Jewish Stories Podcast

The produce continued to dry up, animals were dying, and still, not a single cloud could be spotted in the sky.

"Lubavitcher Rebbe," he asked, "why do you cry? After all, we did all that we could..."

"If I don’t open my eyes after the operation’s over, don’t disturb me. I may lie on the operating table for a few more hours. But promise me that you won’t disturb me.”

Reb Avigdor caught a whiff of the cholent, tasted it, then tasted it again, and again—until he finished it all.

Noticing his father’s return to a life of wealth, Zalman’s son revived their kinship and stopped by to talk more often.

From a group of skilled pickpockets in a Soviet Gulag, Reb Mendel Futerfas learned a powerful lesson in self-examination.

“My son, swear to me that no matter what happens, you will never work on Shabbat.”

The story is told of how the Rebbe, Rabbi Sholom DovBer, was shown three paintings.

The wealthy fellow politely explained how he would love to give but can’t, because he already gave his share of charity for the year . . .

The Berditchever Rebbe calmed him and asked, "Is there anyone you suspect in the theft?"

With time, the tailor turned gray and decided to travel to visit his daughter…

It did not take long until they had dragged me before the town rabbi, demanding that I divorce my “wife.”

As the Siberian winter deepened, Chanukah came, and a group of young Jewish prisoners convened for a short meeting.

Although the villager was a simple Jew, he hoped that his children would one day surpass his meager knowledge of Torah.

“And what are you going to claim on Judgement Day, eh, Zusha? Your soul will know no peace when that time comes!”

The husband laughed bitterly. “See?” he said, “You spent all that time and money to visit your rebbe, and he gave you the most useless advice. How are leeches going to bring us the funds we so desperately need?”

“Look outside. You see this wagon loaded with straw rolling down the road? Walking behind it is a Jew . . ."

Wordlessly, the Rebbe curled his arm around Shloyme’s elbow, and together they strode through the crowded sanctuary.

With no destination to guide him, he slowly traversed sprawling forests and small towns, hoping to finally encounter what his rebbe had in mind.

“The boy isn’t at all what he seems. Don’t be fooled by superficiality."

Baila, an orphan adopted by Rabbi Levi Yitzchak and his wife, was marrying an exceptional young man who was also parentless.

“I will not travel with you,” stipulated Rabbi Menachem Mendel, “unless you give me twenty silver coins.”

Creeping through the brush to investigate, they discovered, to their surprise, a lone candle in a clearing, burning atop a small headstone.

It was an unusual job for a religious Jew, and his success aroused jealousy, even among his own artisans.

Living as a downtrodden shell of her former self, Leah's blank eyes reflected the agony that gripped her heart.

The driver’s mother didn’t say much, but half an hour before sunset she placed two candles on the table and lit them.

“Please, forgive me,” muttered the wagon driver. “I had no idea who you were, and I request forgiveness for wronging you.”

Trouble was brewing in St. Petersburg, and the Tzemach Tzedek immediately set to work to have the decree abolished.

A king once had a prized jewel, the crown jewel in his magnificent diadem. But one morning, to his dismay, he discovered a single thin crack descending down its face.

A chassid came to see the Karliner Rebbe because he was depressed. “I’m not a good Jew,” he said. “I don’t study enough, I don’t know enough; all I do is work, work, work.”

“Will I be able to do my job?” the Evil Side asked. “Will people really listen to me?”

They heard it before they saw it, an unearthly sound of crashing metal and a thousand charging bulls. And then, in a huge cloud of black smoke, it appeared . . .

It was a cold and miserable night; snow and sleet blew through the deserted streets. The miser asked the rabbi in, as usual. But the rabbi refused. “No,” he said, “I won’t be long . . .”

He built them a house and put straw on the benches and brought her tomatoes from the garden. He was so happy and she was devastated. But this was the situation

There was a rabbi, a very good and pious man, who wanted to see justice in the world . . .

Initially, the king and queen thought he was kidding. However, when the prince began to spend his days and nights in the chicken coop, his parents knew that serious trouble was afoot...

The merchant learned the value of acknowledging who really makes things happen…

When no one was in the synagogue, he brought in the loaves under his cloak. He prayed that G‑d should look upon his offering with favor, and eat and enjoy the lovely, freshly baked bread . . .

They call him the Artist. Not much is known about his origins, or what drives his relentless search. But one thing is certain: he will stop at nothing to find what he seeks.

"Under a tree? Very good!" cried out Rabbi Chaim excitedly. "Go and summon that tree as a witness"

Whenever a human being is called upon to decide a matter of Torah law, we are faced with a paradox: how can the finite and error-prone human mind possibly determine what is G-d's will?

When the two pupils approached, they saw their master sitting in the snow, weeping and praying. They hurriedly departed from that place.

When a couple couldn't procreate, they went to their Maggid, who gave them a unique mission.

“You’re invited to dine with me but I have one simple request: for each meal, please prepare a small dvar Torah to share at the table.”

“I have three very strong horses, fast as deer,” he whispered. “If you’re willing to pay, I’ll take the innkeeper and his family to a city far from here. Tonight.”

“Please, Berish,” said the dying man, closing his eyes, “protect the menorah as though your life depends on it.”

“Please invite the wagon driver to come see me,” said the Rebbe upon hearing that the man was in town.

They crisscrossed Russia, trudging from doctor to doctor, but even the greatest specialists threw their hands up in despair.

In the Soviet Union, even getting a piece of matzah for the Seder was fraught with danger