A Story in Which Two Yeshiva Students Come to a Shtetl

Two yeshiva buchers went for a walk together and came to an unfamiliar village. It was Friday afternoon and Shabbos was swiftly approaching. As the sun began to set, the students realized they would need to remain in the village until the end of Shabbos. But where would they partake of their Shabbos meal? And where would they spend the night? They would need to ask the village rebbe for a solution to their predicament.

I take a deep breath and hold the pages at a distance. The story, recently sent back to me by the freelance Yiddish translator I found online, holds my attention. So simple and Chelm-like, it transports me backwards in time, to another world and another mindset.

I pick up the original handwritten pages from the table. Pages I had discovered in the attic in a box labeled ‘Father’s writings.’ The pages had not been written by my father, but rather by my paternal grandfather. I was emptying the attic because I was selling my parent’s house. Three months had passed since my father’s death, and it was time to put the past behind me. Proceeds from the house’s sale would be shared with my two sisters.

Read the rest of the story on OfTheBook.