The Righteous Judge

Posted on Friday, 27, June, 2025 by Rabbi

A Tale from Algeria

The Algerian King Bawakas wanted to find out for himself whether it was true, as he had been told, that in one of his towns there lived a righteous judge, who could immediately recognize the truth, and no rogue could deceive him. Bawakas dressed up as a merchant and set off on horseback for the town where the judge lived. By the gateway into the town a cripple came up to Bawakas and began to beg alms. Bawakas gave him some money and was about to ride on when the cripple caught hold of his cloak.

“What do you want?” asked Bawakas. “Haven’t I given you alms?”

“Yes, you have,” said the cripple, “but do me another favor, carry me on your horse to the square, or I will be crushed by the horses and camels that pass through here.”

Bawakas sat the cripple behind him and carried him to the square. In the square, Bawakas stopped the horse. But the cripple did not get off. Bawakas said:

“Why are you sitting there? Get down, we have arrived.”

But the beggar said, “Why should I get down? It’s my horse, and if you won’t give up the horse of your own free will, let’s go to the judge.”

People had gathered round them and were listening to their argument; they all shouted, “Go to the judge, he will settle the dispute!”

Bawakas and the cripple went to the judge. There were other people there, too, and the judge called them by turn to settle their disputes.

Before it was Bawakas’ turn, the judge called a scholar and a peasant. They were quarrelling over a wife. The peasant said it was his wife, and the scholar said it was his. The judge heard them out, paused for a moment and said, “Leave the wife with me and come back tomorrow.”

When they had left, a butcher and an oil-seller came in. The butcher was covered in blood, and the oil seller with oil. The butcher was holding money in his hand, and the oil-seller was holding the butcher’s arm.

The butcher said, “I bought some oil from this man and drew out my purse to pay, but he grabbed my arm and tried to take the money. And that is how we have come to you — I holding a purse in my hand, and he holding my arm. But the money is mine, and he is a thief.”

But the oil-seller declared, “That is not true. The butcher came to me to buy oil. After I had poured him a full jug, he asked me to change a gold piece. I got the money and put it on the counter, then he took it and tried to run off. I caught him by the arm and brought him here.”

The judge paused for a moment and said:

“Leave the money here and come back tomorrow.”

When it was the turn of Bawakas and the cripple, Bawakas recounted what had happened. The judge heard him out and then asked the cripple what had happened. The beggar recounted, “That is not true. I was riding on my horse through the town, and he was sitting on the ground and asked me to give him a ride. I put him on my horse and took him where he wanted to go; but he would not get off and said that it was his horse. That is not true.”

The judge thought for a moment and said:

“Leave the horse with me and come back tomorrow.”

The next day, many people gathered to hear the judge’s verdict.

The first to come up were the scholar and the peasant.

“Take your wife,” the judge said to the scholar, “and give the peasant twenty lashes.”

The scholar took his wife, and the peasant was punished straightaway.

Next, the judge called the butcher.

“The money is yours,” he said to the butcher. Then he pointed to the oil-seller and said: “He is to be given twenty lashes.”

Then Bawakas and the cripple were summoned.

“Would you know your horse from twenty others?” the judge asked Bawakas.

“I would.”

“And you?”

“I would, too,” said the cripple.

“Come with me,” the judge said to Bawakas.

They went into the stable. Bawakas immediately pointed at his horse among the other twenty.

Then the judge called the cripple into the stable and ordered him to point to the horse. The cripple recognized the horse and pointed to it. Then the judge sat down on his seat and said to Bawakas, “The horse is yours: take it. And the cripple is to be given twenty lashes.”

After the trial, the judge went home, and Bawakas followed him.

“What is the matter? Are you not happy with my decision?” asked the judge.

“I am happy with it,” said Bawakas. “But I should like to know how you found out that the wife belonged to the scholar and not to the peasant, that the money belonged to the butcher and not the oil-seller, and that the horse was mine and not the cripple’s.”

“I found out about the wife like this: in the morning, I summoned her to me and asked her to fill my ink-well with ink. She picked up the ink-well, washed it quickly, and deftly poured in the ink. She was obviously accustomed to doing this. Had she been the peasant’s wife, she would not have been able to do it. So, the scholar was right… I found out about the money like this: I put the money in a cup of water and looked at it this morning to see whether there was any oil on the surface. If the money had been the oil seller’s, it would have had oil on it from his hands. There was no oil on the water, so obviously the butcher was telling the truth… It was harder to find out about the horse. Both the cripple and you immediately pointed it out from the other twenty horses. But I did not take you both into the stable to see whether you knew the horse, but to see which of you the horse knew. When you walked up to it, it turned its head and moved towards you; but when the cripple touched it, it flattened its ears and raised its leg. So I knew that you were the true owner of the horse.”

Then Bawakas said, “I am no merchant, but the ruler Bawakas. I came here to see whether it was true what is said about you. I see now that you are a wise judge. Ask me for anything you like, and I will reward you.”

“Justice has been served, and I need no reward,” replied the judge. “I am content that my king has praised me.”

May all your tales end with peace and Justice

A Justice Tale shared by the IPS Chaplain

Click here for more storytelling resources

Please share this story with colleagues and friends, and let us know what you think or feel about the stories in a comment or two.

Click here to Visit IPS

If the stories are not shared, they will be lost.

Please share this story with others

The Fisherman and the King’s Chamberlain

Posted on Friday, 20, June, 2025Friday, 20, June, 2025 by Rabbi

A Tale from Myanmar (Burma)

Once there was a king who could not eat any meal unless it included a dish of fried fish. One day, there blew a great storm, and fishermen could not catch any fish. The King could not eat any breakfast because there was no fried fish, and he was very annoyed. Lunchtime came, but there was no fish, and the King was very angry. Dinnertime approached, but still there was no prospect of any fried fish, and the King was now desperate. “Let it be announced by beat of gong and drum,” ordered he, “that the fisherman who brings me, but one single fish will be given any reward that he may name.” However, the storm continued to rage, and the waters remained turbulent.

At dusk, a fisherman, trying with a mere line and hook, caught a fat and oily fish and ran with all his might to the King’s palace. The guards, seeing the fish in the Fisherman’s hand, threw open the gates, and the Fisherman reached the King’s chamber without hindrance. But at the chamber door, the Chamberlain said, “Promise me half your reward and I will let you in.”

“One-tenth,” promised the Fisherman.

“Oh, no,” said the Chamberlain, “One half, and no less.” “Agreed,” replied the Fisherman, and in great glee, the Chamberlain announced to the King the arrival of a Fisherman with a fish. The King, in great joy, seized hold of the fish and the Fisherman’s hand and rushed into the kitchen.

After the fish had been fried, the dinner was laid before the King, and the King had eaten. He sat back, hugging his well-filled stomach, and asked, “Fisherman, name your reward. Do you want a priceless ruby, a well-paid post, or a pretty maid from the queen’s bower?”

“No, Sire, no, Sire,” replied the Fisherman, falling on his knees. “I want twenty lashes with your cane.”

“The poor fellow is flabbergasted,” mused the King, “and he does not know what he is saying.” So, he said gently to the Fisherman, “My man, you mean twenty rubies, or twenty elephants, or even twenty horses.”

“No, Sire, no, Sire,” replied the Fisherman. “I want just twenty lashes with your cane.”

“I am sorry,” sighed the King, “But I must keep my promise and give you what you ask.” So saying, he took up a cane and beat the Fisherman gently.

“No, Sire, no Sire,” said the Fisherman, “not so soft, Sire, please hit me hard.” Feeling annoyed, the King wielded the cane with some vigor, but when he gave the Fisherman ten lashes, to his astonishment, he saw the Fisherman jump away.

“Have I hit you too hard?” the King inquired with concern and pity.

“No, Sire, no, Sire,” explained the Fisherman, “but the remaining ten lashes are your Chamberlain’s share.”

The poor Chamberlain had to confess what he had done, but pleaded, “My Lord, I asked for a half share of his reward, and not of his punishment.”

“But this is my reward and not my punishment,” argued the Fisherman. The King sent for the Princess Learned-in-the-Law to come and decide the case.

“My Lord King;’ said the Princess Learned-in-the-Law after she had arrived and listened to the two litigants. “The Chamberlain and the Fisherman were partners in a business, to wit, to supply a fish to the King, and they agreed to share. But my Lord, in a partnership, the agreement to share does not mean that only the profits are to be shared, but it means that gain and loss, income and expenditure, success and failure, reward and punishment, are to be equally shared.”

The King accepted the judgment of the Princess and gave the Chamberlain ten good lashes with his cane. Then he said, “The partnership is now dissolved, as the business has ended. As a consequence, however, I order that the Chamberlain be dismissed for corruption and disloyalty, and the Fisherman appointed in his place.”

May all your tales end with peace and Justice

A Justice Tale shared by the IPS Chaplain

Click here for more storytelling resources

Please share this story with colleagues and friends, and let us know what you think or feel about the stories in a comment or two.

Click here to Visit IPS

If the stories are not shared, they will be lost.

Please share this story with others

The Quality of Mercy

Posted on Friday, 13, June, 2025Sunday, 15, June, 2025 by Rabbi

A Tale from Morocco

In ancient times, in Morocco and in the city of Casablanca, there was a rich and prominent merchant. One day, the merchant fell ill and saw that he would not recover. He called for his only son and asked, “Son, what will you do with my money after I die?”

The son replied, “If anyone needs money, I will give him some.

If anyone invites me to a party, I will go. What else is money for?”

The father groaned, “I should have taught you my business and how to make money grow. I was always too busy.” The father died knowing that his fortune would be scattered to the winds.

And so it was, the son squandered his inheritance on gifts and celebrations. When he had no roof over his head or food for his belly, he went to the marketplace to beg alms. He sat among the leather workers and the vegetable sellers with his outstretched hand. But on every corner were customers and friends of his father. He was ashamed to be seen begging. “I will go to Marrakesh. No one knows me there,” he told himself.

He walked barefoot from the coast of the Atlantic across the rising and falling waves of sand dunes. At last, rising out of the desert like a mirage, he saw the minaret on the red ramparts of Marrakesh. Behind the city towered the snowy range of the Atlas Mountains. He walked through olive and palm groves into the city. “Surely I will find my fortune here,” he thought.

But because he knew no work but begging, he was soon sitting in the square, surrounded by the music of cymbal and drum. The square was filled with fire-eaters, storytellers, water sellers, and traveling merchants.

One day, a man stopped and called the young beggar by name. “Is it you? Why are you begging?” He was a rich merchant and rival to his late father.

The young man was too ashamed to tell that he had spent his inheritance. Instead, he lied. “I was traveling to buy goods! But thieves robbed me.”

The rich merchant took pleasure in seeing his rival’s son begging for coins. But he put on a kind face and said, “In your father’s memory, I will help you. Come and share a glass of mint tea with me.”

When they were seated on cushions inside the merchant’s stall, the merchant made an astounding offer. “I shall lend you any sum you ask for. You can do whatever you wish with it; any profit you make will be yours. But there is a condition. If at the year’s end you do not pay, I will cut one kilogram of flesh from your body.”

The young man was startled by the condition of the bargain. But he said, “I have no choice,” and signed the agreement.

Throughout the year, the young man engaged in business, but he was unlucky and untrained. He lost all the money. What did the young man do? At the end of the year, he went to the palace where the king sat in assembly. He sat outside the gates wringing his hands and rocking to and fro. He took no food or water and prayed he would die before his life was forfeit. He wept, “I should have been born a kitten and drowned at birth.”

Days passed. Finally, he was observed by the king’s daughter. She was on her way to listen to the cases brought before her father. The princess had a quick and clever mind, a tender heart, and a voice as sweet as a flute echoing through marble halls. Her mother and sisters stayed cloistered behind harem walls. Instead, the princess went to hear her father’s judgments. She concealed herself in a room near the throne to listen to the proceedings. How wise and just was her father, always following the letter of the law.

So it was that one day the princess saw the young man outside the gate, and she was touched by his despair. She sent her servant to ask, “Young man, why do you weep?”

It was not until the third day that the young man replied, “Because I was foolish, and tomorrow I shall die for it.” He told his story. When the servant told the princess, she sent a note which said, “Come to court tomorrow, and you will be aided by one who loves mercy.”

The appointed hour came. The princess disguised herself as a lawyer. She walked through arched corridors hung with silver lamps and entered the Royal Audience Chamber. The merchant and the young man were assembled with the crowds of petitioners. At last, the King asked the rich merchant, ”What does the young man owe you?”

The merchant took the agreement out of his pocket. The King read it and asked the young man, “Do you agree that you signed this document?”

“Ruler of the stars, what can I say? You see my signature here. But one thing you must know. I entered into this agreement because I had no other choice.”

Then the Princess stepped from the crowd. She was dressed in a hooded caftan and kept her face turned and concealed in the hood. In a clear, strong voice, she addressed the King, “Our gracious lord! This was a bargain freely made. I agree on behalf of my client to give a kilogram of flesh to the merchant, but I insist that he cut off exactly one kilogram in a single stroke. If he cuts off too little, then he must make up the difference, and if he cuts off too much, he must restore the extra amount from his own body.”

The merchant protested, “I demand justice! I cannot cut exactly one kilogram of flesh in a single stroke. The agreement does not specify a single stroke.”

“That is correct,” the princess said. “There is no such condition, but our most wise ruler, in his mercy, may impose one.”

“Why should I impose a condition that is impossible, then the merchant is without his money or the flesh?” responded the King.

She answered his question, “The law would require that the merchant receive his payment, either money or flesh. Since there is no money, it is the flesh. And indeed, the merchant has come with a sharpened dagger beneath his robes. But where is the mercy in such a result? The young man will die; the merchant will have only a lump of flesh. And, you, my gracious lord, will have blood on your white marble floors.”

She continued, “Perhaps there is another way, a way that provides justice and more kindness than justice requires.”

The crowds were hushed and listening to the beardless young lawyer. The King leaned forward. “Counselor, would you enlighten us all about this other way?”

justice

“Yes, my lord. Let the merchant receive the labor of the young man until the debt is paid. The young man needs the guidance of a mentor. The merchant needs to temper his ethics with concern for more than money. All can gain from such a result.”

“Well spoken!” replied the King. “And so it will be. Young debtor, use this opportunity to make something of yourself. Merchant, you shall take this young debtor into your service. Work and train him until the debt is discharged. It is our wish that you open your heart and mind to him, that you treat him as a son and bring him to the marketplace as a credit to you, his dead father, and your king.”

The litigants dropped to the floor and bowed to their king, arose, and turned to leave the courtroom. As the crowd filed from the chamber, the King called to the Princess, “Counselor, I wish to speak to you. I do not know you. Come closer so I may see your face.”

The Princess was startled and replied, without thinking, “Oh, Father, I cannot.” When she realized her mistake, she felt exposed and covered her face.

The King roared, “Who is this who calls me ‘Father’? Why are you hiding your face? Show yourself.”

The Princess turned her face and dropped her hand and hood so that her father could gaze upon her. “Is this my daughter? What am I to do with such boldness? Leave me!”

The princess fled to the garden where she sat rocking and trembling. The King paced and pondered and at last went to the garden. He took his daughter’s hands and said, “My daughter, my dove. I want to open my heart and mind to you. Will you come and sit at my right hand? Will you be my mercy?”

“Yes, my lord and gracious King,” replied the princess. “I will.”

Through the long years ahead, the kingdom was ruled with more kindness than justice required.

May all your tales end with peace and Justice

a Justice Tale shared by the IPS Chaplain

Click here for more storytelling resources

Please share this story with colleagues and friends and let us know what you think or feel about the stories in a comment or two.

Click here to Visit IPS

If the stories are not shared they will be lost.

Please share this story with others

Ooka the Judge and the Case of the Stolen Cloth

Posted on Friday, 6, June, 2025 by Rabbi

A tale from Japan

Once upon a time, long ago in the city known as Edo, a place we now call Tokyo, there lived a quiet man, a talented kimono maker who was regarded as an artist with a needle. His kimonos were of the finest quality; his silks and brocades were exquisite, and his workmanship was unequaled.

One day the kimono maker was in the market where he purchased material for his beautiful kimonos. He was looking for special fabrics to make a “uchikake” for a bride-to-be, the kimono that she would wear over her special white bridal kimono. He had searched long and hard for the most beautiful fabrics, and now he spotted another, a silk brocade of sea green.

After he had purchased the beautiful brocade and placed it in his cart, he continued to search among the wares of other merchants. Finding another fabric to his liking, he turned to place it in his cart, but discovered that the cart was gone!

“Who has seen my fabric?” he asked the other vendors, and when they shook their heads, he ran to others and asked the same question. “Someone has stolen my cart!” he cried.

Word of the theft spread throughout the market and into the city. Everyone spoke of the theft, appalled that someone must have stolen the kimono maker’s goods.

“Who could it be?” they asked. “We must find the thief.” But not knowing what to do, several of the merchants went to see the most famous judge in the land, Ooka Echizen.

Ooka was renowned as a fair man, but he was more than that. He was, almost miraculously, able to find the truth in every case he heard, though people whispered of his peculiar ways, for he was unusual. Still, Judge Ooka seemed the perfect man to solve this case.

Judge Ooka called the kimono maker to the court and asked him to tell his whole story. “Where were you when your cart was stolen?”

“I turned my back for one moment,” the man said, “and suddenly my cart was gone — and my fabric, too!”

Ooka listened attentively. He carefully studied all the people in his courtroom. “Are all the merchants of the city here?” he asked, and everyone looked around.

“Yes,” one answered. “No one is missing.”

The crowd fell silent, for they understood Judge Ooka was thinking. As he thought, he observed the faces of the bakers and butchers, the tailors and tinkers, trying to determine who might be responsible, but in these faces he saw only innocence and concern.

“Someone is a deceiver,” he thought, but he did not say this aloud. He simply called to the courtroom guards and announced his plan — but only to them. He sent them to the temple in Edo known as the Narihira Santosen. There, he said, they would find one of the statues of the beloved divinity Jizo. “Jizo is meant to protect all sorts of people,” he said, “but he has not done his duty, and so he must be punished.”

The guards stared dumbfounded at the judge. “But sir,” they argued, “you are asking us to arrest a stone statue.”

“I am,” said the judge. “Now do your job.”

The guards departed the courthouse and went to the temple, just as they had been ordered. There they lifted the heavy stone Jizo from his pedestal and bound him in ropes, just as the judge had demanded. Then the guards carried the bound stone statue back to the courthouse.

When the people saw their Jizo bound in ropes, they were, for one moment, amazed. But then, one by one, they burst out laughing. The whispers came soon after. “The judge is mad.” “It’s only a statue!” “What’s come over Ooka? He’s lost his mind.” “How could anyone blame a stone?”

Japan

The courtroom rumbled with laughter. Once they had begun, the people could not stop — not even the kimono maker who, though stunned and sad, had to laugh. “The judge is indeed mad,” he thought.
For a few moments Ooka said nothing. He watched the people laughing and whispering, but then he stood up and said, in his loudest, most commanding voice, “Silence! This court will now come to order!”

The people saw that their judge was serious, and, after nervously tittering for a moment, they fell completely silent.

“Every one of you is in contempt of court,” the judge roared. “And every one of you shall be fined!”

Now no one wanted to laugh. Rather, they all bowed their heads, awaiting their sentence.

“The fine,” Ooka announced, “will be one small swatch of cloth from each of you. Guards, collect the fines.”

Now each person in the courthouse breathed a sigh of relief, for to give up only a tiny piece of cloth would be no great hardship.

The guards walked through the courtroom, gathering cloth from each person, and at the judge’s command, the kimono maker accompanied them. One by one people offered up the tiniest bits of cloth — some snipping bits from their clothing, others offering handkerchiefs and other small pieces.

The kimono maker watched carefully, not quite sure of what was occurring, but then, suddenly, as one man offered up a tiny piece, the kimono maker’s eyes lighted up. “That’s mine!” he cried, for sure enough, there was the evidence — a tiny sliver of that beautiful sea-green silk brocade the kimono maker so cherished.

“This is my cloth!” he repeated as the man who offered up the piece bowed his head.

“And so we have found our thief,” the judge announced, and he called the man up to the stand. “You are guilty, sir,” he said. “We shall set the statue free to guard others from such culprits as you.” And with these words he sent the guards to return the statue to its rightful place in Narihira Santosen Temple. Still, to this day, it is bound with many ropes.

May all your tales end with Shalom (peace)

Click here for more storytelling resources

Rachmiel Tobesman is a motivational speaker and Maggid (spiritual Storyteller). He is available for speaking engagements or storytelling, Click here to contact us

Please share this story with family and friends and let us know what you think or feel about the stories in a comment or two.

Like us on Facebook or tweet us on Twitter

If the stories are not shared they will be lost.

Please share this story with others

A Pound of Bread and a Pound of Butter

Posted on Friday, 30, May, 2025 by Rabbi

A Tale of Justice and Fairness

A long time ago, a baker and a farmer lived in the same small English village.

These two men had a friendly arrangement where the farmer would sell a pound of butter to the baker each day.

One morning, the baker decided to weigh the butter to see if he’d received the correct amount.

To his surprise, he discovered that the farmer had sold him less butter than he’d paid for.

Angry about the unfairness, he took the farmer to court.

Justice Tale

At the hearing, the judge asked the farmer whether he used any measure to weigh the butter.

“Your honour, I am but a lowly farmer and do not own a proper measure. I simply use an old-fashioned scale,” he replied.

“How do you weigh the butter then?” inquired the judge.

To this, the farmer answered, “Your honour, long before the baker started buying butter from my farm, I’ve been buying a pound loaf of bread from him. Every day, when he brings me the bread, I place it on my scale and give him the same amount of butter. If anyone is to be blamed, it’s the baker.”

May all your tales end with Shalom (peace)

Click here for more storytelling resources

Rachmiel Tobesman is a motivational speaker and Maggid (spiritual Storyteller). He is available for speaking engagements or storytelling, Click here to contact us

Please share this story with family and friends and let us know what you think or feel about the stories in a comment or two.

Like us on Facebook or tweet us on Twitter

If the stories are not shared they will be lost.

Please share this story with others

A Philosopher Learns About Justice

Posted on Friday, 16, May, 2025 by Rabbi

A tale based on Greek Mythology

One day, a Greek philosopher was walking, thinking and wondering about the mysteries of life, when he saw two very tall women towering away in the distance. The philosopher hid behind a chestnut tree (see the note at the end of the story), intending to listen to their conversation. The giant women came and sat nearby, but the King’s son appeared before they could speak to one another. The young prince was bleeding from one ear and shouted pleadingly towards the women,

“Justice! I want justice! A villain cut my ear!”

He pointed to another boy, his younger brother, who arrived wielding a bloody sword.

The two women replied to the young prince and replied, “We will be pleased to give you justice, young prince.”

“We are goddesses of justice. Just choose which of the two of us you would prefer to help you.”

“What’s the difference between you?” asked the prince.

“What would each of you do?”

“I,” answered one of the goddesses, who looked fragile and delicate,

“will ask your brother what was the cause of his action, and I will listen to his explanation. Then I will require him to protect your other ear with his life, and to make you the most beautiful helmet to cover your scar and to be your ears when you need it.”

The second goddess, who was strong and resolute, responded, ” I, for my part, will not let him go unpunished for his action. I will punish him with a hundred lashes and one year of imprisonment, and he must compensate you for your pain with a thousand gold coins. And I will give you the sword, and you can choose if you’re able to keep the ear or, on the contrary, you want both ears to end up on the ground. Well, what is your decision? Who do you want to apply justice to for the offence?”

The prince looked at the two goddesses. Then he put his hand to the wound, and on touching it, his face gave a gesture of undeniable pain, which ended with a look of anger and affection for his brother. And in a firm voice, addressing the second of the goddesses, he answered.

“I’d rather it was you who helped me. I love him, but it would be unfair if my brother wasn’t punished.”

So, from his hiding place behind the chestnut tree, the philosopher saw the accused receive his punishment and watched how the older brother was content to make a small wound on his brother’s ear without seriously damaging it.

A while passed, and the princes had left, one without an ear and the other served justice, and the philosopher was still in hiding when the least expected thing happened. In front of his eyes, the second of the goddesses changed her clothes and took her true form. She wasn’t a goddess, but the powerful Aries, the god of war. Aries bid goodbye to his companion with a mischievous smile:

“I’ve done it again, dear Themis. Your friends, mankind, can barely distinguish between your righteousness and my revenge. I will prepare my weapons, a new war between brothers is approaching, and I will revel in the battles to come.” Said Aries as he left.

When Aries had left and the philosopher was trying to make off quietly, the goddess spoke aloud, “Tell me, good philosopher, would you have known how to choose correctly? Did you know how to distinguish between the past and the future?”

With that strange greeting began many long and friendly talks. That’s how, from the very hand of Themis, the goddess of justice, the philosopher learned that true justice lies in improving the future, moving it away from past wrongs. False justice and vengeance are incapable of forgiving and forgetting past wrongs, and doing so fixes the future, always ending up being just as bad.

The Chestnut tree (Castanea sativa) represents a personal intercession for justice, a desire for the common good for others and oneself. The tree itself is a reminder “to do justice,” and the flowers indicate seeking it.

May all your tales end with Shalom (peace)

Click here for more storytelling resources

Rachmiel Tobesman is a motivational speaker and Maggid (spiritual Storyteller). He is available for speaking engagements or storytelling, Click here to contact us

Please share this story with family and friends and let us know what you think or feel about the stories in a comment or two.

Like us on Facebook or tweet us on Twitter

If the stories are not shared they will be lost.

Please share this story with others

Djuha Thinks about Walnuts and Pumpkins

Posted on Thursday, 3, April, 2025Thursday, 3, April, 2025 by Rabbi

One day, while relaxing under a great walnut tree, Djuha turned his thoughts to the greatness of creation and wonders provided by G-d. “Surely He is great and good in all things,” Djuha thought, “but I wonder why He made things the way He did.” His eyes lit upon some pumpkins growing nearby, their thin vines coiling along the ground, heavy with huge orange fruit. He then looked up into the huge branches of the walnut tree.

“For instance,” he pondered, “why did He put such big, heavy fruits on the thin pumpkin vine and tiny nuts in the walnut tree? Shouldn’t a walnut’s big branches bear giant pumpkins and the slender pumpkin vine yield walnuts?”

Overcome by such thoughts, he drifted off to sleep. He had not been asleep long when a walnut fell on his head. He woke with a start.

“The Creator of All is great! The Master of All is wise!” he exclaimed. “Oh, if the world were made to my designs, that would have been a pumpkin! Merciful G-d, I shall never question your judgment again!”

pumpkin bread recipe

Pumpkin Walnut Bread

Ingredients

3⅓ cups all-purpose flour		1 15-ounce can pumpkin puree
2 teaspoons baking soda		4 eggs large
1½ teaspoons salt		1 cup avocado/cooking oil
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon		⅔ cup water
1 teaspoon ground nutmeg		1 ¾ cups granulated sugar
½ teaspoon ground cloves		1 cup brown sugar packed
¼ teaspoon ground ginger		1 cup walnuts, chopped
¼ teaspoon ground allspice

Instructions

Place a rack in the center of your oven. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit 20 minutes before baking your bread. Spray two 9 x 5-inch loaf pans with baking spray and set aside.

In a medium bowl, combine flour, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, ginger, and allspice. Whisk until well combined and set aside.

In a large bowl, whisk together pumpkin puree, eggs, oil, water, granulated sugar, and brown sugar until smooth.

Stir the dry ingredients into the pumpkin mixture until just blended. Gently fold in the walnuts. Do not overmix the batter at this point.

Pour batter evenly into the prepared pans. Bake for about 60-70 minutes in the preheated oven. Baking times vary, so check on your loaves at 60 minutes and in 5-minute increments after that.

Let cool in the pans for 10-15 minutes then transfer to a wire rack to fully cool.

May all your tales end with Shalom (peace)

Click here for more storytelling resources

Rachmiel Tobesman is a motivational speaker and Maggid (spiritual Storyteller). He is available for speaking engagements or storytelling. Click here to contact us

Please share this story with family and friends and let us know what you think or feel about the stories in a comment or two.

Like us on Facebook or tweet us on Twitter

If the stories are not shared, they will be lost.

Please share this story with others

A Feast for Clothes or Azerbaijani Plov

Posted on Thursday, 20, March, 2025 by Rabbi

A Jewish Recipe from Azerbaijan

Moshe Mousa was a respected, hard-working merchant known for his wisdom and wit. But he wasn’t the best-dressed of men, which did not serve him well when invited to a seuda hoda’ah (feast of thanksgiving). Taking him for a beggar, the servant turned Moshe Mousa away. So Moshe Mousa went back home, dressed in his best, and returned to the feast, where he was welcomed like a king. Once inside and seated at the table, Moshe Mousa filled his sleeves with meat and rice and dipped his cuffs in the sauce. When asked to keep his clothes out of the food, he flatly refused, saying, “Eat, clothes, eat! Obviously, you are more welcome than I am in this house.”

Azerbaijani Plov

Ingredients:

3 tbsp olive oil		1 tsp loose tea (preferably green tea)
1 ½ pounds meat, cut into bite-size pieces		1 tsp cinnamon
1 onion, chopped		1 tsp ground cumin
2 cloves garlic, chopped		1/2 tsp ground coriander
3 medium carrots, sliced 1/2-inch thick		Pinch or two of Aleppo pepper, cayenne or crushed red pepper
1/2 cup halved dates, preferably Medjool		1 cup white rice
1/2 cup cut-up dried apricots		2 cups chicken, beef, or vegetable stock
1/3 cup golden raisins		Salt to taste

Directions

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Heat 2 tablespoons of the olive oil in a large heat-proof, oven-proof pan over medium heat.

Add the meat and cook, turning the pieces, for 4-5 minutes or until lightly browned.

Remove the meat and set aside.

Pour the remaining olive oil into the pan. Add the onion and cook for 2-3 minutes.

Add the garlic and carrots and cook for 1-2 minutes.

Add the dates, apricots, and raisins. Sprinkle with salt, cumin, coriander, cinnamon, tea, and Aleppo pepper, stir and cook for 1-2 minutes.

Add the rice and meat. Stir to distribute the ingredients evenly.

Pour in the stock and bring to a boil. Remove from the heat, cover the pan, and place in the oven.

Bake for about 45 minutes. Let rest, covered, for 10 minutes.

May the sharing of this tale and dish strengthen the bonds of friendship, hope, and Shalom (peace)

May all your tales end with Shalom (peace)

Click here for more storytelling resources

Rachmiel Tobesman is a motivational speaker and Maggid (spiritual Storyteller). He is available for speaking engagements or storytelling, Click here to contact us

Please share this story with family and friends and let us know what you think or feel about the stories in a comment or two.

Like us on Facebook or tweet us on Twitter

If the stories are not shared, they will be lost.

Please share this story with others

The Slap

Posted on Friday, 28, February, 2025Friday, 28, February, 2025 by Rabbi

a folktale of justice from Turkey

The teacher, Nasreddin Hodja, was standing in the marketplace when a stranger stepped up to him and slapped him in the face. The stranger then said, “I beg your pardon. I thought that you were someone else.”

This explanation did not satisfy Nasreddin, so he brought the stranger before the qadi and demanded justice.

Nasreddin soon realized that the qadi and the stranger were friends. The stranger admitted his guilt, and the judge pronounced the sentence: “The settlement for this offense is one copper coin to be paid to the Nasreddin. If you do not have a copper coin with you, then you may bring it here to the Nasreddin at your convenience.”

Hearing this sentence, the stranger went on his way. Nasreddin waited for him to return with the copper coin. And he waited. And he waited.

Justice

Sometime later, Nasreddin said to the qadi, “Do I understand correctly that one copper coin is sufficient payment for a slap?”

“Yes,” answered the qadi.

Hearing this answer, Nasreddin slapped the judge in the face and said, “You may keep my copper coin when the stranger returns with it,” then walked away.

Justice is sometimes a matter of perception. If there is no justice, there is no peace. (Kad haKemach 14th Century)

May all your tales end with Shalom (peace)

Click here for more storytelling resources

Rachmiel Tobesman is a motivational speaker and Maggid (spiritual Storyteller). He is available for speaking engagements or storytelling, Click here to contact us

Please share this story with family and friends and let us know what you think or feel about the stories in a comment or two.

Like us on Facebook or tweet us on Twitter

If the stories are not shared, they will be lost.

Please share this story with others

A Bargain is a Bargain

Posted on Sunday, 23, February, 2025 by Rabbi

a tale of justice from Ireland

There once was a poor widow, and she had three children: two sons and a daughter. They were her every joy. They were clever children, and she wanted to give them the best schooling so they could make something of themselves. Since the widow had no money, no jewels, and no property, she sold the only thing she had – her immortal soul. And, of course, she sold it to the Devil. It was that much she loved those babes.

The Devil gave her a bag of gold sovereigns and said, “I’ll be back for you in twenty years.” Then he settled back until the time he could collect on his debt. He watched and waited, and he watched and waited as the widow spent every coin on education. A good investment it was. The children studied hard and made her proud. The oldest son became a priest, the second son became a doctor, and the daughter became a lawyer. As the years went by, the widow became old and ill.

When the twenty years had passed, the widow lay dying. Her son, the priest, was at her bedside praying. There was a rumble of thunder, a crash of lightning. The door flung open, and in walked the Devil. The priest blocked the way, but the Devil pushed him aside. “Out of me way, I’ve come for your mother.” The priest fell to his knees and prayed that his mother be spared. The Devil gave her one more year of life. Why did the Devil grant an extra year? Perhaps he wanted to court the soul of the priest.

When that year was up, the widow again lay dying. Her son, the doctor, was at her bedside. There was a rumble of thunder and a clap of lightning, and the door flung open. In walked the Devil. The doctor blocked the way. “Out of me way, I’ve come for your mother.” The doctor fell to his knees and pleaded that his mother be spared. And he got one more year off the Devil. Maybe the Devil had a tender spot for moms.

When that year was up, the widow lay dying. There was a rumble of thunder, a clap of lightning. The door flung open, and the Devil came a third time to claim the old woman. He found the daughter there. The Devil called out, “Don’t be using any woman’s tears on me. I’m here to take my due. A bargain is a bargain.” But the daughter did not weep.

Then the Devil remembered she was a lawyer. “And don’t be using your legal words and your courtroom tricks on me.”

She said, “You’ve given sparing to my mother twice already, and I know you can’t be expected to do it again.”

“What a fair-minded lawyer,” thought the Devil.

“But,” says she, “my brothers have not kissed our mother farewell. They will be here soon. Please, just a few more minutes. Will you give her sparing till-till that stub of a candle burns away?”

The Devil turned and looked at the candle burning on the table.

It was only a stub of candle, soon to sputter and die.

”All right,” said the Devil. “Until the candle burns away-not a second more.”

“A bargain is a bargain,” the lawyer said. Before the Devil knew what was happening, she walked to the table, picked up the candle, and blew it out! And then she put it in her pocket.

That was that! It was clear the candle would never be relit and would never burn away. The Devil left without the mother’s soul.

May all your tales end with Shalom (peace)

Click here for more storytelling resources

Rachmiel Tobesman is a motivational speaker and Maggid (spiritual Storyteller). He is available for speaking engagements or storytelling, Click here to contact us

Please share this story with family and friends and let us know what you think or feel about the stories in a comment or two.

Like us on Facebook or tweet us on Twitter

If the stories are not shared they will be lost.

Please share this story with others