Can You See the Turning? Adapted from a new Hasidic tale by Doug Lipman

Rabbi Pesach Mendel was playing with the children outside the synagogue. They were gathered round him as he leaned against his usual tree.

One little girl said, "Rabbi, I have a question”

"Yes, Feygele?"

"Rabbi, why doesn't the baker come to services anymore? He was a nice man. He used to give us bread."

The rabbi sighed. "Actually, it's because I have to do teshuvah."

"What's that?"

"Well, the word means 'turning' or 'repentance.' But it's really like this: Have you ever seen a stick floating down the river? How it's lined up with the current and floats easily? But sometimes it gets caught on a rock, and gets turned against the current. Then it just stays in one place, and shakes. Or sometimes it gets beaten against the rock, and keeps getting smaller and smaller."

"Well," the rabbi went on, "if the Source of Life is the river, then your soul is the stick. And so if the stick can free itself from the rock and get lined up again with the current, it will float easily on the stream of life: That's teshuvah."

Feygele screwed up her face in puzzlement. "Can you see if somebody's soul is lined up?"

"No. When someone does teshuvah, you can't really tell by looking at them."

"I could," said the little girl. "I think I could tell, rabbi."

First thing the next morning, the rabbi called together a meeting of those who were most important in the running of the synagogue.

"I have to tell you something I did—and I’m not sure how to make it better. Maybe you can help me."

"I hurt the feelings of the baker," he went on. "I complained about his clothes leaving flour all over my office. For some reason, at the time, it seemed important! That was many days ago. I tried to apologize to him. I went to his house. I even went to find him at the bakery one night. But he seems to be avoiding me. Please, help me figure out how to make this right!"

Reb Dovid looked horrified. "You, rabbi? No! For over a month, I've been complaining about the flour he leaves on the bench after morning prayers. It was me who offended him!"

Then the widow Galya said, "Oh, no! My house is right next to the synagogue, and I do have an extra room with its own entrance. But when the baker asked if he could leave a change of clothes there, to put on after his all-night job and before morning prayers, I just thought it didn't look proper to have a man entering my house. I told him, 'No.'"

The rabbi said, "I see. We are all stuck on the same stone."

The next morning, when the baker came from his night's work, he got to his little house on the outskirts of town—only to see a crowd outside his door. "Forgive me! Forgive us!" they said, clamoring about him. There was no place for him to escape from his embarrassment.

In moment, he and the rabbi were face to face. Rabbi Pesach Mendel said, “Please forgive me,” and he opened his arms to the baker, who let the rabbi hug him. The two men held each other, tears in their eyes. Then the baker turned to each person, and they exchanged healing words and embraces.

Soon, they were all filing back into town for the morning services. As they came up to the door of the synagogue, the little girl, Feygele, took one look at them and began laughing.

"I was right, rabbi. Look at you!"

Rabbi Pesach Mendel looked down at the white smudge of a baker's hug on his clothes. "I guess you're right, Feygele. Sometimes, when someone has done teshuvah, you can tell just by looking at them."