Yossel’s Goose

In the town of Chelm, where wisdom flows unevenly like a soup with too many onions and logic dances backwards on one foot, there lived an earnest young farmer named Yossel. Yossel was a humble man who had a small farm and a small family that lived in a modest hut. But he had one thing nobody else had: a prize goose named Shoshanna, who was so elegant that even the feathers on her feet curled with pride. She was not only beautiful, but also clever—so clever, in fact, that many suspected she had once studied in a small seminary for birds in the neighboring village.

One morning, Yossel woke to find Shoshanna missing. She had not flown far—he could see her hovering nervously just beyond the wooden fence, near the crooked birch tree, by the pond that was always almost dry. He went to her, but she would not eat from his hand, or drink from his trough.

Yossel tried everything. He offered her fish and breadcrumbs. He brought another goose, a fine gander with shiny neck feathers from his neighbor Stroessel. He even dressed up his youngest son, Benjamin, in feathers. Each trick failed. The goose blinked. The goose sighed. The goose hovered. But she would not return.

So Yossel did what any reasonable Chelmite would do. He brought the matter to the Wise Men of Chelm. The rabbis sat in their good sized room around a suitable table, with the slanted roof and the upside-down clock, and peppered Yossel with penetrating questions such as these:

“Did the goose honk twice before flying off,” asked Rabbi Eleazer, who had once written an entire tractate on the emotional life of the geese of Chelm.

“Were her feathers more ruffled on the left or the right?” inquired Rabbi Faivish, who had never owned a goose, but once had a dream about one.

“Is she frightened by her own reflexion?” asked Rabbi Shimshon.

Yossel answered these questions and more. He told them about the tufts on her toes, her honks and her cries, her diet, and even how she occasionally stared at the sky like she was remembering something important. The rabbis debated for many hours and this is what they decided:

Rabbi Eleazer argued that she was in mourning.

Rabbi Faivish thought she might be practicing non-attachment.

Rabbi Shimshon insisted that she was likely considering her options.

From these varied perspectives, they reached a Chelmish consensus. “This,” declared Rabbi Eleazer solemnly, “is no ordinary goose problem. We must consult the Great Expert in the Big City.”

So Yossel put on his best boots, made a satchel with a piece of bread and an onion, and walked to the Big City, where he found the Great Expert: a man so old that his beard grew in loops, who walked hunched forward and then rocked side to side, like a cart with one wheel square.

The Great Expert listened carefully. He listened so intently that his eyes were shut. He paused ponderously,and then he said, “Show me the goose.”

The Great Expert and Yossel rode to Chelm together. There they found the wisemen of Chelm gathered together in discussion, so they all proceeded to Yoessel’s farm. It was a hot day, so when they arrived their robes clung to their legs like wet laundry, and their breathing was loud and nasal. None of them liked to be outside in such heat, but wisdom demanded sacrifice, so they took turns asking Shoshanna one question.

Yoessel begged her, “Please, tell me why you will not come back?”, but she would not spare a breath.

Rabbi Eleazer asked, “Did your dreams ever feature a lake shaped like a violin?”

The goose plucked a small bug from her outstretched wing and looked away.

Rabbi Faivish asked, “What is the sound of letting go?” Silence.

Rabbi Shimshon asked, “Is it truly “all”? or is it actually “nothing”? Nothing.

Then the Great Expert stepped forward. Bent and wheezing, he limp-rolled effortfully and his beard shook with each step. His eyes overflowed with wisdom. When he extended his moist, trembling hand to the goose’s head, and then exhaled like a bagpipe, something strange happened.

The goose’s eyes grew wide. She tilted her head. Then she lowered herself to the ground and slowly waddled beside the old man. She let out a quiet, satisfied honk, and tucked her head under her wing. She had returned.

The rabbis gasped. Yossel was relieved. The crowd parted.

After he climbed onto his donkey to make the trip back to the Great City, the Great Expert looked back wiselyand said, “All of the right words, from the wrong mouth make no difference. But just one word, from the right mouth, can change the world.” But none of the people from Chelm were listening on account of the joyful reunion of Yoessel and Shoshanna.