The Bat and The Weasels

from “Kings, Wolves, Princesses and Lions: The Bed Time Story Book Volume Two”

This piece is based on an Aesop’s fable. Aesop’s Fables are some of the oldest recorded stories. African in origin, they are universal in appeal. They’re also very very short and incredibly moralistic, so I’ve taken the liberty of lengthening them, and adding a bit of humor. Kids love slapstick. Have fun with the sound effects.

by Mark Binder, Copyright 2012. All Rights Reserved.

Once there lived a bat, who squeaked and flew about every night with a great flutter and cry. The bat loved to eat flies and buzz low over the fields of farmers, feeling the silk of tall-growing corn whisper up against his belly.

As the night grew late and dawn approached, the bat was very careful to fly back to its home. It lived in a cave with many other bats. From daybreak until sunset hung he upside down from the ceiling, sleeping soundly.

Then, as night fell, the bat and all his brothers and sisters would fly out from their cave with a great whooshing of wings. So huge was the swarm that it looked like a storm cloud flying into the night air. Then, with sharp squeaks the bats would spin and turn about, each flying in separate directions to search for a night’s meal.

One night, the bat was especially hungry, and he flew quickly over the cornfield in search of mosquitoes or gnats. He especially liked gnats, which he ate like popcorn.

Now, bats are not blind as some might think, but their vision is not as strong as that of the falcon or owl. Instead, they rely on a form of radar, seeing in the dark by squeaking out sounds, and listening to the returning echo with their large furry ears.

This evening the bat was so hungry, and in such a great hurry that he forgot to squeak quite as frequently as usual.

And SMACK! He flew right into the big old scarecrow.

So stunned and surprised was the bat that he fell to the ground with a great thump.

In that very instant, a weasel, who had been wandering through the corn looking for baby birds, pounced on the bat.

“Let me go! Let me go!” the bat pleaded.

“And why should I?” said the weasel, its bright eyes shining red in the moonlight. “I am a weasel, the natural enemy of all birds. I think I’m going to eat you for my dinner.”

“Wait, wait,” said the bat. “I am not a bird”

“Not a bird?” frowned the weasel. “But you have wings.”

“These?” said the bat, trying to hide his leathery wings, “They are nothing. Have you ever seen a bird like me?”

The weasel admitted that he hadn’t. “What are you then?” he asked.

“I am a rat,” said the bat.

“A rat?” the weasel shuddered. “I could never eat a rat. I tried one once, and it tasted awful. Ahh well, you may go.”

“Thank you, kind weasel,” said the bat, and away he flew.

By now, the bat was very hungry, and more than a little shaken up. He flew away from the cornfield, and headed toward the cherry orchard where he hoped to find a grasshopper or a beetle.

Once again, he flew fast and low, and once again he forgot to squeak quite as frequently as usual.

SMACK! He flew right into a low branch of a cherry tree, and fell to the ground with a great thump.

The next moment, another weasel, who had been wandering through the orchard looking for rats for dinner, pounced on the bat.

“Let me go! Let me go!” the bat pleaded.

“And why should I?” said the weasel, its bright eyes shining red in the moonlight. “I am a weasel, the natural enemy of all rats. I think I’m going to eat you for my dinner.”

“Rats?” said the bat. “Wait, wait. I am not a rat”

“Not a rat?” frowned the weasel. “But you have fur and a nose like a rat.”

“These?” said the bat, “They are nothing. Have you ever seen a rat with wings?”

The weasel admitted that he hadn’t. “What are you then?” he asked.

“I am a bird,” said the bat.

“A bird?” the weasel shuddered. “I could never eat a bird. I tried one once, and it tasted awful. Ahh well, you may go.”

“Thank you, kind weasel,” said the bat, and away he flew safe once again.

The moral of the story? Take advantage of your situation, and listen before you speak.

—————-

Copyright 2012 by Mark Binder
All Rights Reserved

Coming this fall, The Bed Time Story Book, Volume 2, provisionally titled, “Kings, Wolves, Princesses and Lions.”

More than 30 new (and old) stories to share. Designed for parents to read to and with their children, for children (K-2) to read for themselves, and for older siblings to share with the younger ones. The Bed Time Story Book series has sold more than 60,000 copies in print and ebook form.

- In the meantime, you can find the original “Bed Time Story Book” in
… softcover and kindle: http://bit.ly/ibook_bedtime
… nook: http://bit.ly/bedtime_nook
… droid: http://bit.ly/bedtime_gbook
… ibook and ipad: http://bit.ly/ibook_bedtime

“The Last Temptation of Rabbi Kibbitz” is a story from the book Matzah Mishugas. The story was recorded live at the Oak Lawn School on April 4, 2012.

Now, because you enjoyed the story, please buy the book!

• For the Kindle
• For the iPad/iPod
• For the Nook
• Softcover from Amazon

In Mark’s writing workshops, students learn to create and structure stories. The size of the workshop varies based on the school. This recommendation was made by a teacher  during a break at a recent two-day residency series at the Bakie School in NH.

Welcome

Hello from warm, wet, cold, dry, hot and lovely Providence.
The weather is changing, and so is the newsletter (a bit)…

While we liked calling it “The Fabulist”, Mike Daisy’s recent encounter with the difference between fiction and fact seems to have blackened the eye of that name. Also, it was confusing. So now the newsletter is prosaically called, “storyamonth.”

April Subscriber Specials

If you subscribe to the Storyamonth newsletter, not only will you get a story, you’ll get nifty specials. This month’s special is a bonus free CD…

A few weeks ago, I was getting ready for a program called, “Stories of Kindness and Peacefulness” at the Centredale School in North Providence.

While I was warming up, I decided to check my book, “Matzah Mishugas” and see if one of those stories would fit. I soon found myself smiling and laughing over the misadventures of the characters — which was a good thing since I wrote the book!

If you’ve never read any of my Chelm stories, the one in this issue (which isn’t in any book) is a good starter — as the commercial says, “You don’t have to be Jewish to enjoy…”

This month, in honor of Passover, the first 20 customers who order “Matzah Mishugas” or “The Complete Chelm Series will receive a complimentary copy of the CD “The Brothers Schlemiel from Birth to Bar Mitzvah”

And for a limited time, the ebook is half price.

For the Kindle: http://amzn.to/matzah-kindle
For the iPad/iPod: http://bit.ly/matzah_ibook1
For the Nook: http://bit.ly/matzah_nook
Softcover from Amazon: http://amzn.to/matzah_amazon_softcover

I’m even willing to offer a promise — if you don’t enjoy it, I’ll buy it back from you.

About this month’s story…

Chunky Matzah is a bonus story that would have been included in my collection “Matzah Mishugas” — if it had been written a few years ago…

Every year, I try to think of something new having to do with Passover. This year, I began to wonder about the shape of Matzah, and what would happen if Matzah was thicker rather than thinner. Would matzah that gets thicker “rise”? Would it even be kosher?  As I was writing, even I didn’t know how it was going to turn out.

Enjoy!
- Mark

Chunky Matzah

a Passover tale of Chelm

by Mark Binder

Reb Stein, the baker of Chelm, stared at the thing in his oven. It looked like a slightly scorched white square block. He slid his metal paddle under it, and put it on the cooling rack next to some of the other scorched white square blocks. He sighed. It was time to ask the rabbi.

He pulled on his overshoes and coat and stepped out into the raging snowstorm. As he pushed his way through the gale, feeling the cold sting of flakes on his face, he went over in his mind what he was going to say.

By the time he arrived at the synagogue, his teeth were chattering and he was muttering to himself. Reb Levitsky, the caretaker, led him to the stove in the rabbi’s study to thaw his fingers and toes.

“Reb Stein,” Rabbi Kibbitz began, but he didn’t get further than that.

“I didn’t do it!” Reb Stein shouted. “It’s not my fault!” Melting ice was dripping from the brim of his hat onto the Rabbi’s stove, where it hissed and evaporated. The air was becoming thick.

“So? Nu?” the rabbi asked. “What?”

Reb Stein sighed. “The matzah. It’s rising.”

“What do you mean it’s rising?” Rabbi Kibbitz’s face grew puzzled. “If it’s rising, it’s not matzah. Matzah is supposed to commemorate…”

“I KNOW!” screamed Reb Cantor. “But every single matzah I’ve baked this year isn’t flat, it’s a chunk!”

“So, what are you doing wrong?” Rabbi Kibbitz asked, innocently.

Reb Stein spun around and faced the rabbi, a look of madness in his eyes. He opened his mouth, bared his teeth, took in a breath, and then started to sob. “I don’t know! I’ve been baking matzah my whole life. It’s not that difficult. Flour and water. You mix it up, you roll it flat, you hurry and put it into an incredibly hot oven, you watch to make sure it doesn’t rise, and then poof. You’re done.

“Not this year. Every single matzah is coming out cubed!”

At last, Rabbi Kibbitz spoke. “Show me.”

They bundled themselves warm, and pushed the synagogue’s door open. Reb Kimmelman was busy shoveling the path, but they made their way past him and trudged the short distance to the bakery.

Rather than taking Rabbi Kibbitz inside, where the ovens kept everything warm, Reb Stein led him around back. He slid a bolt, kicked more snow out of the way, and yanked open a large door.

At first Rabbi Kibbitz could see very little inside. The snow had been very bright, and the few windows in the building were high up and concealed behind stacks and stacks of boxes.

“Here!” Reb Stein picked up one of the boxes and handed it to the Chief Rabbi.

“What’s this?”

“It’s matzah.”

Rabbi Kibbitz peered. This thing, if you looked at it directly from the top, the sides, or the bottom, it looked just like matzah. It was that magical combination of smooth and bumpy and white and dark that promised eight days of crunch and crumbs. Except matzah was supposed to be thin. This was thick, very very very thick.

Rabbi Kibbitz searched for something nice to say. “It’s very light.”

“Of course it’s light,” Reb Stein said. “A piece of matzah doesn’t weigh anything. The first one that came out of the oven, I thought maybe was hollow, so I dropped it on the ground. It didn’t break. A few crumbs come off. I hit it with a hammer. It still didn’t break. I had to use a saw to get a piece big enough to taste.”

“What’s it taste like?”

“It tastes like matzah,” Reb Stein grumped. “It would be good with butter or chopped liver, except for the fact that it’s so wide you can’t put it in your mouth!”

Reb Stein’s voice kept rising. “I start baking the matzah right after Passover. It keeps for a year. If I have too much, I can sell some of it and make a little extra money. Every week I make a batch. Every week it’s the same thing. I tried different flour. I tried different temperatures.

“I tried watching. You know what happened? The matzah was flat, it was flat, it was flat, and then I blinked and poof! It’s a square. This happened over and over and over and over again! I filled the whole warehouse. Passover is next week! What are we going to do?”

Just then Reb Kimmelman burst into the room.

“Rabbi Kibbitz! The ceiling on the synagogue! It’s buckling under the weight of the snow.”

Right behind him was Mrs. Chaipul. “Husband,” she said. “The roof of my restaurant is beginning to collapse from the snow.”

Reb Cantor huffed in after her. “My shop,” he panted. “The snow. Too heavy.”

They all stared at the rabbi. “What do we do?”

“Here,” the rabbi said, handing Reb Kimmelman the chunk. He quickly took two more and gave them to his wife and the merchant. “Take these. Make columns. Use them to prop up the roofs.”

“What is it?” Mrs. Chaipul asked.

“It’s matzah,” Reb Stein said.

“Matzah?” All three visitors spoke as one. “Matzah is supposed to be flat.”

“We know!” shouted Reb Stein and Rabbi Kibbitz. “Now go!”

Soon, a matzah chunk brigade was formed from the bakery warehouse to every home and building in the village of Chelm.

The chunks were light and strong and they stacked well. Although the roofs sagged, they did not fall.

For the week before Passover, everyone in Chelm tiptoed around their matzah columns, careful not to disturb the architectural support.

Reb Stein was miserable. The roads were covered with snow. No supplies could possibly get through. Every time he looked at the tower of matzah holding up the roof of his bakery, he moaned, “It’s not my fault!”

Then, on the morning before Passover, the villagers of Chelm awoke to warm sunlight, the sound of snow melting, and piles of neatly stacked, wafer-thin pieces of matzah in their homes, barns and places of business.

One after another they came to Reb Stein and thanked him for saving their property, and so conveniently delivering the matzah.

“All that pressure must have compressed it,” Reb Stein said to Rabbi Kibbitz. “But is it Kosher for Passover?”

The rabbi looked thoughtful. “Did you see it rise?”

“No. I watched carefully.”

“And it’s flat now?”

“Flattened.” Reb Stein nodded. “All of it.” He took a bite of one piece. “Crunchy, dry and bland too.”

Rabbi Kibbitz took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. “It’s perfect. “

And then, grinning ear to ear, both friends began to laugh while the crumbs of matzah flew around the room and danced in the air before settling to the floor of the bakery like a thin layer of snow.

The End

BIO: Mark Binder is the author of The Mega Matzah, eight Passover tales. His collection, “A Hanukkah Present” was the finalist for the National Jewish Book Award for Family Literature and “The Brothers Schlemiel” a novel of Chelm. All of these books are available in softcover and electronic editions through Amazon.com and for Android, Nook and iPad.

Information about Booking Events for you or your organization. (Your referrals are the best!)

Mark Binder tours New England, the United States and the world giving presentations and leading workshops. As an author who really knows how to tell a story, he is both educational and entertaining for audiences of all ages — from Preschool through High School, Family, Adult and Senior. He has presented in schools, libraries, churches, synagogues, theaters, community centers, at festivals and in parking lots.

Please contact beth@storyamonth.com or call (401) 272-8707 to discuss possible dates.

For more information: http://storyamonth.com/booking/

Have an excellent day!

Dear Reader,

I hope you are well and cozy.

It’s been an amazing month. Warm weather and then some snow (here in New England) on February 29th.
I’ve been busy working on a variety of new projects — including books, ebooks, getting married and scuba certified!
I’m sure I’ll have an underwater tale in the near future.

In the meantime, I wanted to pass along some details, discounts, and of course this month’s story.
By the way, if you have used any of the stories in class, please let me know how it went. You have my permission to retell the story, and print copies for your classes.
I have found it challenging to develop “teacher’s guides” for each tale, largely because of the Dr. McCoy syndrome (Darn it, Jim, I’m a writer, not a curriculum specialist!). So I welcome your feedback and suggestions.

Thanks!
- Mark

EBOOK NEWS

Recently, I’ve been working on the new iPad/iTextbook — whatever you call it — application, and have created an ebook version of, “The Short Tale of Erika P. Spunk.” We’ve continued to make some changes, so check it out…
It’s out in the iBookstore now, and available for only $.99 — http://bit.ly/erika_ibook

THIS MONTH’s SPECIAL

My Chelm series continues with eight passover stories from Rabbi Kibbitz, Mrs. Chaipul, and many more… Great for all ages (and religions).

This month: 50% off the softcover edition of my Passover Story collection, “Matzah Mishugas: http://bit.ly/marks_deals
For Kindle: http://amzn.to/matzah-kindle | For iPad: http://bit.ly/matzah_ibook1 | For nook: http://bit.ly/matzah_nook

THIS MONTH’S STORY

I wrote this piece to sound like it was a traditional folktale that has been around forever. It’s story that I’ve told many times.
The rhythms of the written text are designed to be easy on the ear. It’s easy to learn.
The lesson of this story is clear, and I think you’ll enjoy it.

The Little Wolf Cub

by Mark Binder
Copyright 2012
All Rights Reserved.

Once there was a little wolf cub, who lived with a pack of wolves. A pack of wolves is a family of wolves. There are mama wolves and papa wolves, grandma wolves and grandpa wolves, niece wolves and nephew wolves, aunt wolves and uncle wolves , cousin wolves and of course brother wolves and sister wolves. There are a lot of wolves in the wolf pack.

Every day, the wolves would go hunting, and when they did, they’d sing a song.

“Ow-oooh, we’re hunting.

Ow-oooh, for food.”

And every day, they’d leave the Little Wolf Cub back at the den with all the really old wolves and all the baby wolves.

Every day, the Little Wolf Cub asked her mother, “When can I go hunting with the pack?”

“When you get big enough,” her mother said.

“When will I be big enough?” asked the Little Wolf Cub.

“When you get old enough,” her mother said.

“When will I be old enough?” asked the Little Wolf Cub.

“When you learn the secret of the wolves,” her mother answered.

“What’s the secret of the wolves?” asked the Little Wolf Cub.

“If I told you,” said her mother with a sly smile, “it wouldn’t be a secret.”

She gave the Little Wolf Cub a kiss, and every morning the Little Wolf Cub listened as the pack went off.

One morning, she decided that she was going to go hunting — by herself.

So she made up her own hunting song.

“Ow-oooh, I’m hunting.

Ow-oooh, for food.”

And off she went into the forest.

“Ow-oooh, I’m hunting.

Ow-oooh, for food.”

She saw something ahead. It had bright yellow feathers and a short beak.

“Excuse me,” she said. “Are you a chicken? Because, if you’re a chicken, wolves like to eat chickens. And if you’re a chicken, I’m going to eat you!”

It turned and stared her in the eyes.

“I’m not a chicken. I’m a rooster,” it said. “And I’m going to peck you right on your nose.”

Peck!

Off she ran, howling. “Owwoooooo!”

When she was far away, she stopped.

“I’m not going to give up,” the Little Wolf Cub said to herself.

“Ow-oooh, I’m hunting.

Ow-oooh, for food.”

She saw something else up ahead. It was jumping up and down. It had a fluffy tail and long furry ears.

“Excuse me,” she said. “Are you a bunny rabbit? Because, if you’re a bunny rabbit, wolves like to eat bunny rabbits. And if you’re a bunny rabbit, I’m going to eat you!”

It turned and stared her in the eyes.

“I’m not a bunny rabbit. I’m a hare,” it said. “And I’m going to kick you right in the nose.”

Kick!

Off she ran, howling. “Owwoooooo!”

When she was far away, she stopped.

“I’m not going to give up,” the Little Wolf Cub said to herself.

“Ow-oooh, I’m hunting.

Ow-oooh, for food.”

After a long while, she saw something else ahead. It was moving through the bushes, snorting. It had a short curly tail and a flat snout.

“Excuse me,” she said. “Are you a pig? Because, if you’re a pig, wolves like to eat pigs. And if you’re a pig, I’m going to eat you!”

It turned and stared her in the eyes. It had an ugly face and long sharp tusks.

“I’m not a pig. I’m a warthog,” it said. “And I’m going to poke you right in the bottom.”

“No way!” yelped the Little Wolf Cub. She ran off howling, with her tail between her legs. “Owwoooooo!”

When she was far away, she stopped.

“I’m not going to give up,” she said to herself.

“Ow-oooh, I’m hunting.

Ow-oooh… I’m lost.”

She didn’t know where she was. She was in a part of the forest she’d never been in before, and it was getting dark.

So, she did what wolves do when they get lonely. She howled.

“Oww-oooooooh!”

She listened. She didn’t hear anything, so she howled again.

“Oww-oooooooh!”

All of a sudden, she was surrounded by eyes. Bright yellow eyes were all around her.

“Aroowo,” she whimpered in her high-pitched voice.

“Arooowoo,” she heard in a much deeper voice.

“Arooo?” she asked.

“Arooo!” she heard.

And out of the shadows came her mother and all of the other wolves.

She was so happy to see her mother that she licked her mother all over the face. (That’s one of the ways wolves like to say hello.)

Her mother was very angry with her. “Where have you been?” she asked as they made their way back to the den.

“I was out hunting,” said the Little Wolf Cub proudly. “I was looking for food.

“First I saw a chicken, but it turned out to be a rooster. Then I found a bunny rabbit, but it turned out to be a hair. Then, I almost caught a pig, the biggest pig I ever saw, but it turned out to be a warthog. I didn’t get anything to eat, and I’m really really hungry.”

Her mother trotted along in silence for a while and then spoke.

“It sounds as if you’ve learned the secret of the wolves.”

“I have?” The Little Wolf Cub was puzzled. “I did?”

“Yes,” her mother nodded. “You learned that one wolf, off by yourself, you’re not very strong. That is why we all work together as a pack. When we work as a community, we can always find enough food for everyone.”

“Really?” The Little Wolf Cub’s face brightened. “I guess I did learn the secret of the wolves.

“Does that mean I can go hunting with the pack?”

“Yes, it does,” her mother said. “Tomorrow. But tonight you will go to bed without any supper, because you are not supposed to go off by yourself.”

That night the Little Wolf Cub went to bed without any supper.

The next morning, she awoke, and she went hunting with the pack.

And she sang the song that they all sang togther.

“Ow-oooh, we’re hunting.

Ow-oooh, for food.

Oww-oooooooh!”

THE END

Copyright 2012 by Mark Binder
All Rights Reserved

Recorded at the Martin Luther King Elementary School, Providence, RI before a Fourth Grade Audience.

This is my version of the classic story. I’ve always wondered whether the old timer’s evaluation of Paul’s intellect might be a little “socially incorrect” these days.

Mark recently presented his Stories for Peace program at several schools during Catholic School week.

Here’s the glowing recommendation one principal had…

February is the month of love, largely because of Valentine’s Day, but also I think because cold weather means that we need something human to keep ourselves warm.

This month’s story is set in Chelm, the village of fools. I’ve written a lot of stories about Chelm, but this is one of my favorites. It was originally published in Hadassah Magazine.

In other news….
I’ve just begun to experiment with Apple’s new iBook technology, and am pleased to announce that my first iBook exclusive is available. “The Short Tale of Erika P. Spunk” is up and for sale (in 12 countries — click here to get it.). It tells the story of a  young girl born with a vertical challenge who goes to great heights and becomes a hero. It only costs $.99 and includes the original audio story from the CD “Classic Stories for Boys and Girls.”

Also, In the coming months, I’m going to be sharing work from a book I’ve begun on the “Eureka! Writing Process” that tries to distill some of the techniques and tricks I’ve learned over 30 years writing and a dozen years teaching writing into a few short pages. In the meantime, if you’re interested in having me come to lead a writing workshop or give an author presentation, please contact us.

- Mark Binder

Why The Bride & Groom Are Put on Top of The Wedding Cake
by Mark Binder

Once upon a time, in the quiet village of Chelm, a man and a woman stood under the chupah to be married.

Jacob and Sara were very much in love.  He was the handsomest young man in Chelm, and she was the most beautiful young woman.  They were intelligent, kind, caring, thrifty, brave, and did I mention kind?  They had courted for many many years, since they were children.  In fact, they had grown up together, next-door neighbors.  And now, Jacob and Sara were about to join with each other for the rest of their lives in marriage.

Surrounding the chupa, crammed into the packed-to-overflowing social hall were so many family and friends that it seemed as if the entire town had been invited.

“A wedding,” said Rabbi Kibbitz, as he stood before the couple, “a wedding is a mystical magical ceremony.

“With a few sacred words, pronounced by the rabbi, a spell is cast, and then, for the rest of eternity, the two participants fates and lives are no longer separate, but one.”

Beautiful Sara looked at handsome Jacob, and she smiled.  Her husband-to-be smiled back.

Rabbi Kibbitz glanced at the couple.  Such a happy pair, he too glowed inside.

Jacob gave Sara a golden band, and pronounced the words of the “Harey.”

A joyous cheer went up that nearly lifted the roof off of the social hall.

Sara’s mother managed to smile through her tears, and pointed at the ring on her daughter’s finger.  Her father was glad that Jacob was such a wonderful boy, and of course Jacob’s parents were equally pleased with their new daughter.  It seemed as if happiness would never be far from this newlywed couple.

“Wait a minute!” Jacob said over the din.  “We have some vows we’d like to exchange.”

Vows?  Exchanging vows?  The people in the social hall quieted down, for this was something that they had never seen at a wedding before.

“Are you sure?” Rabbi Kibbitz said.  “You know, a vow is a very dangerous thing to make, because once it is made, it should never ever be broken.”

“We know,” Sara said, quietly, as she held her new husband’s hand.

The Rabbi looked at the new family, and shrugged, giving his assent.  “Do you want me to say anything, or…”

“No,” Jacob said, just like the authoritative businessman that his father-in-law hoped he would become.

“Thank you,” said the ever-courteous Sara.

They turned to each other, and with beautiful ceremony, they spoke the vows they had discussed.

They took turns, Jacob read, and Sara repeated.

“I vow to you, Sara,” he said

“I vow to you, Jacob,” she replied.

“Never to break my word, never to be unfaithful, never to be far from your side.

“I vow never to be angry, to always respect you, to care for you…”

These young people, the Rabbi thought, how sweet and considerate they are to each other.  I think perhaps it is time for me to say some kind words to my beloved.

“I vow to always support you, to always make you happy,” Sara was saying.

“I vow to stay with you forever, to keep you healthy…” Jacob intoned.

On the other hand, Rabbi Kibbitz thought, they do seem to go on and on.

The list, in fact, seemed almost endless.

It took Sara and Jacob more than an hour to read it all.  Their vows included health, wealth, travel, children, parents, gifts, jobs, food, funeral arrangements, thank-you notes, taking out the garbage, feeding the pets — an entire system of what they promised to do for each other and with each other for the rest of their lives together!

There was a pause, and Rabbi Kibbitz heard Mrs. Chaipul snore.  In fact, by the time they had finished, it wasn’t just Mrs. Chaipul, but many of the older and younger members of the congregation were also dozing.

“All of these promises, I vow to you, Sara,” Jacob said, in what the Rabbi hoped were concluding tones.

“I vow to you also, Jacob,” Sara said quietly.  “We’re done,” she added.

“Whew,” said Rabbi Kibbitz.  “Why don’t you break the glass now?”

With a CRASH, Jacob stepped on the glass, symbolizing the destruction of the temple and the permanence of their marriage.

The sound of the shattering awoke all the relations, and again, the entire assembly cheered, shaking the roof and the walls as well.

Finally, after such a long and significant delay, the couple took each other’s hands, and, smiling, they turned as one to walk back down the aisle.

But, instead of parading proudly in front of their family and friends, the new husband and wife didn’t move.  They stood, hand in hand, beneath the chupah, perfectly still.

“What’s the matter?” said Jacob’s mother.

“It’s your foolish son,” said Sara’s mother, “he seems to be paralyzed.”

“Well, so is your daughter,” snapped Jacob’s mother.

And indeed, neither Jacob nor Sara were moving a muscle.

“What is it, Rabbi?” asked the two mothers.  “What has happened to our children?”

Rabbi Kibbitz shook his head and frowned.  He walked around Jacob and Sara, nudged them a little, waved his hand in front of their open eyes, and frowned again.

“You both have two wonderful and virtuous children,” he said.  “But this is something that I’m afraid I was afraid might happen.”

“What, Rabbi, what?”

The Rabbi shrugged, “They both made so many vows to each other that they can not move for fear of breaking their promises.”

Too many vows?  A buzz went through the social hall.  They can’t move?

“Is there anything that can be done?” wailed Sara’s mother.

The rabbi shook his head sadly, and shrugged again.  “We can go on with the party, and allow them to enjoy their wedding day as we enjoy their wedding day.”

“So, why not?” said Sara’s father, “It’s already paid for.”

And so, all the friends and relatives and townspeople of Chelm celebrated.  They ate, they drank, and they danced the hora.

When, at last, it was time to say goodbye and go home, one by one, they kissed Jacob and Sara on the cheek, and left them together alone.

From that day on, Sara and Jacob stood together in the social hall, beneath their chupah for the rest of their lives.  Whether their marriage was happy or not, who could say. But for all those years, the relatives noted, they never once fought, and they always, always held hands.

So that, my friends, is why you sometimes see the figures of a bride and groom together on top of a wedding cake.  They are a symbol of Jacob and Sara’s perfect unbroken marriage.  But they are also a reminder to a new husband and wife to be forgiving in the promises they make to each other.

THE END

Copyright 2012 by Mark Binder
All Rights Reserved

Two Video Recommendations…
Mark recently shared his work with two diverse groups — Seniors at the Misler Center in Washington Area, and Elementary school students at the Jewish Community Day School in Providence. All in one video!

We’ll hear from David Gamse, CEO of the Jewish Council on the Aging and from Shari Weinberger at the Jewish Community Day School.