My friend and colleague R' Leila Gal Berner shared this sweet story with me. R' Zalman tz"l brought so much joy to so many of us, what more fitting way to enter into the month of Adar. מרבים בשמחה Marbim B'simcha! May Our Joy Increase! When I was a student at the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College, I had the honor of spending a fair amount of time learning with Reb Zalman at the P’nai Or house on Emlen Street. During that time, Zalman and I would take walks in the neighborhood. Since Mt. Airy is an old neighborhood, the sidewalks were very uneven and it was always necessary to look down when walking in order not to trip and fall flat on one’s face. Simply strolling was impossible.
One day, walking and gazing down at the sidewalk carefully, Reb Zalman spotted a centipede. Bending down, he gently scooped the centipede up and placed it on his arm. As it undulated up and down Zalman’s arm, my rebbe spoke quietly, “Baruch HaShem, Leila leybn, that we can gain such wisdom from this little creature! Look at its many legs. You know, we are like the centipede. We each walk on hundreds of feet and it is only somewhere in our lives that we discover our genuine two feet. All the others feel inauthentic, unreal, like marshmallows, like pillows. We don’t really feel anything beneath our feet and we aren’t really connected to the vitality of the earth beneath them. But when we discover our ‘real’ feet, we begin to feel deeply connected to holy ground, just as Moshe Rabbeinu felt before the burning bush. With our real feet, we feel heat and cold, and pain. We feel softness and harshness, and sharpness — we feel Life! Make sure, Leila leybn, that you find your authentic feet and walk honestly and humbly on them. Years later, I reminded Reb Zalman of his words about the centipede. My rebbe smiled and simply asked me, “So, nu, have you found your feet yet?” When I answered that I thought so, he laughed and said, “Baruch HaShem.” Thank you Leila for sharing this with us. If you have a story or comment to share, please do so by clicking on the Comments section below ************ Please consider offering a tax deductible donation to support this project and the work of DC's Jewish Renewal community Minyan Oneg Shabbat. If you would like to be added to the growing list of "Year of Stories" followers, let me know at RebMarko@gmail.com, with "Year of Stories" in the subject line.
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I served as shaliach tzibbur this morning at Tiferet Israel in northwest DC. In my usual playful manner of acknowledging (nearly) all things, I overlaid the love song • L-O-V-E • while I chanted the paragraph that begins with Kulam Ahuvim, all are beloved. Much to my delight, this being Valentine's Day, the drash given by TI member Iris Lav was dedicated to love, especially of the romantic kind, not a frequent topic for the either the Torah or for Chazal. Iris presented three stories, two from the Talmud and the other from the commentary to Shir haShirim, the Song of Songs. I plan to use all of these stories in my meeting tomorrow with a lovely couple who are getting married in June. All three stories are worth mining for their deeper meaning. I'd love (pun intended) to hear your take on any of the stories. So if that is your desire (what, another pun?) please comment below. I added Hebrew below in places where there is a likely play on words. • From Babylonian Talmud Bavli 62b Rav Rehumi (רב רחומי) used to learn in Rava's yeshiva in the town of Mahoza. He was accustomed to coming home every Yom Kippur eve. One day he lost himself in his learning. His wife was awaiting him: "Now he's coming, now he's coming,"she thought. He did not come. She grew weak. She let a tear (אחית) fall from her eye. At that moment Rav Rehumi was sitting on the roof. The roof collapsed (אפחית) underneath him. And he fell to his death. (Go back and re-read A Year of Stories #30. Are these two stories related in their underlying message?) Translation from Ruth Calderon, A Bride for One Night • from Shir haShirim Rabah 1:31 (In Babylon) it was taught: If a man has taken a wife and lived with her for ten years, but she has not borne a child, he is nonetheless obligated (to "be fruitful and multiply," and therefore to marry another woman.) R' Idi said: The story is told of a woman from Sidon who lived with her husband for ten years and did not have children. They came before R' Shimon ben Yochai and asked to be divorced from one another. He said to them: "Look here, as you married each other with food and drink, so too may you separate only with food and drink." They went on their way, and made a holiday for themselves. They made a great feast, and she got him too drunk. This brought him back to his senses, and he said to her: "My beloved, if you see anything that you want in my house... ראי כל חפץ טוב שיש לי בבית ...take it and go to your father's." What did she do? After he fell asleep, she called to her servants, saying, "Carry him in his bed to my father's house." At midnight, when the effects of the wine had worn off, he awoke, and said to her,"My beloved, where am I?" She said to him: "In my father's house." He said to her: "What am I doing in your father's house?" She said to him: "Is that not what you said to me last evening, "anything you desire in my house take it and go to your father's house"? There is nothing I desire more in the world than you!" אין חפץ טוב לי בעולם יותר ממך They went before R' Shimon ben Yochai, and he stood and prayed over them, and they had children. (Translation from Ido Hevroni, Midrash As Marriage Guide • Babylonian Talmud Nedarim 66b A son of Babylon went to the land of Israel and took a wife. He said to her: "Cook me a couple of lentils." She cooked him two lentils. He was angry with her. The next day, he said to her, "Cook me a se'ah of lentils (approximately 14 liters). She cooked him a se'ah of lentils. He said to her: Go and bring me two botzinei (can mean either pumpkins or oil lamps) She brought him two oil lamps. He said to her: "Go and break them against the head of the baba (gate) Baba ben Buta was sitting at the city gate and giving judgment. She went and broke them on his head, He said to her, "What have you done?" She said to him, "What my husband bade me to do." He said, "Because you did your husband's bidding, G!d will give you two sons like Baba ben Buta." (translation from Ido Hevroni, The Midrash as Marriage Guide) ************ Please consider offering a tax deductible donation to support this project and the work of DC's Jewish Renewal community Minyan Oneg Shabbat. If you would like to be added to the growing list of "Year of Stories" followers, let me know at RebMarko@gmail.com, with "Year of Stories" in the subject line. When Rabbi DovBer of Lubavitch was a young man, he lived in the same house as his father, Rabbi Schneur Zalman. R’ DovBer and his family lived in the ground floor apartment, and his father R’ Schneur Zalman and mother Sterna lived on the second floor. One night, while R’ DovBer was deeply engrossed in meditation, his youngest child fell out of his cradle. R’ DovBer heard nothing. But his father, R’ Schneur Zalman, who was also immersed in study in his room on the second floor, heard the infant's cries. The Rebbe came downstairs, lifted the infant from the floor, soothed his tears, replaced him in the cradle, and rocked him to sleep. The father said to his son, “ if you are studying so intensely that you can’t hear your own child crying, than you are not meditating.” ************* Adapted by R' Mark Novak, from versions told by R’ David Ingber in a drash on Parshat Mishpatim (here) and R' Yanki Tauber. Rabbi Tauber's version extracts further meaning from Deuteronomy 22:1-3, which ends with the words לא תוכל להתעלם (lo tu'chal l'hit'a'leym) you must not hide yourself. ************ Please consider offering a tax deductible donation to support this project and the work of DC's Jewish Renewal community Minyan Oneg Shabbat. If you would like to be added to the growing list of "Year of Stories" followers, let me know at RebMarko@gmail.com, with "Year of Stories" in the subject line. And here are two Sufi stories to demonstrate just that The Sun & The Cave One day the sun and a cave struck up a conversation. The sun had trouble understanding what “dark” and “dank” meant and the cave didn’t quite get the hang of “light and clear” so they decided to change places. The cave went up to the sun and said, “Ah, I see, this is beyond wonderful. Now come down and see where I have been living.” The sun went down to the cave and said, “Gee, I don’t see any difference.” The Dream A visitor came to a Chishti pir. This visitor wanted to demonstrate his own knowledge of the Qur’an and intended to overpower the Chishti pir in a debate. When he entered, the Chishti pir took the initiative however and mentioned Yusuf and the dreams he has had according to the Qur’an. He then suddenly turned to his visitor and asked him if he could tell him about a dream, so that the visitor may give his interpretation thereof. After receiving permission the Sufi told that he has had a dream and both of them were in it. The Chishti pir then went on by describing the following dream event: “I saw your hand immersed in a jar of honey, while my hand was immersed in the latrine”. The visitor hastened to interpret: “It is quite obvious! You are immersed in wrong pursuits whereas I am leading a righteous life”. “But’, the Sufi said, “there is more to the dream”. The visitor asked him to continue. The Chishti pir then went on by telling this: “You were licking my hand and I was licking yours”. ********************* I found both these stories at http://theunboundedspirit.com/10-sufi-stories/#sthash.fmZpj63J.dpuf ********************* Please consider offering a tax deductible donation to support this project and the work of DC's Jewish Renewal community Minyan Oneg Shabbat. If you would like to be added to the growing list of "Year of Stories" followers, let me know at RebMarko@gmail.com, with "Year of Stories" in the subject line. A delicious story for your Tu b'Shvat gala (puns intended) In a great oak forest where the trees grew tall and majestic, there was a little apple tree. It was the only apple tree in the forest and so it stood alone. Winter came. As the snow fell to the forest floor, it covered the branches of the little apple tree. The forest was quiet and peaceful. One night the little apple tree looked up at the sky and saw a wonderful site. Between the branchesof all the trees, the little apple tree saw the stars in the sky, which appeared to be hanging on the branches of the oak trees. "Oh God oh God," whispered a little apple tree, "how lucky those oak trees are to have such beautiful stars hanging on their branches. I want more than anything in the world to have stars of my branches, just like the oak trees have! Then I would feel truly special! God looked down the little apple tree and said gently, "Have patience! Have patience little apple tree!" Time passed. The snows melted and spring came to the land. Tiny white and pink apple blossoms appeared on the branches of the little apple tree. Birds came to rest on its branches. People walked by the little apple tree and admired it's beautiful blossoms. All summer long, the apple tree continued to grow. The branches of the tree formed a canopy overhead as they filled with leaves and blossoms. But night after night, the little apple tree looked up at the sky with the millions, and millions, and millions - and millions of stars and cried out, "Oh God, I want more than anything in the world to have stars in my tree and on my branches and in my leaves - just like those oak trees." And God looked down at the little apple tree and said, "You already have gifts. Isn't it enough to have shade to offer people, and fragrant blossoms, and branches for birds to nest on so they can sing their song?" The apple tree sighed and answered simply, "Dear God, I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but that is not special enough! I do appreciate how much pleasure I give to others, but what I really want more than anything in the world is to have stars, not blossoms, on my branches that I would feel truly special!" God smiled and answered, "Be patient little apple tree." The seasons changed again. Soon the apple tree was filled with many beautiful apples. People walked in the forest. Whoever saw the apple tree would reach up to pick an apple and eat it. And still, when night came to the forest, the apple tree look at the stars in the oak trees and called out, "Oh God, I want more than anything in the world to have stars in my branches! Then I would feel truly special." And God asked, "But apple tree, isn't it enough that you now have such beautiful apples to offer people? Does that satisfy you? Does that give you enough pleasure and make you feel special? Without saying a word, the apple tree answered by shaking its bracnches from side to side. At that moment, God caused a wind to blow. The great oak trees began to sway and the apple tree began to shake. From the top of the apple tree an apple fell. When it hit the ground, it split open "Look," commanded God, "look inside yourself. What do you see?" The little apple tree looked down and saw that right in the middle of the apple - was a star. And the apple tree answered, "A star! I have a star!" And God laughed a gentlelaugh and added, "So you do have stars on your branches. They've been there all along, you just didn't know it." (Origin unknown. Re-crafted by Peninnah Schram and Rachayl Eckstein Davis in The Chosen Tales) I recall times when as I child I lay sick in bed. My mother would gently rub Vick's VapoRub on my chest, and then cover it with a dry wash cloth. So warm, so soothing, so mentholated. Even now I can feel my mother's hand doing its magic. And when I look at my hands, I see hers - freckled, thin, and yes, aging. If only my hands could pass on comfort as my mother's did. This story took place in the north of Lebanon in the village of Hamadin. And the happening, as told, goes like this: In the village lived a widow and her beautiful daughter, an only child. One day the daughter became ill and was ordered to rest. And so she lay on her bed near the window and looked out at the only tree in the yard. Thus, days, weeks, and months passed, and the autumn came. But the girl's condition didn't improve. On the contrary, she grew worse. And so, one day, as she looked at the tree, she said weakly, "You see, Mother, see those leaves. When the last leaf falls, I will die." The mother's heart grieved, and she watched anxiously as the leaves fell. One cold night the wind howled, and the mother's heart was full of despair, as she saw the wind taking the last leaves. With every leaf her heart sank even deeper. At last there was only one leaf left. What could she do? So the poor woman ran outside, unaware of the cold, the gusts of wind, and the storm. She approached the wall in front of the tree, and there she painted, on the wall, a picture of the last leaf. So good, so accurate was the drawing, that it looked like the last leaf itself. When the girl awoke, she looked out the window, and there she saw one lonely leaf. Days and weeks passed. From time to time she looked out, amd always she saw that last leaf, still hanging on the branch of the tree, A new spirit entered the girl. Slowly, slowly she recovered, and at last she got well. But the mother, by going out on that windy night, had caught cold. She developed tuberculosis, and soon died. When the girl was able to leave her bed, she went outside to see the miracle that had occured: Why had that leaf not fallen? And what did she see? The painting, done by her mother, which had cost her her life for her child's sake. Then the girl realized her mother's great love, and grieved greatly for her mother who, in her own death, had given life to her. The Mother, a Lebanese Folktale, retold by Barbara Rush, from The Jewish Spirit: A Celebration in Stories & Art ººººººººººººººººººººººººººººº
My late rebbe, R' Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, zt"l, (זכר צדיק לברכה) was a master storyteller. He taught, in the name of Abraham Joshua Heschel zt"l: "a mayse is a story in which the soul surprises the mind". "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. ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ Please consider offering a tax deductible donation to support this project and the work of DC's Jewish Renewal community Minyan Oneg Shabbat. If you would like to be added to the growing list of "Year of Stories" followers, let me know at RebMarko@gmail.com, with "Year of Stories" in the subject line. This Thursday I head off to Ohalah, what my wife Renée refers to as "a rabbis convention for unconventional rabbis." This will be the first such gathering since the death of Reb Zalman, tz"l, and will then take on special meaning. This post, A Year of Stories #26, marks the 1/2 year since his death on July 3. A few days ago I received in the mail a hardcover copy of Rebbe, the biography of Reb Menachem Schneerson written by Joseph Telushkin. I had not ordered it, so you can imagine my surprise when I discovered a note inside explaining that it was a gift to me from a pair of philantropists who had underwritten the mailing. Wow, that's a lot of bucks - "gimme loot, chasadim!" I immediately looked in the index for Reb Zalman's name, and of course, found a good number of references to him, as he was a musmach (he had been ordained) by the Central Lubavich Yeshiva in 1947. Through the subsequent years Reb Zalman had many interactions with the person who R' Telushkin calls "the most influential rabbi in modern history." Here is a story that Reb Zalman shared with the author about his Rebbe: When Rabbi Zalman Schacter-Shalomi was Hillel director at the University of Manitoba in Winnepeg, Canad, he brought a group of students to meet with the Rebbe in Brooklin. At the conclusion of the rebbe's opening remaks, one of the students, intending to be blunt rather than disrespectful, asked him, "What's a Rebbe good for?" To this day Reb Zalman remembers his feelings at that moment: "I could have sunk through the floor in embarassment." However, the Rebbe didn't seem offended at all and responded to the query directly: "I can't speak about myself, but I can tell you about my own Rebbe (his father in law). For me, my Rebbe was the geologist of the soul. You see, there are so many treasures in the earth. There is gold, there is silver, and there are diamonds. Bit if you don't know where to dig, you'll only find dirt and rocks, and mud. The Rebbe can tell you where to dig, and what to dig for, but the digging you must do for yourself." from Rebbe, by Joseph Telushkin, Pg 209 also, see Reb Zalman's book The Geologist of the Soul: Talks on Rebbe-Craft and Spiritual Leadership ººººººººººººººººººººººººººººº My late rebbe, R' Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, zt"l, (זכר צדיק לברכה) was a master storyteller. He taught, in the name of Abraham Joshua Heschel zt"l: "a mayse is a story in which the soul surprises the mind". "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. ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ Please consider offering a tax deductible donation to support this project and the work of DC's Jewish Renewal community Minyan Oneg Shabbat. If you would like to be added to the growing list of "Year of Stories" followers, let me know at RebMarko@gmail.com, with "Year of Stories" in the subject line. Some stories are just plain puzzling, disturbing, or head scratching, with an easy way in but no easy way out. As we head into 2015, I offer you one of those stories, from Tales of the Dervishes by Idries Shah, Pg. 31. Nuri Bey was a reflective and respected Albanian, who had married a wife much younger than himself. One evening when he had returned home earlier than usual, a faithful servant came to him and said: "Your wife, is acting suspiciously. She is in her apartment with a huge chest, large enough to hold a man, which belonged to your grandmother. It should contain only a few ancient embroideries. I believe that there may now be much more in it. She will not allow me, your oldest retainer, to look inside." Nuri went to his wife's room, and found her sitting disconsolately beside the massive wooden box. "Will you show me what is in the chest?" he asked. "Because of the suspicion of a servant, or because you do not trust me?" "Would it not be easier to just open it, without thinking about the undertones?" asked Nuri. "I do not think it is possible." "Is it locked?" "Yes." "Where is the key?" She held it up, "Dismiss the servant and I will give it to you." The servant was dismissed. The woman handed over the key and herself withdrew, obviously troubled in mind. Nuri Bey thought for a long time. Then he called four gardeners from his estate. Together they carried the chest by night unopened to a distant part of the grounds and buried it. The matter was never referred to again. (Idries Shah's notes follow the story: This tantalizing story is part of the repertoire of wandering (Kalandar) dervishes, whose patron saint is the 13th century Yusuf of Andulusia.) This Tuesday I am heading off to attend a silent meditation retreat led by my friend and colleague Rabbi James Jacobsen-Maisels. Years ago this song, Silence, was literally "delivered" to me in whole from somewhere beyond my conscious mind. The song itself is a meditation, and I invite you to close your eyes, breath slowly and deeply, and receive it as I did, in quiet contemplation. Blessings for a light-filled Hanukkah. Silence
Music/Lyrics Mark Novak and angelic shlichim Once upon a time there was the silence Hope was still a memory of future days ahead The waters parted company in silence And heaven kissed the earth so softly snuggled in her bed. The quiet desert moon reflects the silence Stories of the stars are heard in whispers over time Remember how we captured life in silence Drifting off to sleep to images and rhymes. Talking is more often done in silence The thoughts between the lines speak louder than our words Embarrassingly adolescent silence Truth is left unspoken, trembling like a bird. I recall in refuge I took silent So I could hear the beating of my heart reveal my name Where myth is woven peacefully in silence Eyes meet eyes meet ancient eyes - come dance before the flame G!d is resting comfortably in silence. Patiently he waits for us - take comfort, let him in Beauty is revealed to us in silence Returns us to the place where we can all renew again In Silence Silence Silence. ººººººººººººººººººººººººººººº My late rebbe, R' Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, zt"l, (זכר צדיק לברכה) was a master storyteller. He taught, in the name of Abraham Joshua Heschel zt"l: "a mayse is a story in which the soul surprises the mind". "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. ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ If you would like to be added to the growing list of "Year of Stories" followers, let me know at RebMarko@gmail.com, with "Year of Stories" in the subject line. Ah, all those Greek gods to bow down to. Next month many of my colleagues and I will be gathering in a hotel outside of Boulder, Colorado for Ohalla, what my wife Renée calls a "rabbinic convention for unconventional rabbis". Years ago at the Tuesday night cabaret I, along with three others I will refer to as my "crew", perfomed a rap about Shabbat. Reb Zalman sat watching, totally perplexed, and at one point during the rap I jokingly feared for my future, saying, "I can see my teudah (ordination document) going up in flames as I speak." Lucky for me, Reb Zalman liked my davvening and storytelling! If you like the rap and you'd like a copy, it's available on iTunes for 99 cents. What a deal! Lyrics below. Enjoy! If You’re A Maccabbee (Hanukkah Rap) Music & Lyrics by Mark Novak
Let me tell you a story about days of old When the nights were long and the days were cold Alexander the Great was the king you see Of the land of Judea where the Jews were free To live and worship the only God Adonai Eloheynu Adonai Echad Now Alexander the Great despite his royal fame Grew old and died, ending his reign A new king arrived upon the scene A real pain in the tuchus, if you know what I mean He gathered together all of the Jews and said “Listen closely ‘cause I got bad news.” Now this King Antiochus, he thought he was wise He said, “You can’t observe Shabbat or be circumcised You have to pray to great Greek Gods Israel And sacrifice pigs - they squeal!” Bow down to idols of stone indeed That’s not being Jewish it’s plain to see But many Jews were afraid to disobey the king’s order They’d be put to death like a lamb to the slaughter There was a righteous man in Modin town named Mattathias, he refused to bow down he smashed the idols, cried passionately “Whoever’s for the Lord our God follow me!” Chorus If you’re a Macabee then your’re a hammer... I know you know what happens next in the story there are armies and fighting and it gets kind of gory Antiuchus’ army gets cut down to size By Judah and the Maccabbees, the good guys! Then there’s the cleansing of the temple and the search for oil For the ner tamid, would triumph be spoiled? Of oil they could only find one jar They looked here, there, near, and far. It’s a solid fact, a moment of mystery Nes, Gadol, Haya, Sham - that’s history. Chorus One last point for your edification Hanukkah’s the time for your rededication Be a modern Maccabbee - stand tall And hammer a world of peace and justice for all. Chorus I always wonder about the origin of stories such as this one. The characters could just as easily be Jewish ones, so feel free to substitute characters to suit your tradition...or not. But first, a word from our sponsor. We have been offered a Matching Grant up to $1500 As of 12/5 only $1364 more to raise by 12/31! Please consider offering a tax deductible donation of $18 or more to support this project and the work of DC's Jewish Renewal community Minyan Oneg Shabbat. All proceeds go to providing us with rental space and the ability to dream a little bigger. We will be forever grape-ful. Thank you. Now here is this week's story. ººººººººººººººººººººººººººººº
One day, a countryman knocked hard on a monastery door. When the monk tending the gates opened up, he was given a magnificent bunch of grapes. "Brother, these are the finest grapes my vineyard has produced. I’ve come to offer them as a gift." "Thank you! I will take them to the Abbot immediately, he will be delighted with this offering." "No", responded the countryman, "I brought them for you. For whenever I knock on the door, it is you opens it. When I needed help because my crop was destroyed by drought, you gave me a piece of bread and a cup of wine every day." The monk slightly bowed his head, and the countryman went on his way. The monk held the cluster of grapes and spent the entire morning admiring it. In reflection, he decided to gift the grapes to the Abbot, for it was the Abbot who always encouraged him with words of wisdom. The Abbot was very pleased with the grapes, and admired their beauty for some time, taking in the color and the shapes. He then recalled that there was a sick brother in the monastery, and thought, “I’ll give him the grapes. Who knows, they may bring him some joy and healing.” And that is what he did. The sick monk was overjoyed, and thanked the Abbot for his generosity. He too was taken by the beauty of the grapes, and saw in them a magnificent work of art, with patterns of repeated themes and slightly variegated colors. He reflected: “The cook has looked after me for so long, feeding me only the best meals. I’m sure he will enjoy these.” The cook was amazed at the beauty of the grapes. He carefully arranged them in a large platter alongside other fruit for the evening meal, and while admiring them, he realized, "These grapes are perfect, so perfect that no one would appreciate them more than the sexton." Many at the monastery considered him a holy man, a mystic, and he would best value this marvel of nature. But the sexton, in turn, gave the grapes as a gift to the youngest novice, that he might understand that the work of G!d is in the smallest details of creation. And when the novice received them, he quietly recalled the first time he came to the monastery, hoping to be among a community of people who knew how to value the wonders of life. He pictured the person who had opened the gates for him. And so, just before nightfall, he took the grapes to the monk at the gate. "Eat and enjoy them", he said. You spend most of your time alone here, these grapes are most deservedly yours. The monk humbly bowed his head and accepted the grapes, as he understood that the gift had always been truly meant for him. He relished each of the grapes, before falling into a pleasant sleep. (Story re-crafted by R' Mark Novak, found here: http://academictips.org/blogs/the-circle-of-joy/ ººººººººººººººººººººººººººººº My late rebbe, R' Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, zt"l, (זכר צדיק לברכה) was a master storyteller. He taught, in the name of Abraham Joshua Heschel zt"l: "a mayse is a story in which the soul surprises the mind". "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. ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ If you would like to be added to the growing list of "Year of Stories" followers, let me know at RebMarko@gmail.com, with "Year of Stories" in the subject line. A little girl wanted to meet G!d. She knew it was a long trip to where G!d lived, so she packed her suitcase with chocolate chip cookies and a six pack of root beer and she started her journey. When she had gone about three blocks from her home she saw an old woman, sitting in the park staring blankly, or so it seemed, as some pigeons. The girl sat down next to her and opened her suitcase. She was about to take a drink from her root beer when she noticed that the old woman looked hungry, and the girl offered her a cookie. The old woman gratefully accepted it, and smiled at the girl. Her smile was so pleasant that the girl wanted to see it again, so she offered her a root beer. Again, the old woman smiled at her. The girl was delighted! And so it was, they sat there all afternoon eating and smiling, smiling and eating, never saying a word to each other. As it grew dark, the girl realized how late it was and she got up to leave, but before she had gone more than a few steps, she turned around, ran back to the old woman, and gave her a big hug. In turn, the old woman gave the girl her biggest smile ever. Filled with the warmth of that smile the girl ran home, and a short time later opened the door to her house. Her mother welcomed her home, surprised by the look of joy on the girl's face. She asked, "What did you do today that made you so happy?" She replied, "I had lunch with G!d." And before the mother could respond, she added, "And you know what? She's got the most beautiful smile I've ever seen." Meanwhile, the old woman, radiant with joy, returned to her home. Her son was stunned by the look of peace on her face and asked her, "Mom, what did you do today that made you so happy?" She replied, "I ate cookies in the park with G!d." And before her startled son could respond, she added, "And you know what, she's much younger than I expected." ººººººººººººººººººººººººººººº Please consider offering a tax deductible donation to support this project and the work of DC's Jewish Renewal community Minyan Oneg Shabbat. A shout out to Judy Young for her generous monthly support of this project. ººººººººººººººººººººººººººººº My late rebbe, R' Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, zt"l, (זכר צדיק לברכה) was a master storyteller. He taught, in the name of Abraham Joshua Heschel zt"l: "a mayse is a story in which the soul surprises the mind". "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. ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ If you would like to be added to the growing list of "Year of Stories" followers, let me know at RebMarko@gmail.com, with "Year of Stories" in the subject line. There are times in which I see my work as a Mashpiah - Jewish spiritual director - in the last line of this story. Enjoy. ººººººººººººººººººººººººººººº Once there was a king who received a gift of two magnificent falcons from Arabia. They were peregrine falcons, the most beautiful birds he had ever seen. He gave the precious birds to his head falconer to be trained. Months passed and one day the head falconer informed the king that though one of the falcons was flying majestically, soaring high in the sky, the other bird had not moved from its branch since the day it had arrived. The king summoned healers and sorcerers from all the land to tend to the falcon, but no one could make the bird fly. He presented the task to the member of his court, but the next day, the king saw through the palace window that the bird had still not moved from its perch. Having tried everything else, the king thought to himself, "May be I need someone more familiar with the countryside to understand the nature of this problem." So he cried out to his court, "Go and get a farmer." In the morning, the king was thrilled to see the falcon soaring high above the palace gardens. He said to his court, "Bring me the doer of this miracle." The court quickly located the farmer, who came and stood before the king. The king asked him, "How did you make the falcon fly?" With his head bowed, the farmer said to the king, " It was very easy, your highness. I simply cut the branch where the bird was sitting." ººººººººººººººººººººººººººººº Please consider offering a tax deductible donation to support this project and the work of DC's Jewish Renewal community Minyan Oneg Shabbat. A shout out to Judy Young for her generous monthly support of this project. ººººººººººººººººººººººººººººº My late rebbe, R' Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, zt"l, (זכר צדיק לברכה) was a master storyteller. He taught, in the name of Abraham Joshua Heschel zt"l: "a mayse is a story in which the soul surprises the mind". "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. ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ If you would like to be added to the growing list of "Year of Stories" followers, let me know at RebMarko@gmail.com, with "Year of Stories" in the subject line. The Zen master Hakuin was praised by his neighbors as one living a pure life.
A beautiful Japanese girl whose parents owned a food store lived near him. Suddenly, without any warning, her parents discovered she was with child. This made her parents very angry. She would not confess who the man was, but after much harassment at last named Hakuin. In great anger the parents went to the master. “Is that so?” was all he would say. When the child was born, the parents brought it to the Hakuin, who now was viewed as a pariah by the whole village. They demanded that he take care of the child since it was his responsibility. “Is that so?” Hakuin said calmly as he accepted the child. A year later the girl-mother could stand it no longer. She told her parents the truth – that the real father of the child was a young man who worked in the fishmarket. The mother and father of the girl at once went to Hakuin to ask his forgiveness, to apologize at length, and to get the child back again. Hakuin was willing. In yielding the child, all he said was: “Is that so?” ºººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººº My late rebbe, R' Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, zt"l, (זכר צדיק לברכה) was a master storyteller. He taught, in the name of Abraham Joshua Heschel zt"l: "a mayse is a story in which the soul surprises the mind". "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. ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ Please consider offering a tax deductible donation to support this project and the work of DC's Jewish Renewal community Minyan Oneg Shabbat. A shout out to Judy Young for her generous offering in support of this project. ≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠ If you would like to be added to the growing list of "Year of Stories" followers, let me know at RebMarko@gmail.com, with "Year of Stories" in the subject line. This is a well known story, from M. Scott Peck's book, The Different Drum. I include it in this series because (a) I like it and (b) it is used so often within the context of community building. Have you ever had the occasion to use it? The story concerns a monastery that had fallen upon hard times. Once a great order, as a result of waves of antimonastic persecution in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries and the rise of secularism in the nineteenth, all its branch houses were lost and it had become decimated to the extent that there were only five monks left in the decaying mother house: the abbot and four others, all over seventy in age. Clearly it was a dying order. In the deep woods surrounding the monastery there was a little hut that a rabbi from a nearby town occasionally used for a hermitage. Through their many years of prayer and contemplation the old monks had become a bit psychic, so they could always sense when the rabbi was in his hermitage. "The rabbi is in the woods, the rabbi is in the woods again " they would whisper to each other. As he agonized over the imminent death of his order, it occurred to the abbot at one such time to visit the hermitage and ask the rabbi if by some possible chance he could offer any advice that might save the monastery. The rabbi welcomed the abbot at his hut. But when the abbot explained the purpose of his visit, the rabbi could only commiserate with him. "I know how it is," he exclaimed. "The spirit has gone out of the people. It is the same in my town. Almost no one comes to the synagogue anymore." So the old abbot and the old rabbi wept together. Then they read parts of the Torah and quietly spoke of deep things. The time came when the abbot had to leave. They embraced each other. "It has been a wonderful thing that we should meet after all these years, "the abbot said, "but I have still failed in my purpose for coming here. Is there nothing you can tell me, no piece of advice you can give me that would help me save my dying order?" "No, I am sorry," the rabbi responded. "I have no advice to give. The only thing I can tell you is that the Messiah is one of you." When the abbot returned to the monastery his fellow monks gathered around him to ask, "Well what did the rabbi say?" "He couldn't help," the abbot answered. "We just wept and read the Torah together. The only thing he did say, just as I was leaving --it was something cryptic-- was that the Messiah is one of us. I don't know what he meant." In the days and weeks and months that followed, the old monks pondered this and wondered whether there was any possible significance to the rabbi's words. The Messiah is one of us? Could he possibly have meant one of us monks here at the monastery? If that's the case, which one? Do you suppose he meant the abbot? Yes, if he meant anyone, he probably meant Father Abbot. He has been our leader for more than a generation. On the other hand, he might have meant Brother Thomas. Certainly Brother Thomas is a holy man. Everyone knows that Thomas is a man of light. Certainly he could not have meant Brother Elred! Elred gets crotchety at times. But come to think of it, even though he is a thorn in people's sides, when you look back on it, Elred is virtually always right. Often very right. Maybe the rabbi did mean Brother Elred. But surely not Brother Phillip. Phillip is so passive, a real nobody. But then, almost mysteriously, he has a gift for somehow always being there when you need him. He just magically appears by your side. Maybe Phillip is the Messiah. Of course the rabbi didn't mean me. He couldn't possibly have meant me. I'm just an ordinary person. Yet supposing he did? Suppose I am the Messiah? O God, not me. I couldn't be that much for You, could I? As they contemplated in this manner, the old monks began to treat each other with extraordinary respect on the off chance that one among them might be the Messiah. And on the off off chance that each monk himself might be the Messiah, they began to treat themselves with extraordinary respect. Because the forest in which it was situated was beautiful, it so happened that people still occasionally came to visit the monastery to picnic on its tiny lawn, to wander along some of its paths, even now and then to go into the dilapidated chapel to meditate. As they did so, without even being conscious of it, they sensed the aura of extraordinary respect that now began to surround the five old monks and seemed to radiate out from them and permeate the atmosphere of the place. There was something strangely attractive, even compelling, about it. Hardly knowing why, they began to come back to the monastery more frequently to picnic, to play, to pray. They began to bring their friends to show them this special place. And their friends brought their friends. Then it happened that some of the younger men who came to visit the monastery started to talk more and more with the old monks. After a while one asked if he could join them. Then another. And another. So within a few years the monastery had once again become a thriving order and, thanks to the rabbi's gift, a vibrant center of light and spirituality in the realm. (Author unknown) (Note: I prepared this story before my mother died last Thursday at the age of 98. I will be sharing some of her story with you in the weeks to come) ºººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººº 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. ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ Please consider offering a tax deductible donation to support this project and the work of DC's Jewish Renewal community Minyan Oneg Shabbat. A shout out to Judy Young for her generous offering in support of this project. ≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠ If you would like to be added to the growing list of "Year of Stories" followers, let me know at RebMarko@gmail.com, with "Year of Stories" in the subject line. This section from The Velveteen Rabbit is very close to my heart, as it was used in a play written by The Living Stage Theater Company, where I served as music director/workshop leader from 1977 to 1985. Certain moments captured in art never fail to bring me to tears - when Dorothy says good-bye to the scarecrow; when Ray plays catch with his dad; and this. It's my visceral reaction from experiencing Real, face to face. The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it. "What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?" "Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real." "Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit. "Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt." "Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?" "It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand." "I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled. "The Boy's Uncle made me Real," he said. "That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always." from The Velvetween Rabbit, by Margery Williams ºººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººº 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. ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ Please consider offering a tax deductible donation to support this project and the work of DC's Jewish Renewal community Minyan Oneg Shabbat. A shout out to Judy Young for her generous offering in support of this project. ≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠ If you would like to be added to the growing list of "Year of Stories" followers, let me know at RebMarko@gmail.com, with "Year of Stories" in the subject line. There was once a Swiss guard who worked at the border of Austria. He had worked there for many years and took a great deal of pride in his work. One morning an Austrian man arrived at the border, riding a bicycle. On the front of the bike was a basket filled with sand. The guard eyed the man suspiciously, and suspecting that the Austrian might be a smuggler, brought out a special comb he kept for just a purpose, and began to sift through the sand in the basket. He found nothing, only sand, and waved the man through the gate. The same thing happened the next month, as the Austrian arrived on a bicycle with the basket filled with sand. The border guard went through the same process, at first eyeing the Austrian with suspicion, then sifting through the sand with his special comb, and until, finding nothing, allowing the Austrian to again cross the border. The scene repeated itself month after month, year after year. During this time the border guard engaged the Austrian in small talk - learning his name (it was Yosef) learning about his family (he was married with a wife, who was a school teacher, and had 2 children), and of course his reason for crossing the border (to visit a favorite aunt and uncle). Each month they exchanged pleasantries, and as time passed the border guard still remained suspicious, and though he never found anything, he kept on looking... month after month...for 30 years! Finally, one day, the Swiss guard said to the Austrian man, "I must ask you a question that has been on my mind many years. This is my last day of work - I am retiring. After all these years, I still suspect you have been a smuggler, and it is driving me near mad. Now I ask you - I must know - are you indeed a smuggler?" The Austrian man hesitated, and the Swiss guard reassured him. "Do not worry - I give you my word of honor that I will not arrest you. But for my own peace of mind, I must know." "Very well," said the Austrian. "Then I will tell you - I am indeed a smuggler." "Ha ha," laughed the guard, relieved at last to know that his suspicions had not been unfounded. "I knew it!" He hesitated for a moment and then continued, "But each month I looked through your basket and found nothing but sand. Tell me, please, what have you been smuggling?" And with eyes smiling, the Austrian replied, "Bicycles." (Story re-crafted by R' Mark Novak) 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.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ Please consider offering a tax deductible donation to support this project and the work of DC's Jewish Renewal community Minyan Oneg Shabbat. A shout out to Judy Young for her generous offering. ≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠ If you would like to be added to the growing list of "Year of Stories" followers, let me know at RebMarko@gmail.com, with "Year of Stories" in the subject line.
And here's yet another explanation!
While aboard his ark, Noah assigned the two dogs responsibility for patrolling the ark. It was the dogs' job to check on all the other animals, and to report back to Noah and his wife Na’ama. This included using their superior sense of smell to detect anything that was, let us say, kind of fishy. One day, the dogs were taking their daily stroll when they noticed a coin-sized leak, through which water was rushing in at a rapid rate. They looked at each other and knew instinctively what to do. One dog ran for help, while the other dog gallantly stuck her nose in the hole to plug up the leak. In what seemed like an eternity, Noah and Na'ama came running, to find the poor dog in great pain and gasping for breath. They immediately relieved him of her duties and quickly filled the hole with pitch, averting what could have been a major disaster. After the work was completed, Noah and Na'ama pawsed, and realizing what a ruff experience it had been, spoke to the dog saying "Little dog, you kept us all safe - our family, and all the animals - with your little nose. All future generations will know of your great deed, as your nose will always be cold and wet, just as it is today." This tail is done, and now you know another story explaining why dog's nose has fur-ever remained cold and wet! (Origin unknown - retold by R' Mark Novak, silly wabbit) ºººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººº 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. ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ Please consider offering a tax deductible donation to support this project and the work of DC's Jewish Renewal community Minyan Oneg Shabbat. A shout out to Judy Young for your generous offering in support of this project. ≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠ If you would like to be added to the growing list of "Year of Stories" followers, let me know at RebMarko@gmail.com, with "Year of Stories" in the subject line. A rebbe was asked to come teach in a distant village. Having no rabbi of their own, the community was very excited and each person prepared for the rabbi's visit by pondering what question he or she might ask him. Upon his arrival the community welcomed the rabbe warmly, first with a simple meal and then escorting him to his room where he could rest after his long journey. Refreshed from his nap, he was then taken to the large community room where people had gathered excitedly to ask their questions. The room buzzed with anticipation. Upon entering the rabbe began to walk around the room, making eye contact with each person present. He then began to sing a sweet, contemplative Hasidic melody. "Yai dai dai...yai dai dai...yai dai dai dum." As he sang, he walked slowly, purposefully, continuing to make eye contact, with one person, and then another, until one person, and then another, joined him in the niggun... "Yai dai dai...yai dai dai...yai dai dai dum..." ...until everyone was singing with him, sweetly and contemplatively. The rebbe began to sing a little bit faster, and the people followed his lead. As he picked up the tempo, he picked up his feet, and started to dance, arms spread wide, his entire body bouncing in step with the melody. The people were caught up unawares, and in the joy of the moment, found themselves dancing and singing alone/together. Then without notice, the rabbe's dance gradually began to slow, and with it the song as well, until it reached a gentle end. Some people smiled, while others wiped tears from their cheeks. The rebbe cast his eyes about the room, and gently said, “I trust that I have answered all of your questions.” (Origin unknown, retold by R' Mark Novak) ºººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººº 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. ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ Please consider offering a tax deductible donation to support this project and the work DC's Jewish Renewal community Minyan Oneg Shabbat. A shout out to Judy Young for her generous offering. ≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠≠ If you would like to be added to the growing list of "Year of Stories" followers, let me know at RebMarko@gmail.com, with "Year of Stories" in the subject line. More a teaching than a story, file it for next year to share on Shabbat SukkotThe Voorker Rav and The Kotzker Rebbe were discussing the relative merits of Sukkot and Shabbat.
Comparing the different mitzvot that are observed on Sukkot the Voorker Rav declared, "I prefer the mitzvah of dwelling in the Sukkah over the mitzvah of the Dalet Minim, the Four Species. After all, when you let go of the lulav and etrog, you let go of the kedushah, the holiness, whereas when you are in the Sukkah you cannot let go; the sanctity completely surrounds you." The Kotzker Rebbe nodded his approval, but responded, "Yes, it is true that the Sukkah has this advantage, but, when compared to Shabbat, even the Sukkah falls short. After all, one can walk out of a Sukkah, but one can never walk out of Shabbat, no matter where in the world a person is and no matter his or her level of observance. For those hours it is Shabbat. You cannot escape it - Shabbat is completely enveloping." In praising the Sukkah, the Voorker Rav was praising the concept of kedushat makom, the sanctity of space/place. The Kotzker Rebbe countered that with praise for the Sabbath, our oasis in time, for the concept of kedushat z'man, the sanctity of time. For space can be abandoned or destroyed, as opposed to time which is not physical, and therefore its sanctity can never be undone or abandoned. ºººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººº 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. ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ 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 RebMarko@gmail.com, with "Year of Stories" in the subject line. |
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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