shneyer Zalmen, the founder of Habad Hasidism, that before he sat down to his studies he would sing the following song:
All the angels, all the seraphim
Ask who God may be.
Ah woe, what can we reply?
“No thought can be attached to Him.”
All the peoples—every nation—
Ask where God may be.
Ah woe, what can we reply?
“No place is without Him.”
There is a third stanza, said the storyteller, but he could not remember it. Tradition has it that Reb Shneyer Zalmen wrote ten songs to accompany each of the ten mystical sfires, the divine emanations in which God’s creative power unfolds, according to Cabalistic doctrine. One of those melodies, wide-spread among the Hasidim, was known as “The Rebbe’s Melody.” And about it, the storyteller told the following tale.
One Sabbath day Reb Shneyer Zalmen was explicating Torah to his disciples. As he spoke, he noticed an old man, a stranger to him, sitting tensely opposite him. The man was staring into the Rebbe’s eyes and seemed to be trying desperately to understand what was being said, but it was clear from the grieving look on his face that he could not.
When the Rebbe retired into his study, he sent for the stranger and asked him if he had comprehended the day’s discourse. The man wept as he replied that he had been unable to follow the holy words. He explained that he had been orphaned at an early age. And his mother had been too poor to keep him in primary school, because she needed his help in supporting the family. So he became a workingman, and later, when he married, he did not have time for Torah study because he was supporting his wife and children. “All I can do,” he said, “is to recite the Psalms. And though I recite them daily, I don’t understand them too well.
“Now in my later years, with my children grown and out of the house, I find myself drawn to the study of Torah, but the scholars in the synagogue laugh at me.
“And so, having heard that you befriend all men, I’ve come to sit at your table to study along with the others. It’s made me very happy to be a man among men at last. But when you begin to explain the Torah and I can’t understand what you’re saying, my happiness curdles and my joy turns to grief.
“Rebbe, Holy Rebbe, tell me how to become worthy of studying with you. What must I do to understand the Torah?”
The man bowed his head and the tears streamed down his face. Reb Shneyer Zalmen put his hand on the man’s shoulder and said gently, “No more tears. Today is the Sabbath and one may not be sad on the Sabbath.
“What you heard me explaining today was the Baal Shem Tov’s conception of Hasidism. And if you haven’t understood what I said in words, I’ll help you by singing a song. Listen, for all of the Baal Shem’s thought is hidden in it.”
And here Reb Shneyer Zalmen began to sing a sweet melody, one phrase after another. The man listened as if he had been turned into a pillar of attention. Not so much as an eyebrow moved. And the more the Rebbe sang, the brighter was the glow in the man’s face. He felt his soul being transported. A warm flush of happiness surged through him. When the Rebbe finished singing, the man cried out, “Rebbe, I understand, I understand. Ah, Rebbe, I feel worthy now to be your student.”
And from then on, it was the Rebbe’s custom to sing that melody at the conclusion of his discourses as a way of clarifying them, just in case there was someone at his table who could not fully understand his words.
And the melody is known to this day as “The Rebbe’s Melody.”
112
Don’t go into the Mud in the First Place
When the Rebbe of Radzin was still quite a young man, he came into his shtibl one day and found a couple of Hasidim engaged in an intense scholarly debate, which they could not bring to a conclusion. Because the Rebbe of Radzin was famous for his scholarship, they asked him to decide between them. Instead, he told the following tale:
Once a group of wagon drivers sat talking at an inn. As often happens, the oldest of them presided over the conversation. And now he pointed at a young man and asked, “Who is that young fellow?”
“He’s a young wagon driver,” was the reply.
“Come here, my son,” the old driver said. “Tell me, what do you do when your horses draw your wagon into the mud?”
“You put a lever under the rear axle and lift the wagon out,” replied the young man.
“Oho, clever lad,” said the oldest driver. “But what happens if the lever sinks into the mud as well?”
“You take a beam and put it under the lever.”
“Clever. Oh, very clever. And you call yourself a wagon driver? If you’ve got a lever and a beam, there’s no problem. But what if you don’t have either?”
The young man stood silent, unable to reply.
“I’ll tell you what,” the old wagon driver said. “A good driver doesn’t let his horses pull the wagon into the mud in the first place.”
And with that the Radzin Rebbe showed the two scholars how deeply they had sunk into the mire.
113
The Missed Moment of Redemption
The Rebbe of Kaliv was one of the greatest of the Hungarian Rebbes. On the anniversary of his death Jews were granted the privilege of traveling to Kaliv by train free of charge. All they had to do was show a certificate from the city council.
It happened once that the Rebbe of Vizhnits sent three of his disciples to Kaliv for the Passover holiday. When they arrived and made their way to the Rebbe’s house, they found him outside chopping wood. They greeted him in the usual fashion, and the Rebbe honored them with
the task of carrying in the wood. That, he said, would make them worthy of sharing his Passover meal.
They carried in the wood and waited impatiently for the holiday celebration to begin. Certainly the Vizhnits Rebbe would not have sent them such a great distance on Passover evening for nothing. They sat around the seyder table expectantly. The Rebbe, smiling the same sort of enigmatic smile as when he had bidden them carry wood, sat down with them. Then a Gentile boy and girl arrived and helped themselves to the Passover wine, after which all three, the Rebbe and the boy and girl, danced a cheerful dance, a freylekhs, together. They danced off into another room while the Vizhnits disciples looked at each other in dismay. What had they fallen into? “It must be that we have stumbled into the company of Satan. May the Merciful One help us to survive this holiday.”
The Rebbe came back and, looking pleased, inquired, “Well, how did you like them? Not a bad couple, eh? Do you approve of their betrothal?”
When they replied that they had not come to arrange any betrothals, the Rebbe became disconsolate and the service proceeded in silence.
After the first days of Passover, the disciples traveled home discontentedly. It goes without saying that they were also somewhat irritated with the Rebbe of Vizhnits, to whom they promptly reported the disturbing Passover they had had. “Ah,” groaned the Rebbe, “fools that you are. Had you but approved of the betrothal, then the Redemption would have come. Because the two Gentiles, the boy and the girl, were actually the angels Michael and Gabriel.”
114
The Mekarev Rebbe gets Even with a Stingy Woman
Well, let me tell you a story that I myself heard some time ago from the old Rebbe of Mekarev, may he rest in peace. When it was time for me to do my military service, my mother, may she rest in peace, who was a follower of the Mekarev Rebbe, begged me to go with her to visit him. Well, at first I was reluctant, but finally she persuaded me. We came to the Rebbe’s house and spent the Sabbath there. On Sabbath night the Rebbe presided over a large and densely packed company. I pushed my way through the crowd hoping to hear a few of the Rebbe’s good words. And the Rebbe was telling some sort of tale—what it was illustrating, I can’t remember. But what I’m going to tell you is word for word what I heard the Rebbe say.
“Gentlemen,” said the Rebbe of Mekarev, “listen. This happened a few years ago. My shames and I were traveling and came to a nearby village.” (The Rebbe gave the name of the village, but I can’t remember it just now.) “We stayed at an inn for a few days. The innkeeper’s wife, a mother of six daughters, asked me to pray that she might bear a son. If she had a son there would be someone to say kadesh, the mourner’s prayer, for her and her husband when the time came. Well, I agreed to pray for her and she promised me eighteen rubles in payment for my help.*
“A year went by and Czar Nicholas issued an edict which, you may remember, forbade Jews to travel. Well! A royal decree. Several years went by and, of course, we did not travel. But then the decree was canceled. During the period when we were not permitted to travel, I learned that the innkeeper’s wife had, with God’s help, given birth to a son. So I sent my shames to the village to ask for the eighteen rubles. The innkeeper’s wife carried on at a great rate and absolutely refused to pay. ‘These are hard times,’ she said. ‘We can’t pay. I’ll send the money when things get better.’
“Well, what can you do? Curse her? After all, she’s the mother of small children. Curse the child? Why? What have I got against the child? So I prayed that God would send her twins the following year. And the good Lord complied. Miraculously, she gave birth to twins. Not a month later, the innkeeper’s wife hurried in to see me, crying, ‘Rebbe! Be good enough to pray for me. Ask the good Lord not to send me any more sons—or daughters either. Here,’ she said, with tears in her eyes, ‘here are the eighteen rubles I promised you. Take them.’ ”
And that’s the sort of holy men there were in those times. Where do you find their like today?
* Eighteen is considered a lucky number in Jewish lore. The letter value of the number eighteen can be represented in Hebrew as the word khay, meaning “life.”
115
The Happy Pair and the Baal Shem Tov
A stingy tavern keeper who leased his tavern and a mill from the local nobleman had a manservant and a maidservant who were in love. The young couple could not marry because they did not have enough money. The maidservant had fifty rubles all told; and the manservant had fifty rubles all told. Each of them was saving the money for when they would marry.
In a nearby village there was a Jew who could not pay the rent on his house, and the nobleman decreed that he must hang. The man appealed to the Jewish community, crying, “Will you see me hanged for fifty rubles?”
No one came forward to save him, however, and the day came when the poor man was to die. Minutes before the hanging, the two servants cried, “Stop! We’ll pay the fifty rubles.” And thus the man was rescued from certain death.
Someone went to the Baal Shem Tov and told him the story, but he said, “I know about it. I’m going to see them tomorrow.”
The next day the Baal Shem Tov arrived in the village and had himself driven to the tavern where the two servants worked. When he had eaten and drunk, the Baal Shem turned to the young couple and asked them why they were still unmarried. The maidservant said, “We don’t have enough money.” And she started to tell him the story of the fifty rubles.
The Baal Shem said, “I know all about that. But do you still want to marry this young man?”
She replied, “What’s the good of saying I want to, if we haven’t got the wherewithal?”
The Baal Shem Tov said, “I’ll see to it that you’re married.” And he took them into town and saw to it that they were properly clothed, and then bought them whatever else they might need for their marriage.
At the wedding the Baal Shem asked the stingy tavern keeper what he would give the couple as a wedding present. The tavern keeper replied, “I can’t give them anything. I have children of my own, and who knows what will happen to me later in life? I can’t deprive my children of their inheritance.”
“In that case,” said the Baal Shem to the tavern keeper, I’ll give them wedding presents in your name. I’ll give them the tavern and the mill.”
This remark struck the man as so farfetched that he simply ignored it and walked off.
After the wedding the Baal Shem Tov invited the couple to come home with him. He told them to take a good deal of food with them. Then, just as they started out, the Baal Shem Tov suddenly disappeared, and the young couple were left alone in the countryside.
They walked and walked until they were in the middle of a forest. There they heard someone groaning. They went closer and the groaning got louder and louder. Suddenly, they came upon a pit and there in the pit lay a man and a horse. When the man saw the couple he said very weakly, “I’m hungry.” So the couple threw food down to him until he had eaten his fill and grown strong enough to climb out of the pit.
Well, how was it that the man and the horse happened to be there? As it turned out, he was the son of the nobleman who owned the tavern run by the stingy tavern keeper. The nobleman’s son had been missing for three days and was being sought everywhere. He had been on his way someplace when he fell into the pit, and if it had not been for the young couple, he would certainly have died of hunger.
Well, they all rode together to the nobleman’s house, and what celebration there was! The young nobleman told the whole story of how the couple had rescued him from death. In the evening, there was a great banquet, and the young nobleman’s mother called to the assembled company, “Let me have your advice. What shall I give the couple who rescued my son from death?”
All the people shouted, “Let them have the mill and the tavern!”
And so the stingy tavern keeper and his family had to leave their home and become beggars, while the former servants took over the tavern and the mill and became very rich.
B
ut that’s not the end of the story. The Baal Shem Tov wanted to test whether they still had any memory of their earlier lives as poor folk. So he came to their village, but before entering their house he lay down in a puddle and got himself thoroughly dirty.
When he came into the house, a servant girl cried, “Get out of here. Just look at you, what a filthy mess you are.” The former maidservant, hearing this, came running in and scolded the servant girl and asked the man to come inside and brought him food at once.
Then the disguised Baal Shem said that he wanted a place to sleep, and the former maidservant prepared a bed for him. The Baal Shem said, “I’m not going to undress; I’m going to get into bed wrapped in my coat.”
“Well,” said the innkeeper’s wife, “never mind, just go to sleep. If the sheets get dirty, we’ll wash them.”
The next morning, after the Baal Shem Tov had eaten the breakfast the innkeeper’s wife served him, he told the couple who he was. He blessed them with happiness and abundance, then disappeared.
That’s the sort of thing the Baal Shem Tov used to do.
116
The Fleet-Footed Tomeshef Rebbe
The butchers of Tomeshef were traveling homeward on a certain Friday evening. When night began to fall, they calculated how much farther they still had to go, and they realized that even if they had horses fleeter than winged serpents, they would not arrive until after the lighting of the Sabbath candles.
As they rode through the forest some seven kilometers from Tomeshef, they saw Reb Yisrulishl, the Rebbe of Tomeshef, making his way home. They introduced themselves and offered him a seat in their wagon. But he refused, saying, “Go on, go on. I won’t ride with you, but you’d better go swiftly or you’ll not arrive until after the blessing of the Sabbath candles.”
Yiddish Folktales Page 25