![]() My late rebbe, R' Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, zt"l, (זכר צדיק לברכה) was a master storyteller. He taught: "a good story is one where the mind surprises the heart". "A Year of Stories" is dedicated to his memory. I invite you to forward the link to these stories so that they find their way into the hearts of other listeners and tellers. ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ A man woke up in confusion every morning. He never remembered where he put his clothes the night before, and every morning he would spend a lot of time searching for the things he needed to put on. One night he hit upon a brilliant idea. He exclaimed, "I need a system! I must have an accounting for everything." And so that evening he made a list, writing down the exact location of each article of his clothing. He then pinned the note on his pillow, and fell asleep. When he awoke the next morning the first thing he saw was the list. He immediately reached for it and with the note in hand, he confidently rose from his bed and read the list aloud. "Pants - bedpost. Check. Shoes - under the bed. Check. Socks - in the shoes. Check." As he checked off each article of clothing, he put them on - one by one - until he reached the last of the items. "Cap - doorknob. Check!" With a final flourish, he placed the cap on top of his head, and smiled. "There, I did it, it worked!" In the next moment however his smile turned to concern, for as he checked the list one last time he realized that something was missing. "Hmmm....," he wondered. "Where am I?" ******************* Story re-crafted by R' Mark Novak from a version found in The Stories We Pray by Joel Luric Grishaver, who crafted his version from Chasidic Tales Re-Told, edited by Edith Samuel and prepared by R' Harvey Fields (out of print). A personal note: When a storyteller follows up a story by telling the listener what it means, my heart sinks and my mind withdraws. I leave it to you, gentle reader, to place these stories into the context of your personal journey, gleaning whatever meaning or interpretation resonates within. ***************** Let me know if you use the story and in what context. And......I'd love to hear YOUR stories! And if you are enjoying these stories/teachings and would like to support our work please consider offering a tax deductible donation to DC's Jewish Renewal community, Minyan Oneg Shabbat. Thank you. ***************** If you would like to be added to the growing list of "Year of Stories" followers, let me know at [email protected], with "Year of Stories" in the subject line.
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A Tale from India, China, or some say Stanislav
Re-crafted by R' Mark Novak from various sources There was a water-bearer who had two large pots, one hung on each end of a pole, which she carried on a yoke across her neck. One of the pots had a crack in it, while the other was as perfect as the day it was crafted. And each day the water-bearer would draw water from the stream and return up the long, narrow pathway to her mistress’s house. Each day as she made her steep climb. By the time she returned to the house the pot with the crack had leaked half its water . The other pot remained full, always delivering a full portion. This went on daily for days, months, years - with the water-bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water to her mistress’s house. And then one day, as they stood at the edge of the river, the cracked pot apologized to the water-bearer for its imperfection. After years of arriving half-empty and feeling guilty, it spilled its heart out. "I am so very sorry, and I want to apologize to you.” “What do you have to be sorry for?” asked the water-bearer. “I am ashamed that I can’t accomplish what I was fashioned to do. I am ashamed because the crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your mistress’s house. Look at your other bucket - he doesn’t leak. I don’t know why you didn’t use me for kindling a long time ago. What good is a bucket that leaks? With great compassion, the water-bearer replied, “Let us return to the house, and as we walk, you will look and see.” And so they did, and as they progressed up the hill, the water-bearer made a grand gesture toward the ground beneath the bucket, pointing out the same path that they had walked for years. “Look at your side of the path - the yellow daises, the red nasurtium, , the pink and purple asters.” The water-bearer then turned her body, so that the pot could see the other side of the path. “Now, look at the other side - it is nothing but gravel and dirt.” “I don’t understand,” said the cracked pot. The water-bearer smiled. “ I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day as we returned from the stream, you watered them. The seeds sprouted and grew, and every day I return to pick beautiful flowers to adorn my mistress’s table. If you were not just the way you are, she would not have such beauty to grace her house.” ***************** Please let me know if you use the story and in what context. I'd love to hear YOUR stories. Enjoy a beautiful animated version of the story at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h9Z60Msvm3c ***************** My late rebbe, R' Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, zt"l, (זכר צדיק לברכה) was a master storyteller. He taught: "a good story is one where the mind surprises the heart". "A Year of Stories" is dedicated to his memory. I invite you to forward the link to these stories so that they find their way into the hearts of other tellers and listeners. ***************** And if you are enjoying these stories/teachings and would like to support our work please consider offering a tax deductible donation to DC's Jewish Renewal community, Minyan Oneg Shabbat. Thank you. ***************** If you would like to be added to the growing list of "Year of Stories" followers, let me know at [email protected], with "Year of Stories" in the subject line. ![]() There once was a Jew who went out into the world to seek justice. Somewhere, he was certain, true justice must exist, but he had never found it. So he set out on a quest that lasted for many years. He went from town to town and village to village, and everywhere he went, he searched for justice, but never did he find it. In this way many years passed, until the man had explored all of the known world except for one last, great forest. He entered that dark forest without hesitation, for by now he was fearless, and he went everywhere in it. He went into the caves of the thieves, but they mocked him, and said, "Do you expect to find justice here?" And he went into the huts of witches, where they were stirring their brews, but they laughed at him and said, "Do you expect to find justice here?" The man went deeper and deeper into that forest, until at last he arrived at a little clay hut. Through the window he saw many flickering flames, and he was curious about them. So he went to the door and knocked. No answer. He knocked again. Nothing. At last he pushed the door open and stepped inside. Now, as soon as he stepped inside that cottage, the man realized that it was much larger on the inside than it had seemed to be from the outside. It was filled with hundreds of shelves, and on every shelf there were dozens of oil candles. Some of those candles were in precious holders of gold or silver or marble, and some were in cheap holders of clay or tin. And some of the holders were filled with oil and the flames burned brightly, while others had very little oil left. All at once, an old man, with a long white beard, wearing a white robe, appeared before him. “Shalom aleichem, my son,” the old man said. “How can I help you?” The man replied, “Aleichem shalom. I have gone everywhere searching for justice, but never have I seen anything like this. Tell me, what are all these candles?”. The old man said, “each of these candles is the candle of a person’s soul. As long as the candle continues to burn that person remains alive. But when the candle burns out that persons soul takes leave of this world.” The man asked, “can you show me the candle of my soul?” “Follow me,” the old man said, and he led him through that long labyrinth of a cottage, which the man now saw must be endless. At last they reached a low shelf, and there the old man pointed to a candle in a holder of clay and said, “that is the candle of your soul.” Now the man took one look at that flickering candle, and a great fear fell upon him, for the wick of that candle was very short, and there was very little oil and it looked as if it any moment the week would slide into the oil and sputter out. He began to tremble. Could the end be so near without his knowing it? Then he noticed the candle next to his own, also in a clay holder, but that one was full of oil, and its wick was long and straight and its flame burned brightly. “And whose candle is that?” The man asked. “I can only reveal each man’s candle to himself alone,” the old man said, and he turned and left. The man stood there, quaking. All at once he heard a sputtering sound, and when he looked up, he saw smoke rising from another shelf, and he knew that somewhere, someone was no longer among the living. He looked back at his own candle and saw that there were only a few drops of oil left. Then he looked again at the candle next to his own, so full of oil, and a terrible thought entered his mind. He stepped back and searched for the old man in every corner of the cottage, but he didn’t see him anywhere. Then he picked up the candle next to his own and lifted it up above his own. At that instant the old man appeared out of nowhere and grabbed his arm with a group like iron. And the old man said: “Is this the kind of justice you are seeking?” ****************Note: This is where I end the story when I tell it. The story as written continues for one more paragraph. Which version do you prefer, and why? The man closed his eyes because it hurt so much. And when he opened his eyes, he saw that the old man was gone, and the cottage and the candles had all disappeared. And he found himself standing alone in the forest and he heard the trees whispering his fate. And he wondered, had his candle burned out? Was he, too, no longer among the living? (Story as crafted by Howard Schwartz in his must-have-in-your-library, Tree of Souls, Pg 43-45. Howard notes two verses from Tanach that resonate through this story: צדק צדק תרדוף (Deut 16:20) and נֵר יְהוָה, נִשְׁמַת אָדָם (Proverbs 20:27). Beautiful. ***************** My late rebbe, R' Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, zt"l, (זכר צדיק לברכה) was a master storyteller. He taught: "a good story is one where the mind surprises the heart". "A Year of Stories" is dedicated to his memory. I invite you to forward the link to these stories so that they find their way into the hearts of other tellers and listeners. ***************** And if you are enjoying these stories/teachings and would like to support our work please consider offering a tax deductible donation to DC's Jewish Renewal community, Minyan Oneg Shabbat. Thank you. ***************** If you would like to be added to the growing list of "Year of Stories" followers, let me know at [email protected], with "Year of Stories" in the subject line.
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My late rebbe, R' Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, zt"l, (זכר צדיק לברכה) was a master storyteller. He taught: "a good story is one where the mind surprises the heart". "A Year of Stories" is dedicated to his memory. I invite you to forward the link to these stories so that they find their way into the hearts of other tellers and listeners. ******************* If you would like to be added to the growing list of "Year of Stories" followers, let me know at [email protected], with "Year of Stories" in the subject line. ******************* And if you are enjoying these stories/teachings and would like to support our work please consider offering a tax deductible donation to DC's Jewish Renewal community, Minyan Oneg Shabbat. Thank you. ![]() There was once a great rabbi, the sage of his age. A more righteous person was not to be found in his generation. He gathered his disciples, looked at each in turn, smiled, and breathed his last. A few days later, his chief disciple has a dream. In his dream, the rebbe was returning to be recyled into this world. "Rebbe!" the disciple said in alarm, "why are you coming back? You lived the most perfect of lives! What is there that could possibly have been left undone?" The rebbe smiled at the disciple in his dream, and said, "Do you remember when I was dying and you and all of my finest students gathered around my bed? Do you remember when I looked at each of you, and then I closed my eyes and smiled? Well. in that moment, I reviewed my entire life, and I saw that any opportunity there had been to learn a word of Torah, I had learned. And any opportunity there had been to do a mitzvah, I had done it. With that I breathed a sigh of satisfaction and my soul left my body." The disciple asked, "So rebbe, where was the imperfection?" "In that moment of satisfaction" (Story from R' Mitch Chefitz's The Seventh Telling. Please share other citations) ******************* My late rebbe, R' Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, zt"l, (זכר צדיק לברכה) was a master storyteller. He taught: "a good story is one where the mind surprises the heart". "A Year of Stories" is dedicated to his memory. I invite you to forward the link to these stories so that they find their way into the hearts of other tellers and listeners. ******************* If you would like to be added to the growing list of "Year of Stories" followers, let me know at [email protected], with "Year of Stories" in the subject line. *************** A personal note: When a storyteller follows up a story by telling the listener what it means, my heart sinks and my mind withdraws. I leave it to you, gentle reader, to place these stories into the context of your personal journey, gleaning whatever meaning or interpretation resonates within. |
Mark Novak is a "free-range" rabbi who lives in Washington DC and works, well, just about everywhere. In 2012 he founded Minyan Oneg Shabbat, home to MOSH (Minyan Oneg Shabbat), MindfulMOSH (Jewish mindfulness gathering), and Archives
June 2017
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