The story is told of a poor cobbler who attended the weekly lecture given by the village’s rabbi. He seldom grasped the complicated legal concepts, but still he attended. One day the rabbi spoke of the twelve “show bread” offerings made in the ancient Temple each week and how God loved the people for making this offering.
This was something the cobbler could understand! He ran home to his wife after the lecture. “The Temple no longer exists, but we have our little village synagogue,” he said to his wife. “Let us take on the obligation to make the twelve breads for God every week, the breads that gave him such pleasure.”
His wife readily agreed and the two became partners in fulfilling this obligation. On the next Thursday night, the wife baked the twelve breads and early the next morning, before anyone else in the village had arisen, the cobbler took them to the little synagogue. He crept up to the holy ark containing the scroll of the Torah, looked all about to ensure he wasn’t seen, and put the breads inside.
“Master of the World,” the cobbler said, his voice full of awe, “My wife has made these breads in place of the show breads that our ancestors gave to you in the ancient Temple. Our offering is humble but please accept it with the love with which we offer it.”
The cobbler closed the curtain in front of the ark and quickly and quietly left the synagogue. That afternoon, the sexton, a man even poorer than the cobbler, came to the synagogue to perform his duties in preparing the room for the Sabbath services. As he did so, he lamented his dire circumstances.
“Master of the World,” he mumbled, half to himself and half to the Almighty. “For myself I don’t mind that I have so little. But for my wife? For my children? I can’t even afford to buy food for the Sabbath. Please help us!”
The sexton continued to plead with God as he brought out the prayer books, arranged the kiddush cup and wine, and approached the holy ark to check that the scroll of the Torah was properly rolled. He pulled back the curtain and felt a wave of shock through his entire body. Bread! Twelve perfect, sweet-smelling loaves of bread!
“Thank you, God! Thank you,” he cried out as he gathered the loaves and brought them home to his wife and children.
The next morning, the cobbler waited with increasing suspense during the services to see if his offering would be accepted by the Holy One. Finally, the time came to read from the Torah. The curtain was pulled back—and the loaves were gone! The offering had been accepted! The cobbler ran home after services and shared the news with his wife. The two were as happy as they had ever been.
The next week, the wife again baked the breads, the cobbler again brought them secretly to the little synagogue, and the sexton again gratefully received the gifts from God. This continued and continued for weeks, for months, until…
One Friday, the rabbi was asleep in a far corner of the synagogue, having spent the entire night in prayer and study in anticipation of the holy days to come. He was disturbed by a sound and awoke to find the cobbler putting the loaves in the holy ark.
The rabbi ran to the front of the synagogue, angrily demanding to know why the cobbler was desecrating the holy ark in this way. The cobbler explained that his offerings had been accepted week after week but the rabbi only scoffed.
“Put your breads in the ark and we’ll see how the Lord accepts them!” insisted the rabbi. The rabbi and the cobbler hid in the corner and waited. They saw the sexton enter the synagogue, arrange the room for Sabbath prayers, and pull back the curtains of the ark to receive the breads. The rabbi ran to the ark, the now-distraught cobbler in tow. The rabbi demanded an explanation from the sexton, then ridiculed both men for their foolishness in thinking that the Master of the World had anything to do with the loaves made by the cobbler’s wife. The cobbler and the sexton left the synagogue, each in despair.
That night, the rabbi was visited in his dreams by the archangel Gabriel, who told him that the Holy One had taken more pleasure from the offering of the cobbler and his wife than from any service of his people since the destruction of the ancient Temple. Because he had brought an end to the pure, heartfelt service of the humble couple and the dignified, anonymous aid to the sexton and his family, the rabbi would not live to see the end of the year…
NOTE: There are many retellings of this story. This one is based on a version by Rabbi Yisroel Ciner, here. A Sephardic version by Dr. Caren Schnur Neile is here. Dr. Neile’s version is set in Israel and is largely the same until the rabbi confronts the other two men, then concludes very differently:
Over the sound of their weeping, the three heard laughter. They turned. It was the great mystic of Safed, Isaac Luria. “Rabbi, these men are not sinful. This man brings the bread and that man takes the bread, and God gets the credit. Jacobi, you must bring your bread directly to [the caretaker]. And you must believe that God will be just as pleased.”
And so it was, and so it is.