in memory of the Heliger Bobover, ZT'L,  Rabbeinu's
own favorite storyteller, here are Rabbeinu's
own words on the art of storytelling.

House of Love and Prayer, San Francisco, 5732.
Reprinted from the Holy Beggars' Gazette
Transcription by Donna Anderson Maimes

Rabbeinu speaking:

Two people came to Reb Yisroel Rizener: One,
a storyteller who had a book of stories, and
the other, a great scholar who had written
great treatises on halacha. So the shames asked
the Rizhener who he would see first. The
Rebbe says, "I want to see the storyteller
first." The secretary was really astounded
that he would call in this uneducated storyteller
in preference to this great scholar,
but he doesn't say anything. So he ushers in
the little storyteller and the Rebbe looks a
his book and says, "Oh this is such a beautiful
story, it's the greatest story I ever read. The
story is really holy." Then he asks to see the
scholar and his great treatise on halacha. He
is looking at the book, and he says. "Oh this
is so deep, it is really from Mt. Sinai." The
they both leave and the secretary comes in an
says, "I don't understand it. Here is a great
scholar who has studied many years, who is one
of the greatest men, and you ask him to come
in second.   First you hear the storyteller."
"So." the Rebbe says.  "I'm just doing it the
way Hashem did it in the Torah. First Hashem
was telling stories -- He told the story of
creation, the story of the flood, the stories
of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. the story of
slavery, the story of redemption, and then He
led us before Sinai. After he told us all
these stories he gave us the laws."

Reb Nachman said G-d created man because He loves stories.
The whole world is G-d telling a story. G-d is telling us
stories, creating the world, creating people, telling long
stories. There is such a thing as prayer, which is very
deep, but, Reb Nachman says, prayer is not the deepest depths
of closeness to G-d. The deepest depths of closeness to G-d
is when you can tell G-d a story. The Tree of Knowledge
is theories and the Tree of Life is stories.

     Everything we understand comes
from our consciousness. Where do stories originate?
Imagination. The truth is, the story comes from
beyond my consciousness, but it flows into my
consciousness. The story itself is really beyond.
Reb Nachman says when you dream, you always
dream stories, not theories. When your imagination
is completely free, then you dream stories. When
people sit and tell each other stories, they
really become friends.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

      You know we are living in a world where
there is hardly anything that children do not
know. But, you know what they are missing:
stories. Stories are so real that they are
both old and new. They are so holy and so deep.
They touch something in the soul.


------------------------------
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Date: Wed, 2 Aug 2000 22:33:25 -0400
To: reb-shlomo@shamash.org
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Subject: The Holy Miser
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Transcribed by Samuel Intrator for Connections Magazine
Brooklyn, 5745.

Reprinted with permission of Connections Magazine

Commercial distribution prohibited without written consent
of Connections and the Estate of Shlomo Carlebach

Rabbeinu speaking:


I would like to tell you a story I grew up with,
that my father would tell me.

      In 1550, there lived in Cracow, a rich
Jew, the greatest miser in the world. He was
buried, not in the cemetery, but outside of
the cemetery. On his grave there is a tombstone
and it reads: "Here lies Yossalah the
Holy Miser." Here is where the story begins.

      In 1550, we lived in Cracow in a ghetto and
everybody was poor, downhearted, depressed and
heartbroken. There was only one Jew who had
money, but he was such a miser. You know, our
holy rabbis teach us a sinner is not anti-G-d.
he just doesn't do G-d's will. But a miser is
anti-G-d. G-d is giving, but he only takes.
A miser is not part of the world. So, Yossaleh
became an outcast. People would throw stones
at him on the street. Children would laugh at
him and who would say Good Shabbos! to him or
give him any honor. One day, the Chevra Kaddisha,
the burial society, was told Yossalah is dying.
They went to his bedside and they said,
"Yossalah, you can't take the money with you
anyway. Give us 1,000 rubles and we will bury
you, and, we will give the money to the poor
which you neglected all your life." Leave it
to Yossalah though, "I cannot give more than
50 rubles." The people were so disgusted with
him, they said you can't take it with you anyway.
Once in your life, give some money to the
poor. Yossalah insisted that he refuses to give
more than 50 rubles and the burial society
members told him in that case, we refuse to
bury you. He said to them, "I don't mind. I'll
bury myself." it was too ugly. The members got
up to leave and at that moment, Yossalah uttered
the word Heshem Achad, G-d is One, and his soul
left the world. The people were just disgusted.
He died Sunday night -- no one buried him.
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. Wednesday night,
a neighbor thought it was not fair to his wife
and children. He must be buried. So, late at
night, for he was afraid to do something
against the community, he singlehandedly loaded
him on the wagon and dug a grave for him near
a lonely tree. He threw him in and covered him
with earth and thought that Yossalah would be
forgotten.

      At that time, the chief Rabbi in Cracow,
was Reb Kalman, one of the greatest Kabbalists
of his time. Late Thursday night, a poor man
knocked on his door and said, "Rabbi, please
give me money to buy food for Shabbos." Reb.
Kalman says, "I'll be glad to. Why tonight?
I have never seen you before. How did you make
out last Shabbos?" "Reb Kalman," he said, "for
the past twenty years, I can't make a living,
but every Thursday morning there were five rubles
left in an
envelope under my broken door. But not this
morning." Five minutes later another poor man
knocked on his door and said, "Rabbi Kalman,
please give me money to buy food for Shabbos."
"I'll be glad to, but where were you last week?"
He says, "Reb Kalman, the truth is that for the
last ten years, I can't make a living, but every
Thursday morning, there were two rubles under
my broken door. But not this morning." Within
hours, all the poor people in Cracow came and
told the same story.

      Can you imagine, Yosseleh supported
the whole city, all the poor people lived from
his money and nobody knew about it. Reb Kalman
asked the poor people, "I don't understand, how
come to you he gave five rubles, to you two and
to you, ten, and how did he know where you lived.
The most unbelievable thing was revealed to him.
Once in their life, every poor person thought
that he could get through to Yossalah, the only
man who has money in Cracow. He would visit
Yossalah. Yossalah would open his door with
so much love and so much understanding. "Come
in, sit down." He took a piece of paper and a
pencil and would say. "What is your name, my friend?"
"I am Avramalih, the watercarrier."
"How many children do you have?"
"Twelve." "Twelve? Oh, you must be starving to
death. My heart is bleeding for you. What do
you need to survive?" "Oh, Yossalah, if you
could give me five rubles a week?" "Where do
you live my friend?" He would write everything
down and say thank you so much for
visiting me. He would speak for a long time
about everything in the world. Suddenly,
Yossalah would get crazy. He was a very strong
man, he would run up to Avramalih and throw
him out the door and down the steps. "Hey,
Avramalih, do you think I am crazy, do you
think I would give you my precious money? Get
away from here. Don't you ever come back."
Avramalih would go back to his house and say
to his wife, "They are right, he is crazy."
But, the next morning, under his broken door,
there was an envelope with five rubles and
Good Shabbos! He had forgotten Yossalah.

      Reb Kalman was so broken. They didn't even
bury him! The holy of holiest. Not only does
he give, he gives like G-d gives. He announced
a fast day for the whole city. Everybody came,
especially the poor people who lived from him
for all those years. All those same people
whose children were throwing stones and rocks
at Yossaiah were crying in the synagogue.
Yossalah, Yossalah, please forgive us. Please
forgive us wherever you are. It was just about
sundown and the fast day was over. Reb Kalman
felt we haven't reached Yossalah yet. He opened
the holy ark and he began crying, from the
depths of his heart and he cried, "Yossalah,
Yossalah, Yossalah, Holy Miser, Yossalah,
answer me. Give me a sign that you forgive us."
At that moment, it seemed like he had a heart
attack. He didn't. They put him down on the
floor. Reb Kalman was asleep. in his dream, he
saw Yussalah. Not the way he was seen in this
world. But the way he is in heaven.

      In heaven of all heavens and paradise of all
paradises. Yossahah said, "Reb Kalman, please,
please, tell all my brothers and sisters to go
home. There is no reason to fast. This is the
way I wanted it. I wanted to have the privilege
to give like G-d gives -- without anybody knowing.
Please, tell all my friends, especially the poor
people. I am here in Heaven, in the highest
place. I have everything I need and, yet, there
is one thing I miss so much. I would give up
Heaven for one Thursday morning, for one broken
door, for one envelope with five rubles in
honor of the holy Shabbos." Reb Kalman says to
him, "But, tell me, Yossalah, weren't you lonely
buried there all alone?" Yossalah responded
with a smile and said, "Reb Kalman, I cannot lie
to you, I was not alone, Our fathers Abraham,
Isaac and Jacob were there. Our four mothers
were also there. Moshe, our teacher Aaron, the
high priest, Joseph the king and David the
Messiah, they walked with me, and Elijah the
prophet walked with a candle to show me the way
to eternal peace." Yossalah, Yossalah, Yossalah,
the holy miser.

      You know, my sweetest friends, in the year
1974, I was invited to a University to participate
in an ecumenical conference. All religions were
there with great love and great
peace giving honor to each other. Everyone
giving each other lights, little glimpses of
G-d. Every night another religion acted as host.
I watned to share with all my friends and my
brothers and sisters a good story of us Jews,
that they could identify with. I told the story
of Yossalah, the holy miser. Every religion was
represented in the room, but one person was
very outstanding. One of the Bishops who was
there had a young man, an auxiliary Bishop, who
was just shining. His name was Joe. After I
told the story, he came up to me and embraced
me and said, "Thank you so much for the story
of Yossalah, the holy miser. What a story!"
The next night, the Catholics were supposed to
act as hosts, but something happened in their
kitchen and they asked if they could use the
Jewish kitchen. We said, sure, with the greatest
joy. But, this night, the Catholics were hosts,
I was just sitting at the table. Suddenly,
the Auxiliary Bishop approached me and he says,
"My dear friend, Shlomo, the Bishop asks and I
ask you, please tell the story again, it was so
beautiful." The Bishop told me he cried all
night over the story; such a holy story and I
have not been thinking of anything else, just
of Yossalah of Cracow." I told the story again
of Yossalah from the holy city of Cracow.

      The week was over, the conference was over,
and on the last night, I had the privilege to
play for the whole University. There were about
two thousand students present. A minute before the
concert began, the Auxiliary Bishop comes to me
again and he says, "Shlomo, please don't think
I am crazy, but please tell the story again of
Yossalah, the holy miser Yossalah from the
holy city of Cracow." So how could I not? There
was a school of mimes at that University and
some of the students were somehow miming the
story while I was telling it, and the floor was
wet with tears for Yossalah from Cracow, the
holy miser. After the concert, the Auxiliary
Bishop said, "Let's go for a walk, I need to
pour out my heart before you. I told you my
name is Joe. It's not true. My name is Yossalah.
My name is Yossalah, Yossalah from Cracow. I'm
named after my grandfather, the holy of holiest
and sweetest of the sweet, Yossalah from Cracow.
Let me begin the story. My grandfather was a
very big chasidesha Yid. Very wealthy, very
outstanding. One of the greatest Hasidim in
Cracow. My mother was so beautiful. she was
found half dead in Auschwitz, by my father,
a Catholic soldier who saved her life. He took
her with him to America and married her. He
made her promise that she would never tell her
children that they were Jews. I grew up a devout
Catholic. I have a big career in the Catholic
Church. One day, I get a call from my mother
and she says to me, Joe, I have three more days
to live, (I bless everyone with a long life),
and I cannot leave this world unless I have told
you the deepest secret of my life. Please, come
immediately. I came to my mother's bedside and
she greeted me and she said, you are not Joe,
you are Yossalah from Cracow. I have named you
after my father, the great Yossalah from the
holy city of Cracow. She told me about my family
about my grandfather and grandmother, their
holiness and sweetness, and about Shabbos and
Yom Tov. She also told me about all the poor
people who ate at my grandfather's table on
Friday night and about all the hundreds of poor
people who lived in his house. My grandfather
was very wealthy but his house was open, his
house was always open, She later told me about
Auschwitz; she told me everything. And, the
whole time, she was begging, please do not ever
forget that you are Yossalah from Cracow."


     "She left this world after three
days. I held her hand while she left this world
and her last words to me were, please promise
me that you will not forget that you are
Yossalah from Cracow. The last three months, my
heart is torn. I am so broken inside, I do not
know what to do with myself. My whole life, I
lived like a Catholic. My life was mapped out
for me. It would be so easy for me to stay
where I am, but, yet, inside I know I am Yossalah.
I have to go to Yerushalayim, the holy city, to
serve G-d the way my grandfather did. The last
few weeks, I have been begging G-d for a sign.
I said to G-d, please G-d, if one more person
will come and tell about Yossalah from Cracow,
that wiii be my sign that I have to go to
Yerushalayim and be again Yossalah from Cracow."
Can you imagine last week you come from New York,
a stranger, and you tell me a story about
Yossalah from Cracow. I knew you were G-d's
messenger just for me. Therefore, I asked you
the second night to please tell me the story
again. After you told me the story again, I Aas
stiil torn apart with doubt and I was asking
G-d to please have compassion. Let me hear the
story one more time and if I hear the story
one more time, that will be my final sign that
I am Yossalah from Cracow."

      It goes without saying that the
floor was wet with tears, heaven and earth were
crying. I could see his grandfather and grandmother
standing behind him holding their hands
over him, crying with him, blessing him, and
giving him strength, He put his hand in his
pocket, pulled out a ticket and said, "You see
this, Shlomo? Tomorrow morning, I'm leaving to
Jerusalem. I am not taking anything with me. I
will just disappear into nothingness. I am sure
my father will call the police and since everybody
knows you spoke to me, I do not want to get
involved any further, so you will not hear from
me for a long time. But, just please do know I
am going to Yerushalayim, the holy city. I
promise you one thing. if G-d, in his infinite
mercy, will let me find my soulmate in Yerushalayim
the holy city, the night before my wedding, I
will go to the holy wall and I shall write you a
letter."

      Days passed, months passed, years passed,
whenever I walked on the streets of Yerushalayim
the holy city, whenever I prayed by the holy
wall, I was looking for my brother, my friend,
Yossalah from Cracow. I knew I would have a
hard time recognizing him. By now I was sure he
had a beard and payis and tzitzit. But, who
knows, maybe I find him. I never did
recognize him. In 1976, seven and one half
years later, one day, one day, I held a letter
in my hands. On the other side of the envelope
it read, Yossalah from Cracow, Yerushalayim,
the holy city. Can you imagine friends, how I
was shaking inside. I opened the letter and
this is what he wrote:

     "To Shlomo, my friend,
the messenger of G-d, thank you for letting me
know that I am Yossalah from Cracow. I want
you to know, tomorrow night I am getting married
I, Yossalah from Cracow, live in
Yerushalayim, in the holy city. I look like my
zeedah, my grandfather. I have a beard and payis
and yarmalke like my zeedah. I study the Torah,
G-d's word, like my zeedah. I love G-d's whole
world like my zeedah, I love G-d. My soulmate
is a girl who is my dream, looks like my bubba,
my grandmother. She is as holy as my bubba, she
is as beautiful as my bubba. Tomorrow night, we
will be married. So, I am writing you this
letter to thank you. Thank you for helping me
to find my way back to Yerushalayim. Thank you
for reminding me of my holy zeedah. I bless you,
and I bless all of Israel to find their way
back to Yerushalayim and to the holy wall. It
is now four A.M. in the morning and I am, sitting
here by the holy wall and blessing you.
Yossalah from Cracow, in Yerushalayim. Yossalah,
Yossalah, Yossalah."


------------------------------
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Date: Wed, 2 Aug 2000 23:01:59 -0400
To: reb-shlomo@shamash.org
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Subject: moshele water carrier
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Transcribed by Samuel Intrator for Connections Magazine
Brooklyn, 5745.

No commercial distribution allowed without permission
of the Estate of Shlomo Carlebach

Rabbeinu speaking


      The holy Sokolover rebbe was once asked
by his Hasidim who was the most real Jew he ever met.
The Sokelover rebbe told over to them the following story:

   "When I was fourteen years old and I was married
to the daughter of the Sokolover rabbi, it was then that
I moved from the town of Kotzk to Sokolov. I went into
the synagogue looking for one real Jew. Because I learned
from my grandfather, the Kotzker rebbe, that G-d only loves
that which is real. I walked along the first few rows in
the synagogue and saw scholars, rich people and exalted
people, But they were not real. I then walked in the back
rows, among the poor and, yes, they were sweet but still
were not real. I then turned real sad thinking I will have
to spend my whole life in a city where there is not even
one real Jew. Suddenly, my eye fell upon this one Jew
standing behind a heated oven and reciting the psalms,
I saw G-d's glory upon him. He was really praying, He
knew how to stand before G-d before the only One. His
light was shining, gevalt, was he real. I went up to him,
and asked, who are you. And he said Moshalah,
Moshalah, the water carrier."

      "I tried real hard to become friends with Moshalah
but he never responded.  He was so humble that he couldn't
imagine that I, the son-in-law of the rebbe, would be his
friend. Whenever I asked him, Moshalah, how are you?, he
would just answer, 'I am fine', and would continue to pray."

      "One cold winter night, as I took a walk to the outskirts
of the city and as I was walking back, I passed
by this broken house and through an open window, I saw
Moshalah, the water carrier, standing in the middle of a
circle of shoemakers, tailors and water carriers, holding
a glass of wine in his hand as they danced around him.
I swear to you I saw G-d's glory shining upon Moslialah's
face. I realized that this must be his house and so I
decided to walk in on his party. As I entered, Moshalah
met me at the door and said, 'Rabbi, what an honor.' I
responded,'Moshalah, believe me, it is my honor to be in
your home. Tell me, why are you celebrating?' it was obvious
that none of those present knew the purpose of the
celebration and so they all gathered around as he began
to tell them his story, and he said,

      'I want you to know I grew up on the streets.
      My parents died when I was five
years old. I only knew a little bit how to pray. No one
ever took the trouble to teach me how to pray. but, you see
I am a strong  person. I carry water, I married a woman
who, believe me, when I married her, she was the most
beautiful woman in the world. But now she is not beautiful
anymore. She is filled with grief and pain. We have
children, and when they were born, they were angels. They
are not angels anymore. They cry all day for food. The
pain in my house is unbearable. Rebbe, I want you to know,
every night, I wake up at three in the morniing and bring
water into the synagogue for the people to wash their
hands. I do not do this for money but to have the honor
to bring water to cleanse the people before they pray.
I am alone in the synagogue then, and so I open the holy
ark.'

      "I cry to the Almighty and say, G-d in heaven, Rebono
Shel Olam, Master of the World, I am Moshalah, the water
carrier from Sokolov. I am telling you, G-d in heaven,
I can't live like this anymore. I can't bear the pain,
I can't bear the hunger. Please, give me a thousand rubles
so that I can start my life anew and feed my children.
You know Rebbe, I have been doing this for years and years
and to tell you the truth, I gave up believing that G-d
would ever listen to me. Just out of habit, I continue to
come every morning. Yet, two days ago, the most unbelievable
thing happened to me when I walked into the synagogue.
I saw one thousand rubles lying on the floor. l said my G-d,
one thousand rubles. So, I open the holy Ark and said, G-d,
Master of the universe, thank you, thank you so much for
listening to my prayers. It is true, you are the Master
of the world and you listen to the prayers of every human
being. Then I added, G-d, let it be a secret between me and you
G-d for three days. I was just ecstatic. Rebbe, you know how
heavy the water is? Well, it was not heavy two days ago.
I danced with the water from house to house. Suddenly,
everything was paradise. I came home later and, I swear
to you, my wife looked as beautiful as on her wedding day
and my children were angels again. Everything was beautiful
and all day long I blessed people, I blessed G-d. At
night I returned to the synagogue and I saw a great commotion
there. Do you remember, rebbe? Three weeks ago,
Avramalah died and left a wife Chanalah with eleven children.
The whole community had collected a thousand rubles
for Chanalah. She was standing by the door and said that
she lost the thousand rubles. I went back behind the oven
to pray but I automatically closed my prayer book. I said,
G-d in heaven, this is the last time you will see me in
the synagogue. If you want to give me a thousand rubles,
do you have to take them away from Chanalah. G-d, you are
cruel. I don't want to know You anymore. I do not want to
be your servant anymore. I went home and I felt miserable.
My wife looked ugly again and my children looked terrible.
I hated the whole world. I did not want to know anyone
anymore. I went to sleep. But, how could I sleep? I put
the pillow over my face. I did not want my wife to see
how much I was crying. Late, late at night, suddenly I
heard my own soul crying, Moshalah, the water carrier,
what happened to you? All you life you trust in G-d.
You believe in G-d and now when you need Him the most,
why don't you turn to G-d. Why don't you pray to the
One, to the only One who hears every prayer.  Rebbe,
like never before, I poured out my heart before G-d and
I said, G-d, I am begging you, please, let me hear Your
voice, tell me what to do. Rebbe, i swear to you, I
heard G-d's voice and G-d said to me, Mashalah, the water
carrier, get up fast and bring the money to Chanalah, the
wife of Avramalah. The money is not yours. It's hers.
Suddenly, I was back in paradise. Everything was good
and beautiful again.  I got dressed fast.  I ran down to
Chanalah and I knocked on her door and told her that I found
her money. Well, if you would have seen her eyes when she
thank you Moshalah, you would have known that even
if G-d would have given me all the rubles in the world,
it wouldn't compare to what I felt at that moment. So
tonight, I am celebrating, thanking C-d for answering my
prayers. Thanking G-d, for He gave me the strength to
return the money.'"

      The holy Sokolover rebbe, when he told
the story to his Hasidim would say, "have you ever heard
G-d's voice? I don't know. But I do know someone who
heard G-d's voice. Moshalah, the water carrier, the holy
Moshalah the water carrier. Have you ever seen a real
Jew? I did. I saw Moshalah, the water carrier."


------------------------------
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Date: Wed, 2 Aug 2000 23:09:49 -0400
To: reb-shlomo@shamash.org
From: dovid <dovid@nac.net>
Subject: The Holy Hunchback
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Transcribed by Samuel Intrator for Connections Magazine
Brooklyn, 5749.

Copyright (C) 1988, Inner Foundation.
Reprinted with permission of Connections

No commercial distribution allowed without permission
of the Estate of Shlomo Carlebach

THE HOLY HUNCHBACK
by Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach

   In the Warsaw ghetto there was a Rebbe, the heiliger Reb Klonimus Kalman.
He wrote a book and knowing prophetically that he would not survive, he put
the manuscript under one of the stones in the ghetto where it was 
found after the war.

      He had a yeshiva not of young people but of children. He was accustomed
to say, "My followers eat on Yom Kippur. You know why - they are not bar
mitzvah yet." A great Rabbi would come to him, or an old man and a little
girl of four or five. He would say to the older man, "You'll make it without
me. This child needs me." With older people he would spend five minutes;
with children all night. He had thousands of kids. He was their father, their
mother, their best friend. After the war, there was nobody left.

      My whole life I was hoping and dreaming to see one of these people. A
few years ago I was walking on the Yarkon in Tel Aviv and I saw a hunchback
-a street cleaner. Do you know that sometimes we are all little prophets?
Our heart tells us something. I had a feeling this person was special. He was
a real hunchback. That as his face was very handsome, but every part of his
body was disfigured. And I said to him. "Hey, shalom aleichem my friend." And
he answered me in a very heavy Polish-Yiddish Hebrew, "Aleichem shoolum." I
said to him in Yiddish, "Mein zeisse yid, my sweet yiddele, where are you
from?" He said, "I'm from Peshineschte." I said "Peshineschte. Gevalt! Did you
ever see Reb Klonimus Kalman?" "What do you mean, did I ever see him? I was
a student in his yeshiva from the age of five to eleven. I was in Auschwitz for
five years. I was eleven when I got there. They thought I was seventeen; I was
so strong. They beat me up so much I never healed. That's why I look this way.
I have nobody in the whole world, really nobody, " I said to him, "You know
something-my whole life I have been waiting to meet one of the students of
Reb Klonimus Kalman, Would you be so kind to give me over one of his
teachings?" He kept on sweeping the street, "You really think that after five
years in Auschwitz, I remember the teachings?" I said, "Yes-the words of
the heieger Rebbe penetrate you forever."

     He stopped sweeping. He looked at me and said, "Do you really 
want to know?"
He touched me so deeply and although you shouldn't swear, I said to 
him "I swear
to you, and I mean it with all my heart, that whatever you tell me I 
shall tell all
over the world." You know he was a real chasidisher Yid, so he put the broom
against a wall and went to wash his hands. And this is what he said: 
"There will
never be a Shabbos as by my holy master, my heiliger Rebbe. Can you imagine
-hundreds, sometimes thousands of young people dancing with the holy rebbe
in the middle. What a sight! Not until Meshiach is coming. Can you imagine the
Rebbe making kiddush sitting with hundreds of children with so much holiness.
He gave over teachings between the fish and the soup, between the soup and the
meat, between the meat and the dessert and after every teaching, he would
always say, "Kinderlach, taire kindertach, my most precious children, gedenkst
shon, remember, die greste sach in die velt ist, tun emetzin a tova. Children,
precious children, just remember the greatest thing in the world is to do
somebody else a favor. "

      When I came to Auschwitz, 1 knew my whole family had been killed and I
wanted to kill myself. Each time I was about to, I suddenly heard the Rebbe's
voice saying to me, "Gedenkst shon, the greatest thing in the world is to do
somebody else a favor." Do you know how many favors you do in Auschwitz
late at night? People dying, people crying; nobody had the strength even to
listen to their stories anymore. I would be up all night. A few weeks later I
wanted to kill myself again but always at the last moment I'd hear my Rebbe's
voice. Now I'm here in Tel Aviv, but believe me, I'm all alone, There are
moments when I decide to commit suicide. I go into the sea until the water
reaches my nose. Then suddenly I hear my Rebbe's voice again and I just can't
permit myself to do it and I run back to the streets. Do you know how many
favors you can do on the street?"

      My friends, this was before Rosh Hashana. After Succos I came back to
Israel and the first morning I went to the Yarkon and I asked the 
people on that
street corner where the hunchback was. They said he died on the second day of
Succos.

      Listen to me, my beautiful friends, when the Meshiach comes, when all the
holy people will come back to the world and the holy hunchback, the holy street
cleaner will come back. He will clean the streets of the world. Do you know how
he will clean the world? He will go from one corner of the world to the other
and he will say, "Yiddelach, gedenkst shon, the greatest thing in the world is
to do somebody else a favor."