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Classic chassidic tales. There's no better way to make a point than to tell a story...

Chassidic Stories

Chassidic Stories

There's no better way to make a point than to tell a story...

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The suddenness of the rebbe’s appearance in his city caught the chassid, along with his wide-open mansion, off guard. Left with no choice, he reluctantly surrendered his house so that it could serve as the rebbe’s accommodation.
It was winter, and as they set out on their journey, snow began to fall, and strong winds pushed them from the snow-covered road.
"Tell them that you are ready to offer a dowry of 2,000 silver rubles, as long as the groom is a Torah scholar and from a respectable family.”
One Simchat Torah, a group of boisterous villagers burst through the entrance in high spirits . . .
How did the shoemaker lay his hands on the precious artifact? No one knew.
The messenger approached a traveler and asked him whether he was carrying an etrog . . .
To the czar’s horror, the soldier tugged his curved sword out from its sheath and presented it to the innkeeper . . .
Overcome by grief, the poor man barely managed to process the news before he passed out . . .
A simple, uncouth individual, dressed in the attire of ignorant and coarse men, came to his home.
The students spread out, scouring all paths leading to the field for a gentleman who might lend them a pipe.
The innkeeper lived modestly, but he offered his guests his best rooms and did everything he could to make their stay comfortable.
“The community is too poor, and cannot shoulder the financial burden of this endeavor. And as for the local gevir, it is a waste of time even to approach him . . .”
As night fell, they tried to find their way out of the soggy forest but, blinded by sheets of rain, they could not find the right path
The young man slowly accumulated a small fortune of twelve gold coins and one copper coin.
When Berel heard that there would be a celebration in honor of a new Torah, he naively assumed that he would be welcomed to the joyful event.
The businessman was at his wits’ end. For years, he had eked out a living through the small concession that the Polish government had granted him. And now, his license was suddenly revoked, and he had no idea where his next few zlotys would come from.
“As you know, I am an expert tailor,” said the man, whose eyes still glistened with tears. “I make high-quality clothing for princes, nobles and other fine folks.
He is intent on the names printed in the thick ream of pages that sits in front of him. He reads the names, and from time to time uses a large black fountain pen to mark a name with an X.
How were the poor wretches supposed to raise money from the confinement of their prison cells?
“Meilech,” called the Maggid from his room. “Do you hear what they are saying right now in heaven?"
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