One fine morning, the Maggid of Dubno was stopped on the street by a fellow rabbi—a man of serious demeanor and scholarly pride.
“Reb Yaakov,” said the scholar, “I listened to your sermon in the Beit Midrash last night, and I must admit, 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 Biblical verses and expound upon the wisdom of the Sages of the Talmud. Yet, while your talks are met with great acclaim, mine are greeted with polite nods and, at best, lukewarm thanks. Why, pray tell, do you reap such praise while I labor in relative obscurity?”
The Maggid paused, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Ah, my dear friend,” he began, a twinkle of humor in his eye, “allow me to explain—as is my way—with 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 silver 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 transforms 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 gets his price.”
“You see, my dear colleague,” he continued, “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 then quoted the Talmud. “As our sages taught us, ‘L’fum tza’ara agra’—‘The reward is commensurate with the effort’ (Avot 5:26). The praise and honor we receive is a reflection of the care and effort we pour into studying the wisdom of the Torah and presenting it with skill and heart.”
The Maggid concluded with a warm smile, “So, my friend, if you long for greater acclaim, 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.)
