There lived in a village a mother and a son who were very devoted to one another who lived in a house beside a great oak tree.
Once they had been very wealthy and had many friends. After the father had died suddenly after lightning struck their house the mother was bedridden and their home was badly damaged by fire, they lost most of their wealth. From the little that was salvaged from the fire was spent on doctors in the hope of curing the poor, stricken woman. Her only comfort was her son, Yosef, who was a fine young man. Yosef was a very intelligent and religious boy, and he loved and cared for his mother.
His mother would frequently ask: “Why don’t you go to town and get a good job? You know our small farm demands much hard work with little return.”
Yosef answered: “Who will take care of you, my dear mother? We can manage alright. When you regain your health, b’ezras Hashem (G-d willing), we’ll move to town.”
Yosef had attended yeshiva (Jewish school) until his father’s death, but then he had to take care of the farm and his mother. He missed the school and learning very much. In the evening when he came in from the field, he would take out a holy book and forget the days hardship. He’d sit by his mother’s bed and begin learning in his sweet, soothing voice and the whole room would change. It became so peaceful that his mother would be filled with a sensation of happiness and tranquility. She would then fall asleep with an expression of serenity and contentment.
Yosef’s this nightly study was a sacred custom, and after his lesson was over, he would take out the Book of Psalms and recite many chapters. Many a tear did he shed, for he could not get over his grief, the loss of his father and his mother’s illness. Working the farm and worry for his mother weighed heavily upon his young heart, but reciting the Psalms always helped him regain his cheerful spirit.
One day, Yosef received gift from his uncle, an old and rare edition of the Book of Psalms which he had bought from a peddler. Yosef marveled at its old script written on parchment, which was well preserved and quite legible.
Yosef carefully turned its pages, and when he came to the back cover, his eye caught some writing, dim with age. The lettering was very small and blurred in places, as if some drops of water had fallen on it. The writer must have wept when he wrote that mysterious inscription. Yosef took his father’s magnifying glass, and began to study the writing. It took him some time to piece the first sentence together, which read something like this:
“To you, happy reader of the sacred Psalms, this message will unfold a tale of horror, but if you read it to the end, you shall have your reward well earned…”
Yosef became quite fascinated by this writing, and with the magnifying glass in one hand, he labored hard to decipher the message from beginning to end. By the time he pieced the whole message together dawn was breaking. Yosef was pale and shaky, for he had read a tale of fear and terror.
It was the story of the once flourishing Jewish community of the nearby town, driven into the forest by the cruel and bloodthirsty mob, who only wanted their lives and wealth. The poor, frightened, defenseless men, women and children could not escape the savage mob. They gathered up their gold and silver and precious stones and hid them in a big chest which they buried. The terrible mob surrounded the Jewish community and cries of “Hear O Israel, the L-rd is our G‑d, the L-rd is one!” The writer, the son of the scribe of the community, was left for dead with a gushing wound in his head, but regained consciousness and recovered only long enough to record this tale of horror.
After he finished reading the story written so long ago, Yosef suddenly realized that there was some hidden treasure in the vicinity. It was buried at the foot of a young oak tree, some two hundred yards from a brook in the woods. The woods were long gone, but a brook flowed through the center of the village. Outside their house grew an ancient oak tree.
Yosef decided that after some sleep, he would ask the oldest villager if he knew anything about what he has read.
Old Petru said, yes, there had been a forest by the village once. It was avoided by the villagers who claimed it was haunted on account of the massacre of the Jewish community that happened there.
The sky began to grow dark and the wind started to blow strong as Yosef bade old Petru farewell. He arrived home just as the storm grew strong. His mother had been terrified, for the sound of thunder revived in her mind that horrible day when she lost her husband and became bedridden.
Yosef calmed his mother. He forgot about story he read the night before, about old Petru, and about the treasure. The house shook with thunder and lightning. Yosef calmly read the Psalms in his calm, soothing and enchanting voice.
Suddenly there was roar of thunder and the ground shook, Yosef and his mother found themselves on the floor greatly shaken. Yosef rose quickly and wanted to rush to his mother’s aid, but stared in amazement as he saw her rise and run to the window, “Look, the oak tree!”
Yosef was crying with joy when he saw that his mother had miraculously recovered and was walking unsupported as if she had never been paralyzed before. Only then did his mother realize too and the two embraced, murmuring thanks to G‑d.
“Go out and see whether any damage was done by that fallen oak tree,” his mother said.
Yosef went outside and immediately rushed in reporting breathlessly, “The huge oak tree was uprooted and split in two. The fallen tree left a huge crater in the earth. And there, lay an ancient chest with its lid torn off. Coins, silver candlesticks, golden necklaces and other precious treasures lay scattered all round.”
Yosef and his mother became very wealthy. They distributed the greater part of the treasure to charities and still had many precious things left. Of all the treasures, the most precious to Yosef was his ancient Book of Psalms. His mother’s greatest treasure was Yosef.
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)
