Yosef the merchant, the wealthy merchant, was walking past the old wooden shul (synagogue) when he heard sad crying coming from the open shul window. Forgetting where he was headed, he rushed inside and was startled to find Dovid, a sincere but unlearned man, standing in the center of the room, his face red as he recited Psalms with such energy that tears soaked the small book held in his hands.

Dovid was considered a fine wine maker in the village. He was well known throughout the area, his wine — produced only in small batches and shared privately — was treasured as Kiddush wine. Perhaps he could have earned more if he were to sell large quantities, but Dovid enjoyed making and sharing wine that would be blessed and bless those who drank it.

This was the first time Yosef the merchant had seen Dovid pray with such feeling. When he reached the verse “My soul thirsts for You, my flesh longs for You,” his voice cracked, the words stuck in his throat. His body trembled with emotion and tears flowed unrestrained. Scrunching his face with concentration, Dovid uttered each word again and again. He appeared to be begging for his life.

“Ribbono Shel Olam – Master of the Universe!” he suddenly yelled. “Don’t let my family be hurt … Please, I beg of you!”

Rooted to the spot, Yosef the merchant watched in puzzled silence. And though it took some time, he waited till Dovid’s crying dwindled to sniffles before addressing him.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Dovid sighed weakly. “Less than an hour ago, I heard banging on my door and opened to a government official. Police, he told me, were on their way to raid my house. They’d received an anonymous report charging me with running an illegal wine business, and would arrest me if they found any evidence at all.”

“Who do you think told them?” asked Yosef the merchant.

“I suspect it’s the man who used to do small jobs around my house,” Dovid said with a sad expression. “We had a fierce argument over something not long ago. I ended up sending him out of my house. He swore revenge, and considering it an empty threat, I dismissed his words and forgot about the whole thing. It makes sense now. Since he knew my house pretty well and would certainly be able to make it look as if I have a whole wine business going.

“I recovered somewhat from the initial shock and managed to tell my wife the horrible news before running to the holy rabbi’s house to seek his advice and blessing. I was sorely distressed and saddened when they told me he wasn’t home. Apparently, he’s out of town. My head swirled. Without his prayers, what was left for me to do? So, I rushed to the shul to beg for G d’s mercy. If I am to go to jail, at least He should spare my wife and children. A jail sentence for a crime like this would be a very long one, indeed…”

As this took place, the police had been marching along to Dovid’s house.

Meanwhile, after he had slammed the door and disappeared in a panic, his wife hastily improvised a countermeasure of some sort. She brought in armfuls of straw from the yard and flung them down the steps leading to the tiny basement winery, sprinkling some around the door as well. Once everything was covered with straw, she bolted the basement door shut.

Moments after she had finished, she looked up to see the evil accuser leading the police almost pompously. All they had to do was follow the direction of his pointing finger and discover the wine. The seriousness of the situation, together with sheer terror, crashed down on her, and she felt overpowered. She hunkered in a dark corner of the house, muttering a prayer and hoping for the best.

The officers, their eyes scrutinizing the walls, trooped inside through the house and fanned out in a search. The accuser kept silent and watched the police search the house fruitlessly. With childlike impatience, he gestured toward the cellar door.

“Look over there! The wine’s just down that door,” he panted, eyes glinting maliciously.

The chief steeled his jaw, peeved at the interruption. “Quiet. Let the police do their job.”

The accuser’s shoulders sagged, his frustration mounting as he watched the officers overturning the house, steadily eliminating the potential hiding places, yet still failing to uncover traces of illicit wine manufacturing. House completely swept, nothing was left for them to do other than leave. When the accuser saw the officers turn towards the door, he once again failed to contain himself.

“The Jew is hiding his wine behind that door! I swear to you!”

The chief shot the angry accuser another smoldering look. He walked over to the door and opened it. At the sight of the straw strewn down the stairs, he erupted furiously.

“Don’t you know that straw interferes with fermentation?” the chief roared at the accuser, who winced with every word. “I’ve had enough of your lies. Do you seriously think the Jew would ruin his entire inventory of wine with straw?!”

When Yosef the merchant would retell this story, he emphasized, “Look how this simple Jewish wine maker instinctively reacted. When confronted with disaster, it never occurred to him to hire a lawyer or approach a public official. For him, it was either the holy rabbi or the shul!”

Pymet – Grape Mead

Small Batch – 1 gallon

1-3 lb honey

1 packet of wine wine yeast

Pure grape juice to make 1 gallon

Equipment:

1-gallon fermentation vessel

Method:

Sanitize your vessel (If you were to be using any tools — such as a funnel to get the ingredients into the vessel — you would want to sanitize them as well.)

Add honey and grape juice to your fermenter.

Pitch/add the yeast according to instructions.

Add yeast to the fermenter and mix well.

Make sure there is water in the airlock so you can monitor the bubbles (the visual bi-product of fermentation) escaping.

Wait approximately two to three months and your mead will be ready (the bubbles will have all but stopped). Depending on the type of yeast you use, it may take less or more time.

Aging the Pymet will improve the taste and body of the Mead-Wine

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)

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

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