I figure since Reb Zalman tz'l loved my raps, that he would also love this song! Feel free to use with attribution. Lyrics below. חג סכות שמח 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. ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞ Be Happy - It's Sukkot Music: Bobby McFerrin Lyriucs: Mark Novak Here’s a little song I wrote About the festival of Sukkot Be Happy - It’s Sukkot You take the lulav and the etrog too You shake em shake em shake em that’s what you do Be Happy - It’s Sukkot (chorus) Oy Oy Oy... Oy oy Hodu LaShem (2x) Ki Tov Oy Oy Oy... Oy oy Ki L’olam (2x) Chasdo We march around the congregation 7 hakafot in celebration Be Happy - It’s Sukkot We eat our meals out under the sky In the sukkahs we build and if you ask me why I’ll tell you Be Happy - It’s Sukkot (chorus) We greet and honor our ushpizin from Abraham to David and in between Be Happy, It’s Sukkot And should our minhag be egalitarian We welcome Sarah, Rachel, Esther, Abigail, and Miriam Be Happy, It’s Sukkot (chorus) V'samach'ta V'cha'ge'cha V'ha'yi'ta Ach Sameach Be Happy It's Sukkot (with apologies to Bobby McFerrin) ©Mark Novak 2014
5 Comments
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 RebMarko@gmail.com, with "Year of Stories" in the subject line. 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 RebMarko@gmail.com, 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 RebMarko@gmail.com, with "Year of Stories" in the subject line.
*******************
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 RebMarko@gmail.com, 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 RebMarko@gmail.com, 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. My late rebbe, R' Zalman Schacter-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. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ In her book, The December Project, writer Sara Davidson shared this from one of her many meetings with Reb Zalman: He quoted Woody Allen, who said, “I don’t mind dying, I just don’t want to be there when it happens.” But Reb Zalman said “I do want to be there. It’s such a holy moment… I want to watch the last breath going out and whisper the Shema. I want to merge back with the infinite… like a drop in the greater ocean.” With that intention in mind - this week's story. (No story next week kiddies, we'll bedriving our daughter Kaziah to her fresh(wo)man adventure at Mt. Holyoke) ************************************ Once upon a time there was a little wave. The wave loved being a wave, bobbing along in the ocean, up and down, all day and all night. He enjoyed the wind and the fresh air, surrounded by lots of other waves, who he enjoyed watching and playing with. Then one day, the little wave noticed that something seemed to be happening to the waves in front of it. It noticed that it, along with all the other waves, was coming up to something big… the end of the ocean. The little wave saw a wave in front of it going up, higher and higher. That wave was filled with light and it was as high as it could possibly go (which was the best part of being a wave)… and then it came crashing down and smashed into bits. My God, this is terrible”, the wave said, “look what’s going to happen to me.” The little wave saw another wave in front of it do the same thing… going way up high and then come crashing down. The little wave saw this and became very afraid. A voice called out to him from amidst the sea, “Why do you look so sad?” The little wave answered, “Don’t you get it? We’re all going to crash! All of us waves are going to be nothing! Isn’t it terrible?” The voice remained calm, saying, “No, you don’t understand. You’re not only a little wave, you’re part of the ocean. You’re not only a little wave, you’re part of the ocean.” And in that moment, the little wave trickled onto the beach, and then turning, rolled back into the ocean. (I shaped this version of the story from a version that I have together with the short version that appears in Mitch Albom's Tuesdays with Morrie, Pg. 179) ******************* 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 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. My late rebbe, R' Zalman Schacter-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. Tu b'Av was on Monday, and inspired me to post a love story - this time one for you to listen to. It is told by me and my b'shert, Renée Brachfeld, on our CD King Solomon's Daughter. I can tell you excactly where we heard it for the first time - under the chuppah at our wedding in 1993. It was translated from Sefer Tanchuma by Rabbi Jack Moline, and he spun the tale while inviting all of our family and friends to sing Od Yishama, which he wove throughout the story. So sit back for the next 11 minutes and enjoy this sweet tale of a love that was meant to be.. A variant written version of the story can be found here. Next week we'll return to a written story, but stay tuned for more stories in audio form. ***************
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 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.
One day the Baal Shem Tov sits at his table with his people. The weather is getting cold, but he says, "Get the wagon together, and make sure you bring some lekach and some bronfen (cake and spirits), and come with me." So they get into the wagon, and after a time they come to an inn. The Baal Shem says to the innkeeper, "Can you prepare for a wedding?"
And the innkeeper says, "Yes, of course. How many people?" "Not too many people, "the Baal Shem replied, "but we'll need a nice meal." "No problem," the innkeeper says, "I'll send over to another fellow who has a roadhouse a little further on, so he and his wife can come and help. I'm a little short-staffed right now," he explains. "I usually have a young woman and a young man here to help me, but they're off today, the two of them." "Where did they go?" the Baal Shem says. "Well, they're about to get married, and today they went to the town to buy what they need for their new home together. They've been saving up for years." "Very good," the Baal Shem says, "All right, start preparing." Meanwhile, the young couple are on their way to town. No sooner do they get to the market when they see a family being dragged through the streets in chains. The town crier shouts in front of them, "These people haven't paid their rent to the landlord! They are going to be put into the darkest jail until they rot there and die!" The couple are appalled. "How much do they owe?" they ask the town crier. "Three hundred rubles," he says. Three hunderd rubles! It is all they have. But he looks at her and she looks at him, and yes, they take off their money belts and give everything they have to redeem the family. Before the family have even recovered enough to thank them, the couple are gone. On their way back they agree: "We can't tell the people that we gave away all our hard-earned money: they'll call us fools! Let's rough each other up a little, and when we get back we'll say that robbers fell on us and took our money." So they came back bruised and empty-handed to find the inn in an uproar, preparing for a wedding as the Baal Shem had requested. The innkeeper rushes up and says, "Good, you're here! Quick, I need help setting up - oy, vey, what happened to you? Where's the furniture?" And they tell him the whole tale of woe. At this, the Baal Shem calls them both aside and says, "It's your wedding that we're preparing for, and I am here to marry you myself." And so they were married. Now it was the custom that the guests at a wedding would say a droshe geshank, a little speech announcing the present that each guest is giving to the couple. "I give a pair of handsome brass candlesticks," one of the innkeepers says. "I'm going to give a baking trough," says another. At some point they return to the Baal Shem. "What about you, Rabbi?" And the Baal Shem says, "To the groom I give the estate of Count Potptzki. To the bride, I give Countess Potozki's jewelry." All the guests laugh uproariously and they continue with their meal and the seven traditional blessings. Suddenly before dessert is on the table, the Baal Shem says to the couple, "You must leave now, right away. Get on your wagon and horse and go." "Where should we go?" "Into the forest. Go." In the meantine a snowstorm has started, a blizzard. The couple are in the midde of the forest and lose their way. All of a sudden, the horse rears up and refuses to go a step farther, When they peer ahead to see what the problem is, they see the body of a young boy lying in the snow. They dismount quickly and pick him up. He's still alive, and they rub him all over and give him some schnapps and the lekach that the Baal Shem Tov gave them for the way. "Who are you?" they ask the boy. "Where are your parents?" "I am the son of the Count and Countess Potozki," the boy tells the. I received a new horse for my birthday, but the horse threw me off and I don't remember anything after that." And he points them to the castle of the Count. Meanwhile the Count and and his wife are beside themselves with worry. The horse they'd bought for their son had returned without its rider. The Count's followers had been unable to find the boy in the worsening storm, and the weather was getting so bad that they were afraid to continue. Finally, in desperation, the count said, "I pledge my entire estate to the person who brings back my son." "And I pledge my jewelry as well!" says the countess. Just then the couple arrives with the boy on their horse. And that's how the Baal Shem's drosha geshank to that couple, who had given all their money away to redeem a captive family, came to pass. * * * * * * * * * * * * * In the book, Reb Zalman tells us that this is an example of a good story for a melaveh malka, a post-Shabbas Saturday night gathering. Why? Because he explains that "embedded in these tales was the message that any one of us, with no warning or preparation, may be presented with the opportunity to serve as the Holy One's instrument to improve the world - if we rise to the occasion. This vision, this mystic ideal, this high ambition, is what we take forward with us into the week" (Jewish With Feeling Pg. 74) * * * * * * * * * * * * * 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 personal note: When a storyteller follows up a story by telling the listener what it means, my heart sinks and my mind withdraws. In this case however, I could not resist. It's a machaya to have been given the sod (secret) from Reb Zalman. * * * * * * * * * * * * * Question: Is the horse the same horse as in story #3? :>) The Optimist and The Pessimist My late rebbe, R' Zalman Schacter-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. ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ There once lived a king who had twin sons. Though they looked exactly alike, their personalities were different as night and day. One was a devout pessimist, the other an incurable optimist. When they came of age, the king decided it was time to open their eyes to the other side of life, and he planned to do so through the gift that he would give to each of them. For the pessimist, he went to the royal jeweler. "I would like him to have the finest watch ever made", he said. "Money is no object - jewels, diamonds, gold, platinum- the best. And I want it ready by his birthday." For the optimist, he went to the Palace Gardener. "When he wakes up on the morning of his birthday, I want him to see, at the foot of his bed, a huge pile of manure." The birthday arrived, and the king, with great anticipation, went to see his pessimistic son. He found him sitting glumly on his bed, holding a magnificent watch. "How do you like your gift?" asked the king. "It's all right," said the pessimist. "But it's really rather gaudy. And even if it wasn't, it's the sort of thing that will probably get stolen, or I might break it or worse, I might lose it." The king had heard enough and went off to visit the room of the sunny optimist. As he approached he heard singing and laughter teeming from the room, and when he entered, he found his son dancing with joy. When his father entered the room, the son ran up and hugged him. "Oh, thank you, father, thank you! It's just what I wanted!" Bewildered, the king asked his son, "Just what are you thanking me for?" "Why father", the son cried out with glee, "for the horse!" (Retold by R' Mark Novak - origin unknown - please let me kmow if you have a source) ******************* 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 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. A man had been imprisoned for a very long time. A devout man, every day he prayed intensely for his freedom. Many years passed, until one morning the jailer arrived at his cell carrying a set of keys. Removing one from his ring, the jailer set it inside the cell, and said to the prisoner, "I think this is what you have been praying for all this years." Wide-eyed, the man gazed down to the floor at the single key and trembling, took it in his hand. Glancing slowly at first to his right, and then his left, he spotted a small crevice in the wall of the cell. Lovingly and with great intention he picked up the key, placed it into the crevice, and began to pray to the key. (Retold by R' Mark Novak - origin unknown - please let me kmow if you have a source) ******************* My late rebbe, R' Zalman Schacter-Shalomi, zt"l, 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 these stories so that they find their way into the hearts of other tellers and listeners. ******************* 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. My late rebbe, R' Zalman Schacter-Shalomi, zt"l, was a master storyteller. He taught: "a good story is one where the mind surprises the heart". With that in mind I hope to post some stories in the coming months, perhaps even some told by Reb Zalman, in which the mind surprises the heart. The following story is a folk tale. To the best of my knowledge Reb Zalman did not tell it. I share it with you on in honor of his memory. Make sure you read to the end, to see just how close to home a tale can be. Long ago in a village in northern China, there lived a man who owned a magnificent horse. So beautiful was this horse that people came from miles around just to admire it. They told him he was blessed to own such a horse. "Perhaps," he said. "But what seems like a blessing may be a curse." One day, the horse ran off. It was gone. People came to say how sorry they were for his bad luck. "Perhaps," he said. "But what seems like a curse may be a blessing." A few weeks later, the horse returned, and it was not alone. It was followed by 21 wild horses. By the law of the land, they became his property. He was rich with horses. His neighbors came to congratulate him on his good fortune. "Truly," they said, "you have been blessed." "Perhaps. But what seems like a blessing may be a curse." Shortly after that his son-his only son- tried to ride one of the wild horses. He was thrown from it and broke his leg. The man's neighbors came to say how sorry they were. Surely, he had been cursed. "Perhaps," he said. "But what seems like a curse may be a blessing." A week later, the king came through that village, drafting every able-bodied young man for a war against the people of the north. It was horrible war. Everyone who went from the village was killed. Only that man's son survived, because of his broken leg. To this day, in that village, they say, "what seems like a blessing may be a curse. What seems like a curse may be a blessing." Now the second story, which is eerily similar to this one. My son Zachary, 28 is an avid mountain climber, as well as a damn good skiier. He earns his living as an Israeli tour guide, shuttling back and forth between the US for his passions and Israel for his parnassa. This past winter he was climbing in Montana when a sudden avalanche swept him and his climbing partner off the mountain, tumbling who knows how many feet below. Zack was buried under the snow, still tethered, luckily, to his partner, who unharmed, managed to keep his wits about him. He dug Zack out of the snow, finding him drifting in and out of consciousness, having suffered a concussion. Two other climbers happened by, and the three of them packed Zack onto a set of skis and for 1 1/2 hours dragged him from the accident site to the car, where they then transported him tot he hospital. Zack spent a few days in recovery with a shattered his heel and damage to his elbow. For two weeks following, maybe more, my wife Renée and I walked around the house stunned, repeating out loud, "He could have been killed, he could have been killed." Zack is back in Israel. Three weeks ago we danced together at his brother Aaron's wedding. A few days ago Zack's phone rang. It was the IDF calling him up as part of the army reserves. Israel is at war. Zack told them, "I can't come. I was in an accident a few months ago, and I wouldn't be able to carry any gear nor move as I would need to." He was told to fax the army written documentation, which he did, and several hours later he received a follow up call - he didn't need to report to duty. I asked Zack how he felt about what all had transpired. He said to me that his feelings were conflcted, that he wanted to serve his country while at the same time felt relief that he would be out of harm's way. So, you see what I meant when I said that there were 2 stories with the same ending? Truly, what seems like a curse may indeed turn out to be a blessing. Note: Thank you Zack for giving me your permission to tell your story. I trust that you will fill me in with any important details that I either left out or got entirely wrong! |
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
Categories
All
|