Chelm for the Holidays

by Valerie Estelle Frankel

  Thereafter, every year on Lag Ba’Omer, all the people of Chelm trooped to Shlomo’s barn. In wind, rain, or sun, they soaped the floor and slid around in glorious circles. And every year they would pause for a moment, just to allow Grandma Faina to say, “You see? It got better.” And she was right. For what other village could boast its own skating rink for the summer holiday of Lag Ba’Omer?

  Elijah Brings the Blintzes

  A Shavuot Story

  Shavuot, the holiday celebrating the receiving of the Ten Commandments, had arrived. The wealthier villagers would stuff themselves with traditional blintzes and cheesecake and cream. But poor Caleb the Woodcutter had none of those things and had never tasted even a blintz. Instead, he went to his neighbor, Avram, to borrow a book to read for the holiday.

  When he knocked on Avram’s door, he smelled a marvelous aroma drifting from the kitchen.

  “What’s that smell?” he asked his friend.

  Avram motioned for Caleb to enter. “Those are blintzes, to celebrate Shavuot, of course.”

  “Truly, the Lord’s world is full of wonders.” Caleb asked to borrow a book, and Avram quickly agreed. As Caleb stood there, breathing in the warm intoxicating smells, he decided that, just once, he had to try a blintz. He rushed back to his cottage, errand forgotten.

  “Wife, I want you to make me some blintzes for Shavuot,” Caleb said.

  Sarah stared at him. “Husband, we are too poor. We can’t afford the ingredients.”

  “Like what?” asked Caleb.

  “Well, the sour cream to go on top, for instance,” said Sarah.

  “Well, skip the sour cream, then,” said Caleb.

  “What about cinnamon? Cinnamon costs much too much,” said Sarah.

  “All right. No cinnamon,” said Caleb.

  “And the cheese for the filling?” asked Sarah.

  “We can use something else, can’t we?” asked Caleb.

  “Maybe I can come up with something,” Sarah muttered as she headed toward the kitchen.

  An hour later, she brought a plate of pancakes to the table. Each one was wrapped around a dribble of sour milk. “Here are your blintzes. I hope you like them.”

  Caleb tried one. “They aren’t very good, are they? I mean, I thought they’d taste sweet. The ones at Avram’s house smelled like a bowl of honey, but spicier and richer.”

  His wife huffed, resenting the insult to her cooking. “It’s because you’ve been sitting around the house all day. Go take a walk, breathe some fresh air. Then you’ll like them better.”

  “All right, I’ll go. But you should come too.”

  “Fine, just let me lock the windows.”

  Everyone in Chelm knew that burglars always climbed in and out of windows to do their evil deeds. Therefore, while the door could be left swinging open, the windows always had to be shuttered and locked.

  Only a few minutes after they departed on their walk, Avram came to the door. “Caleb, you forgot your book. See, I brought it for you.” He stepped inside the open door and looked around. No one was there. On the table lay a stack of pancakes on a plate. “Well look at that. Pancakes! Pancakes just like my mother made them, when I was growing up. What a pity I can’t convince my wife to make these for me. She wants everything covered in sugar and cream. Well, Caleb is my close friend. He won’t mind if I have just a bite.”

  Avram sat down and began to eat. Before he knew it, he had finished the entire platter. “What have I done? My friend is poor, and these pancakes must have been his entire dinner. And now I’ve eaten it! Wait, I know what I’ll do. My wife made lovely blintzes for Shavuot. I’ll bring them over here and leave them for Caleb and his wife. I’m sure they’ll enjoy them.” And so Avram hurried off and did exactly that.

  When Caleb and his wife returned from their walk, Caleb sat down at the table and began to eat. He tried a bite and then looked up. “Sarah! You must taste these. They’re incredible.” So she tasted the blintzes, and immediately both of them stuffed them in their mouths as fast as they could.

  The neighbors came by to see what smelled so good. Caleb and his wife explained their miracle recipe to them. “It’s blintzes,” they said. “Real Shavuot blintzes. And the recipe is so simple. You make a pancake rolled around a little sour milk. Then you go off for a walk, and when you return—blintzes!”

  The neighbors hurried home to try the recipe. To their disappointment, their attempts just created simple pancakes, rather than the marvelous blintzes they had smelled.

  Caleb listened to their complaints, stroking his short beard and considering the matter very carefully. “Well, if we didn’t make these blintzes, who did?”

  His wife tugged at his sleeve. “Perhaps it was the prophet Elijah! He does good deeds for righteous people, after all.”

  Caleb’s eyebrows shot up. “What? Why would the prophet Elijah bring us blintzes?”

  “We do good deeds, and every Passover we leave out a glass of wine for him. Perhaps he’s repaying us.”

  Caleb considered his wife’s words. “You know, perhaps you’re right. We’ve always been good people, and Elijah always comes and drinks our wine. Perhaps this year he’s brought us something in return.”

  “It isn’t fair that Elijah brought you delicious blintzes,” said Ehud. “We, too, give him wine every Passover, just as you do.”

  “Well, it must be because I am a worthier man,” Caleb said proudly. “The Lord has seen that and chooses to reward me with blintzes. In fact,” he said, strutting a bit, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he had the angels cook them for me.”

  “If Caleb’s house is such a holy place that Elijah brings blintzes there,” said Rachel, “maybe we should tear it down and put pieces of that house in our homes. That way we can share in the holiness.”

  “It’s not the house that’s holy, it’s the man,” Chaya responded. “We must show the Lord that we honor Caleb.”

  “And how shall we do that? Elect him to the Council of Elders?”

  Chaya nodded vigorously. “That’s a good idea.”

  Now Caleb began to tremble with nervousness, because he knew that his thin, scraggly beard wasn’t long or thick enough for him to be on the council. The Elders were elected because their splendid beards made them the wisest in the town. But as all of his neighbors stood there praising him, and saying how holy he must be to have Elijah himself delivering his blintzes, Caleb began to swagger around the house. And why shouldn’t he be one of the Elders? He might not be as wise as they were, or have as long a beard, but he was a holy man and a good man. He would make a fine addition to the council.

  But the other Elders were not so sure. They raised their eyebrows at the crowd clamoring on the council steps. Itzik the Silly shook his head. “We’ve been Elders for years, ever since our beards grew long enough. How can Caleb be one of us, with that scraggly little tuft?”

  Gimpel the Great Fool stroked his beard. “Remind me, why does everybody think Caleb is all of a sudden a holy man?”

  “Because the people want blintzes,” said Farfel the Fat.

  “Then there’s no need to make Caleb an Elder. All we need to do is make a rule that anyone who can afford to have blintzes on Shavuot must share them with someone who can’t. Then all the people will have blintzes.”

  The other Elders applauded this wisdom.

  That evening everyone gathered in the square. The wealthier men and women of Chelm brought gigantic platters of blintzes, enough for everyone to share. People ate until they were full of cream and sugar and cinnamon. They all agreed it was the best Shavuot ever. And Caleb went back to his cottage and his happy wife. Both had finally eaten all the blintzes that they could hold. Caleb didn’t even regret not being chosen as an Elder. Well, maybe just a little.

  The Disappearing Challah

  A Shabbat Story

  Once a week, on Shabbat, the people of Chelm sleep late. Dawn finds a market empty of aproned people and vegetable carts. Instead, everyone dresses in his or her ve
ry best clothes. For the men, this means a dark coat and a broad hat. For the women, this means patterned dresses. Mendel, who cut all his coats in half to save on laundry costs, wears half a jacket. Grandma Faina wears mittens on her feet and shoes on her hands so they’ll all get worn out equally (because mittens are cheaper than shoes). And Rivka fills her pockets with cookies to give to the quietest children after services. All the people gather at the synagogue to praise Hashem and to request that their lives be good throughout the year. And then everyone goes off happily, ready for an enormous Kiddush lunch with the rabbi. Well . . . almost everyone.

  Lyzer was a very wealthy man. In fact, the people called him Lyzer the Miser, because he couldn’t bear parting with a single copper coin.

  One morning, Lyzer was snoring his way through services. Farfel elbowed him, and Lyzer shifted a little. Maybe he wasn’t paying much attention to the service, but at least he’d shown up, hadn’t he? That should be good enough for Hashem. A mild twist of guilt rumbled in his stomach, though it might have been indigestion. He had eaten an enormous Shabbat dinner at the home of Gimpel the Great Fool the previous night, with brisket, herring, gefilte fish, chopped liver, baked apples, and any number of other good things. After all that, he preferred a nap to the rabbi’s sermon this morning.

  “Long ago, all twelve tribes of Israel lived in Eretz Yisrael, the Land of Milk and Honey,” said the rabbi. “And one day Hashem will bring us back. But in return, we must do something for Hashem. We must perform deeds of lovingkindness.”

  As the rabbi described the deeds—feeding the hungry, clothing the needy, visiting the sick—Lyzer drifted off again. And in his sleepy mind, his thoughts went something like this: “So we need to give something in order to reach Eretz Yisrael? Hashem is a better businessman than I thought. Not that I need milk and honey, especially; I have pitchers of both. In fact, this morning I had milk and honey for breakfast, but I had something else with them: challah! Hmm. If Hashem has an abundance of milk and honey, I can’t think of anything nicer to give him than a big loaf of challah. That will definitely get me to Eretz Yisrael.”

  “Twelve tribes, each caring for the others . . .” the rabbi continued.

  “Very well,” Lyzer muttered aloud. “Twelve loaves of challah, then. That’s fair.”

  From up in the balcony, Rivka threw a cookie at his head.

  The next week, before Friday night services began, Lyzer snuck into the synagogue with a dozen fresh loaves in a drawstring bag. Not knowing what else to do, he placed them inside the ark. He rocked back and forth on his toes for a moment but wasn’t sure what to say. Lyzer cleared his throat. “Hello. Here’s something for You and all the angels. You see, I want to go to Eretz Yisrael, land of Milk and Honey. Sorry I fell asleep last week; I really didn’t mean it. Just too much herring—you know how that is. I don’t suppose you could liven things up this week with a thunderstorm or something? Maybe not. Well, good eating.” And Lyzer left.

  On the other side of town, Baruch paced the floor. He and his wife, Chaya, had eaten their last scrap of challah that morning. Nothing remained for Shabbat dinner. “Well, wife, what shall we do?” asked Baruch.

  “Go to the synagogue. Perhaps the rabbi can do something to help us,” Chaya said, twisting her patched kerchief in her hands.

  “I can’t ask for charity, Chaya!”

  “Asking the rabbi to help us is like asking Hashem,” Chaya retorted. “Go and see.”

  So Baruch went to the synagogue. The rabbi was out, so Baruch sat in one of the pews before the ark. In the quiet room, he felt as if he knelt before Hashem’s throne. “We are ever in your hands, Hashem,” he prayed. “My wife and I have been faithful all our lives, but now we have nothing, only a tattered roof over our heads. Soon we shall starve. I can’t ask anyone else for help. I just can’t. Surely, in your mercy . . .” Overcome by despair, Baruch stood and opened the doors to the ark. And what did he find there? A bag containing a dozen loaves of challah. “Blessings upon you, Lord. In your goodness you have saved us!” he cried. He snatched the bag and hurried home to his wife.

  When Shabbat was over, after the Havdalah prayers, Lyzer opened the ark. Behold, a miracle had occurred! The loaves had vanished. “Amazing!” he said. “Hashem, I see you liked my bread. Look, you barely even left crumbs. Next week, I’ll bring you a dozen more loaves—with raisins!” And he did.

  Seven days later, Baruch hesitated before the ark. “Lord, last week was a beautiful miracle,” he said. “We ate seven loaves and donated two to charity. Then we sold the last three before they went stale. Would you consider blessing us again? Chaya and I—we could really use the help.” Though Baruch never would have asked a living person to help him, he didn’t feel so embarrassed asking Hashem. It felt good to share his problems, knowing someone was listening. Imagine Baruch’s amazement and gratitude when he opened the ark and found twelve more loaves—with raisins!

  Every Shabbat for ten years, this giving and taking lasted, with neither party the wiser.

  One Friday afternoon, the rabbi forgot his tallis at the synagogue and had to return for it. He walked in just in time to see Lyzer place a cotton bag inside the ark. As the rabbi watched, Lyzer hesitated before the ark, digging a shoe into the dirt floor. “Lord, my wife has arthritis. Her hands cramp, and she can’t knead the bread the way she used to. Maybe . . . maybe you could help? Better hands for her mean better bread for you, you know. And please, bring healing to all who suffer and guide us all to Eretz Yisrael. Though there’s no rush. I mean, I just bought a new barn.” He bowed before the ark and turned to leave.

  In his weekly visits, Lyzer had become more and more uncomfortable just standing before the ark, asking to get into Eretz Yisrael, so he started asking Hashem to bless the people of Chelm. This quiet moment before the ark meant a great deal to Lyzer, truth be told, since he had finally found a way to connect with Hashem.

  “What are you doing?” the rabbi asked when Lyzer had finished his prayer.

  “I’m giving Hashem his bread, Rabbi,” Lyzer explained. Of course, after that, he had to tell the rabbi the whole story.

  “And you say the challah vanishes every week?” the rabbi asked.

  “Of course. Hashem eats it with milk and honey. Very neat, I must say. Never leaves any crumbs.”

  The rabbi shook his head. “That can’t be, but I think . . . well . . . perhaps we’d best just watch for a while.”

  They hid themselves behind the pews. After a time, Baruch tiptoed into the synagogue and hesitated in front of the ark. “Lord, I probably shouldn’t say anything, I mean, I wouldn’t even call it a problem, truly. Well . . . the bread’s been a bit . . . er . . . lumpy lately. Maybe the angels are careless? Not that I’m complaining, mind you. You know this blessing has saved us over and over. But those angels aren’t ready for bakers’ awards, believe me.” With a brief prayer for the people of Chelm, he took the bread out of the ark.

  “What are you doing with Hashem’s bread?” Lyzer blustered, leaping to his feet.

  “Hashem gave it to me,” Baruch replied, startled. “It comes every week.”

  “But I’ve been giving this challah to Hashem!” Lyzer said.

  “And I’ve been getting it from Hashem,” answered Baruch.

  He hadn’t known it was Lyzer all along. Baruch would never have asked the stingiest man in Chelm for a gift. But here Lyzer had helped him and his wife, over and over again. Baruch stammered his thanks.

  Lyzer mumbled a quick “Don’t mention it.” Ten years! Worse yet, not a single crumb of the challah had made its way to Hashem. What was Lyzer to do? He hurried over to the rabbi. “Rabbi, Hashem never received my gift!”

  “Hashem received it every single week. Don’t you think the Lord wants you to help those in need?”

  “But how will I get to Eretz Yisrael if I’ve never given selflessly?” Lyzer asked. “That’s why I offered challah to Hashem. I wanted Hashem to see I’m a good person. I may snore during services, but at
least I’ve been giving Hashem a fine gift every week.”

  “You’ve done better than that. You have helped a fellow human being,” the rabbi said. “Hashem has certainly appreciated your deeds of lovingkindness.”

  About the Author

  Valerie Estelle Frankel is the author of over fifty books. She has taught children of all ages and is a former San Jose State University professor. She enjoys dancing, acting, and creating costumes. She lives in California.