A spectacular New York City sunset yielded to another cold, dark winter night as I rushed down 13th street on the upper edge of Manhattan’s Greenwich Village. My destination that evening was Olami Manhattan, a Jewish Enrichment Center working to inspire, educate and empower young Jewish professionals, simultaneously enabling them to strengthen their connection to their Jewish roots.

The moment I stepped inside I was overcome with emotion at the sight of upwards of 125 energetic young men and women yearning to connect and further their Jewish journeys. Following some introductory remarks, tens of Olami students leaned forward as I attempted to inspire another step or two along their journeys.

In 1898 Mark Twain penned a famous essay titled “Concerning the Jew,” in which he marveled at the long history of immense Jewish achievements, “extravagantly out of proportion” to their miniscule population on the global stage.

Twain concluded:

The Egyptians, the Babylonians and the Persians rose, filled the planet with sound and splendor, then faded to dream-stuff and passed away; the Greeks and Romans followed and made a vast noise, and they were gone; other people have sprung up and held their torch high for a time but it burned out, and they sit in twilight now, and have vanished.

The Jew saw them all, survived them all, and is now what he always was, exhibiting no decadence, no infirmities of age, no weakening of his parts, no slowing of his energies, no dulling of his alert but aggressive mind. All things are mortal but the Jews; all other forces pass, but he remains. What is the secret of his immortality?

Amidst a frightening explosion of global antisemitism, how often do we fail to internalize and appreciate our unique gift of Torah, the ultimate constant and secret to Jewish immortality?

“The Turkey Prince” is a legendary story from Rebbe Nachman of Breslov, as told by The Breslov Research Institute.

A prince once became mad and thought that he was a turkey. He felt compelled to sit naked under the table, pecking at bones and pieces of bread, like a turkey. All the royal physicians gave up hope of curing him of this madness. The king grieved tremendously.

A sage arrived and said, “I will undertake to cure him.” The sage undressed and sat naked under the table, next to the prince, picking crumbs and bones. “Who are you?” asked the prince. “What are you doing here?” “And you?” replied the sage. “What are you doing here?”

“I am a turkey,” said the prince. “I’m also a turkey,” answered the sage.

They sat together like this for some time, until they became good friends. One day, the sage signaled the king’s servants to throw him shirts. He said to the prince, “What makes you think that a turkey can’t wear a shirt? You can wear a shirt and still be a turkey.” With that, the two of them put on shirts.

After a while, the sage again signaled and they threw him pants. As before, he asked, “What makes you think that you can’t be a turkey if you wear pants?”

The sage continued in this manner until they were both completely dressed. Then he signaled for regular food, from the table. The sage then asked the prince, “What makes you think that you will stop being a turkey if you eat good food? You can eat whatever you want and still be a turkey!” They both ate the food.

Finally, the sage said, “What makes you think a turkey must sit under the table? Even a turkey can sit at the table.” The sage continued in this manner until the prince was completely cured.

Often related to highlight distinguished teachers able to master the ability to meet their students on their unique levels, “The Turkey Prince” simultaneously represents our tendency to forget the essence of our uniqueness amidst living in a modern secular world bereft of Torah and lacking the spiritual warmth of our Jewish Chanukah candles.

The Sfas Emes explains that a candle and wick represent the body, the necessary vehicle in this physical world. The essence however, is the flame, the Jewish neshama, soul. Like a flame bereft of a candle, our neshamot are unable to travel through this world without being transported by the body. Just as a candle without a flame lacks purpose, our physical bodies meander aimlessly through this cold, dark world when lacking the illumination of our inspired Jewish souls.

Rav Moshe Weinberger points to the single candle that transports us through the opening gateway of Chanukah as representing Hashem’s famous question to Adam, “Ayekah? Where are you in the world?”

As we completed our final turn and barreled towards the finish line, the neshamot of my Olami students were ajar, their spiritual emotions palpable.

There was a painter who lived in a shtetl many years ago who lived a happy life, but felt a void. One night, he left a note on the kitchen counter, professing his love for his family before apologizing for his need to travel in search of his missing masterpiece. He promised to return.

After traveling the countryside for some time, he leaned up against a tree for a brief rest. Suddenly he heard a noise emanating from the forest and noticed a chuppah, a Jewish wedding. He realized that this was the most magnificent scene of ahava, of love, that he had ever seen. He pulled out his canvas and paintbrush, and proceeded to paint this most magnificent scene of love, before placing it in his bag and continuing his travels.

He later encountered an old man with a wrinkled face donning his tallis and tefillin, deeply immersed in prayer. He pulled out his canvas and proceeded to paint this magnificent scene of perfect emunah, faith, which he had never before seen. As time went on he realized he had been away far too long and began his return home.

Approaching the small bridge at the entrance to his shtetl, he encountered a group of soldiers from various armies celebrating together, the result of a peace treaty. A mere hour until Shabbos candle lighting, he hurriedly painted this most inspiring painting of shalom, peace.

With the onset of Shabbos minutes away, he rushed home, pausing to glance inside the window. He noticed his wife lighting the beautiful Shabbos candles before sharing with their children the numerous letters that he had written professing his love for them. His wife implored them to have emunah, as their father would soon return. With tears streaming down his cheeks, the painter dropped his bag and walked through the door to continue living his ultimate masterpiece which had the whole time.

Returning back into the cold winter night, I was warmed by the tears of inspired Jewish seekers realizing they finally found what they have been searching for.

Daniel Gibber is a longtime resident of Teaneck and is a VP of Sales at Deb El Food Products. In addition to learning as much Torah as he can, he is also privileged to speak periodically on the topic of emunah and be involved in Jewish outreach through Olami Manhattan. He can be reached at: [email protected]