The Donkey of Chelm

When you invite a donkey to speak in your shul

It happened that the townspeople of Chelm invited a donkey as scholar-in-residence at their Great Synagogue. Nobody knew exactly who the donkey was and what his qualifications were, but everybody had their ideas. The simple tradesmen thought he was Bilaam’s donkey, which would explain why he could talk. They confused a she-ass with a he-ass. As I said, they were simple. The more sophisticated Daf-Yomi learners thought the donkey was the donkey of Pinchas ben Yair, which is why he took interest in Jewish scholarship. The Yeshivish cohort thought he was a reincarnation of Issachar, whom Jacob calls a donkey who studies Torah. The Modern Orthodox countered that Jacob was certainly not referring to Torah study in his blessing, as the Torah had not been developed yet, and besides, there is no such thing as reincarnation. Instead, with their fantastic knowledge of Tanach that they had last studied in their 9th grade coed class (but maintained a Tanach-knowledge-superiority complex for the rest of their lives), they claimed he was the donkey of Abigail. But it is not for me to decide who was correct, I am just telling you the story as it happened.

Finally, the great day came. It was Friday afternoon, and the entire town went to the outskirts to greet the donkey and escort him to his stable, which was appointed in grand style, and then towards the synagogue, where he would deliver the sermon. After hours of breathless anticipation, they spotted the donkey in the distance, being led by a goy named Igor. The townsfolk burst into spontaneous song and dance at the sight of this esteemed intellectual who would grace the town with his presence. The simple tradesmen started singing “Siman tov umazal tov”, poor confused simpletons they were. The Yeshivish cadre erupted in “Yomim al yemei melech tosif…”. And the Modern Orthodox started dancing the horah and singing “Zum gali gali”, for they imagined that the donkey was surely an ardent Zionist.

As they surrounded the donkey and led him to his stall, the wise men of Chelm attempted to pepper him with questions that they had prepared. But the donkey maintained a dignified silence, befitting an enlightened scholar of his stature. The donkey’s stall was bedecked with all the luxuries a donkey could imagine. The freshest oats, picked from yesterday’s harvest. Sugar cubes, which cost a fortune in Chelm. And a bed of the finest straw harvested from only the lushest fields. After giving the donkey about an hour to prepare himself for Shabbos, the excited townsfolk escorted him to the Great Synagogue. Anticipation ran high. Despite the many divisions among the townsfolk, every had the same prediction about that which the donkey would speak about.

I am sorry to tell you about a very sad episode in the history of Chelm that had occurred just two months prior. It had been the first season of the national curling playoff, and Chelm’s premier Modern Orthodox high school, TACKY (Torah Academy of Chelm Kounty, Yugoslavia), was competing against the only other team in their exceedingly low class, the Anatevka Alligators of the neighboring shtetl, Anatevka. In most years, Anatevka was at the rock-bottom of the playoffs, at 206th, and Chelm was 205th. This had always been a major source of civic pride for Chelm, losers they were. But just two months prior, Anatevka had creamed Chelm in a pivotal game, pushing Chelm to the bottom, and devastating their poor fans. The elders of Chelm suspected very strongly that Anatevka had rigged the game by “greasing” the curling rock with chicken schmaltz. Some womenfolk reported seeing a strange man bringing a dead chicken into the arena the night before. And in the eyes of the townspeople of Chelm, this was the greatest insult and injustice possible. Therefore, they were absolutely sure that their donkey scholar-in-residence would deliver a stinging rebuke to the Anatevkans, whom they had since nicknamed the “Anatevka Idiots”

As they led the donkey up to the podium, the townsfolk were rubbing their hands together gleefully, impatiently anticipating their moment of revenge. Rabbi Dr. Sebastian Finklestein, Rosh Yeshiva of TACKY dabbed a tear as his emotions overwhelmed him. Finally, he thought, the hammer of justice is nigh. Vindication comes close. Those Anatevkans will regret that they ever stepped foot in this town.

The synagogue was absolutely silent, everybody waiting for the donkey to start his sermon. But the donkey just stood there, looking confused. The rabbi tried signaling to the donkey to begin, and at first, it looked like this was effective. The donkey opened his mouth and for a moment, it seemed that he was about to say something. But disappointingly, what came out was just a bray. There was a murmur from the audience. What was their guest speaker saying? Was this some sort of different language? Meanwhile, the donkey was getting more and more agitated. Suddenly, he kicked the podium. Now, if you have ever had experience with a donkey, you would know how powerful its kicks are. The podium flew like a missile into the audience, and those in its path just barely managed to dodge, saving their lives. There was confused hubbub as everybody got up. What was their scholar-in-residence doing? What did this all mean? This only upset the donkey even more. Suddenly, the donkey was everywhere- braying, stomping, kicking, biting, overturning chairs, tables, lecterns. The entire synagogue erupted- some trying to escape, some trying to restrain the donkey, and some just glued to the spot with fascination. Finally, after about three minutes of struggle, a group of strong men from the blacksmith’s union manage to put the donkey in a nelson grip and immobilized him, but not before the donkey defecated in the rabbi’s chair and splattered his fecal matter ten seats in every direction.

The Synagogue was a complete disaster scene and could not be used the next morning. On Sunday, the Chelm council entered the synagogue to survey the damage. And quite the catastrophe it was. There was hardly a piece of furniture that was intact, and the freshly painted wall and freshly waxed floor was covered with ugly, reeking stains. As they stood there aghast, one of the council members, a wise man, spoke up.

“Well, fellow Chelmers, what do you think about our scholar-in-residence’s message?”

Everybody looked at him, agape.

“Message? What message? We foolishly brought in a wild donkey to wreck our synagogue!”

The wise council member smirked smugly.

“Wrecked? Can’t you take constructive criticism? You all imagined that our scholar-in-residence would rebuke Anatevka. But you were wrong. Totally, utterly wrong! Our scholar came to rebuke us!”

The other council members interjected-

“This is what you call constructive criticism? Biting, kicking, scratching, and defecating? This is not criticism, this is just damage!”

At this, the wise man’s smirk stretched wider.

“Foolish fellow council members! Why do you focus on the style of criticism? Focus on the substance! Do you disagree that we have what to criticize? Do you think we are perfect? Do we not have numerous flaws? You should be grateful for our scholar’s reprimand, no matter the method!”

At these pearls of wisdom, the other council members had no response. They couldn’t dispute the wise man’s piercing analysis. They realized that their scholar-in-residence had indeed done his job, he had just lectured on a different topic than they had expected, and in a different manner than they were used to.

Therefore, it was decided that the following year, the donkey would again be invited as a scholar-in-residence in Chelm. But instead of lecturing in the Great Synagogue, where the damage would inevitably be very expensive, the donkey would deliver his sermon in a tiny house minyan down the street.