One fine afternoon, the Maggid of Dubno was stopped on the street by a fellow rabbi, a man of sober demeanor and scholarly pride.
“Reb Yaakov,” said the scholar, “I listened to your sermon last night, and I must confess, it was splendid. Truly, the honor and admiration you receive are well-deserved. But I have a question that weighs on me.”
The Maggid glanced at him, waiting.
“We both draw from the same wellspring, the Torah itself. We both quote verses and expound upon the sages’ wisdom. Yet while your talks are met with applause and admiration, mine are greeted with tepid nods and, at best, polite thanks. Why, pray tell, do you reap such praise while I labor in relative obscurity?”
The Maggid paused, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “My dear friend,” he began with a glint of humor in his eye, “allow me to explain by way of a parable. Permit me, if you will, to compare us to two thieves—though, of course, only in the most metaphorical sense!”
The rabbi raised an eyebrow but nodded for him to continue.
“Picture this,” the Maggid said. “Two men each steal a fine pair of shoes. Sturdy leather, good stitching, worth thirty rubles a pair. The first thief, eager to make a quick profit, immediately sells his pair for ten rubles. A fair deal for the buyer, no doubt, but hardly a fortune for the thief.”
The rabbi smiled in quiet agreement.
“But the second thief—ah, he is a craftsman at heart. He takes his stolen shoes home, opens up the seams, redesigns the soles, and fashions them into something extraordinary. He polishes them until they gleam like a prince’s treasure. When he finally brings them to market, he doesn’t ask for ten rubles. No, he asks for fifty—and got his price.”The Maggid paused, letting the imagery settle in.
“You see, my dear colleague, we both take precious goods from the same sacred source—the Torah itself. But the recognition we receive depends on what we do with those treasures. If we simply present the raw material, as valuable as it is, the returns will be modest. But if we labor over it, refine it, and shape it into something beautiful—if we polish our words until they shine—we can inspire hearts and minds and, yes, earn the admiration of those who listen.”
The Maggid concluded with a twinkle in his eye, “The sages taught us well: ‘L’fum tza’ara agra’—‘The reward is commensurate with the effort’ (Avot 5:26). The praise and honor we receive is but a reflection of the care and effort we pour into studying the wisdom of the Torah and presenting it with skill and heart.”
The rabbi nodded thoughtfully, a newfound determination sparking in his eyes. The Maggid leaned in with a warm smile and added, “So, my friend, if you long for greater applause, don’t just deliver the shoes—craft them. Polish them until they shine, and you’ll find the world will take notice.”
(Adapted from "The Maggid and his Parables," pp. 271-272.)
