There was a carpenter in the city of Worms who was called upon to make a coffin. When the coffin was finished, there was one board left over. The carpenter decided to use it to carve a fiddle. That night, however, he had a dream in which the dead man for whom he had made the coffin came to him and warned him not to do so. The carpenter recalled this dream when he awoke, but dismissed it, as he believed “dreams are of no consequence.” (Gittin 52a)
That day he started to carve the fiddle. He proceeded very slowly, per¬fecting it over a period of weeks. When he was finished, he saw that the fiddle was very well made indeed, and he was proud of himself. He polished the wood and strung the fiddle and looked forward to the time that he might play it, once he had made a bow. That night the dead man came back to him in a dream and again warned him not to play the fiddle. But upon waking, the carpenter again dismissed the dream with the thought “the wheat without chaff, a new dream without nonsense.” (Berachos 55a)
That day he carved the bow and polished its wood until it shone like that of the fiddle. It was late at night when the bow was finished, so he decided not to try it out until the next day. That night the dead man came back to him once again, and said he was warning him for the last time not to play the fiddle. When the carpenter awoke, he was reminded that “divinations, soothsayings and dreams are vain.” (Ben Sira 34.5) He quickly picked up the fiddle and ran the bow across its strings. A haunting melody rose up, as if on its own, and no sooner had he played but a single melody than the room grew dark, as if the sun had been blotted out. The carpenter ran to the window, opened it in confusion, and peered outside, but the darkness was so deep he could not see anything.
Suddenly a great force from behind, like invisible hands, shoved him out the window. Before he knew it, the carpenter found himself tumbling down, and an instant later he plunged into something soft and treacherous, like mud. With horror he realized it was quicksand, relentlessly sucking him under the earth. It had already reached his arms when he understood how imminent was his danger, and he thrashed about wildly, but it was too late. The quicksand dragged him under as he drew his last breath.
The son of the carpenter found his father’s body lying on the floor of his workshop, a fiddle in his hands. That night the same dead man who had warned his father came to the son in a dream and revealed all that had happened. The very next day the son burned the fiddle. And as it went up in flames, he heard the voice of the carpenter crying out as if from a great distance. Then he knew that somewhere his soul was still being tortured.
May all your tales end with Shalom (peace)
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Tell it to your children, and let your children tell it to their children, and their children to the next generation. (Joel 1:3)