The Guest with Plebian Tastes
Once there was a fabulously wealthy man, renowned far and wide for his legendary hospitality. His home was a beacon for wayfarers, a five-star establishment in an age before such ratings existed.
But he wasn’t the kind of host to simply throw everyone around a single table and let them fend for themselves like a pack of wolves at the butcher’s door. No, he had standards. He set up multiple tables, each tailored to the tastes of of his guests.
The aristocrats, the ministers, the men of means—these he seated at a table fit for royalty. Here, they dined on roasted duck, grilled pheasant, and desserts with names that required years of classical education to pronounce with confidence. Aged wines filled their goblets, and the candlelight flickered off polished silverware. It was, in short, the kind of meal that came with footnotes explaining what exactly one was eating.
The more modest guests, those with simpler tastes, were treated no less graciously. Their table groaned under the weight of hot dogs, hamburgers, fried chicken, and the sort of comfort foods that made a man loosen his belt with a sigh of deep contentment.
One evening, a young man arrived—a striking figure whose careful grooming and refined bearing seemed to announce nobility itself. The host, ever the keen observer of human nature, placed him without hesitation at the grandest table.
The young man surveyed the delicacies before him. He lifted a silver spoon, examined it as if trying to recall its purpose, then set it down. The duck? He poked at it. The pheasant? He sniffed. But then—across the room—his eyes locked onto something. Something juicy. Something piping hot. Something glorious.
A hot dog.
With the precision of a seasoned fencer, he extended his fork across the table, spearing the prize right off the plate of a stunned commoner. He took a triumphant bite, chewing with the satisfaction of a man reunited with his first love.
Then, as if guided by fate, he spotted a passing waiter bearing a platter of fried chicken. His fork shot out again, this time intercepting a drumstick mid-journey. The nobleman seated next to him lowered his goblet. Across the room, conversation ebbed like a receding tide.
The host cleared his throat. “My friend,” he said, “perhaps you’d be more comfortable elsewhere.”
The young man looked up, his cheeks reddening. “You—you’re asking me to leave? But you are famous for your generosity! Would you embarrass a guest at your own table?”
The host smiled. “Heaven forbid! I would never send a guest away. But I see now that I made an error. I thought you belonged here, where the rarest delicacies are served. But clearly, your heart belongs elsewhere. Why make things difficult for yourself? Move to the other table, where your favorites are within reach. You’ll eat to your heart’s content, and I won’t have to worry about my guests losing any fingers to a rogue fork.”
Exiled from Their Land
The prophet Habakkuk wrote, “God stood and measured the land” (Habakkuk 3:6). What was He measuring? Not distances or borders, but destinies. Every nation was given a land suited to its nature.Some lands are shaped for warriors, where steep mountains and rugged terrain forge strength and resilience. Others are built for merchants, where rivers meet and ships carry goods across the world. Some lands are made for wine connoisseurs, where vineyards sprawl across the hills and the air is sweet with the scent of ripening grapes.
And then there was the Jewish people. Their land was not chosen for its strategic advantage or natural resources. It was chosen for its holiness. Israel, and at its heart, Jerusalem—a city where heaven and earth touch, where prophecy is not an abstraction but a living presence, where the voice of God can be heard in the hearts of those who seek Him.
But then, something changed. The people looked beyond their borders and saw what other nations had. They admired Egypt’s warhorses, Babylon’s idols, Greece’s wisdom and arts, Rome’s military might. They reached out, longing for foreign ways, convinced that if only they could acquire the treasures of other nations, they would be richer, stronger, greater.
And so God spoke to them, like the wise host spoke to his guest:
“If that is what you desire, then go. Leave this place and dwell in the lands whose gifts you desire. Taste their riches and see if they truly satisfy you.”
(Adapted from Mishlei Yaakov, pp. 299-300. See The Kuzari II:9-14 regarding the special qualities of the Land of Israel)
