The Mouse Mitzvah: A Tale for Hanukkah
Long ago in a village in Poland, there stood a wooden cottage so cozy and small that outstretched arms could almost touch opposite walls. In this cottage lived Rabbi Nathan, the oldest and wisest rabbi in the village, and his wife, Rachel.
It was wintertime. The winters in Poland are bitterly cold, and the animals had to find shelter wherever they could. The bears dug comfortable dens in shallow caves. The deer found shelter among the tall trees in the forests. The sparrows tried to keep warm by fluffing up their feathers until they resembled small balls of down. A lucky family of field mice found shelter in the eaves above the kitchen in the rabbi’s cottage.
The
mouse family consisted of a mother named Chana, a father
named Mordechai, and their twin sons named Mazel and Tov.
(“Mazel Tov” means “congratulations”
in Yiddish, the language spoken by Jews in Europe at that
time.) The two mice were virtually identical except that
each wore a different-colored yarmulke on his head so they
could be told apart.
Every morning Mordechai would place the yarmulkes on his sons’ heads, reciting a prayer that said that just as the yarmulke sat above their heads so was God always above them. Mazel’s yarmulke was dark blue, like the winter sky at night, and Tov’s was dark green, like the tall fir trees that dotted the winter landscape.
One Hanukkah, Mazel and Tov were playing hide-and-seek near Rabbi Nathan’s study. Several bearded men in long black coats had come to read from the Torah and to discuss important religious questions. The mice stood very still and listened to the conversation. Rabbi Nathan was saying, “The gift of mitzvah is the greatest gift anyone could give or receive.” All the scholars agreed.
“What in the world is a mitzvah?” whispered Mazel to Tov. Hanukkah was a time for gifts, but here was a gift he knew nothing about.
“I have no idea,” answered Tov.
Mazel thought for a moment. “Maybe it’s a nice big plate of kasha with bow-tie noodles.”
Tov nodded. “Or maybe it’s a warm drawer full of socks.”
“Let’s ask Mama and Papa,” they shouted together.
Chana and Mordechai knew several Yiddish words, but they had never heard of a mitzvah. “I have no idea what that word means,” Papa answered, “but if Rabbi Nathan said it is the greatest gift, then who are we to question?” He and Mama were busily adding nuts and seeds to their winter supply.
This
answer satisfied neither Mazel nor Tov. Tomorrow was the
last day of Hanukkah, and they simply had to find out what
a mitzvah was before Hanukkah was over. Mazel thought for
a moment, then smiled. He and Tov would sneak into the bedroom
late at night and ask the rabbi what a mitzvah was once
and for all. Every mouse knew that humans always tell the
truth when they are asleep.
Late that night, Mazel and Tov climbed down the rafters to the curtains in the rabbi’s bedroom. They shinnied down the curtains, leaped to the night table beside the rabbi’s bed, and hopped to the rabbi’s arm.
Slowly and carefully they crawled up to the rabbi’s shoulder. They crept into the rabbi’s long white beard. They clung to the rabbi’s long curly sideburns with their tiny paws. Then they asked, “What exactly is a mitzvah? And how can we find one?”
Still asleep, the rabbi answered, “A mitzvah is not a thing; it is a good deed that someone does to help another. It is the greatest gift of all.”
“Oi vey!” whispered Tov. “We were both wrong. A mitzvah is not a thing; it’s a thing to do!”
That night Mazel and Tov climbed back to their nest in the eaves, which was filled with the pleasant, nutty aroma of seeds and acorns. They dreamed of a mitzvah to perform on the last day of Hanukkah.
The next morning, icy winds whipped around the rabbi’s cottage. While the mice were warm and protected inside, a family of house sparrows living in the hay barn behind the cottage were freezing and hungry. A blizzard had covered the ground with a thick coat of snow.
“Mazel, this is the perfect opportunity to do a mitzvah for Hanukkah,” said Tov. After asking their mother and father for permission, Mazel and Tov filled two small sacks with seeds and nuts that they skimmed off the top of their plentiful winter stash. Each mouse tied a sack to a twig and carried it on his back. They emptied their sacks on the barn floor, leaving a small pile of seeds and nuts for the hungry birds to eat.
The
mice returned to their warm nest feeling much better about
their own Hanukkah because they had helped someone else
have a happy holiday as well. “The rabbi was right
all along,” they agreed. “A mitzvah really is
the best gift of all.”
A little later, Rabbi Nathan woke up. “The strangest vision came to me in a dream last night,” he said to his wife. “Two mice asked me to explain to them what a mitzvah means.”
“How ridiculous!” Rachael said, chuckling. And the two of them laughed and laughed until their attention turned toward the kitchen window, where a family of house sparrows were sitting on a branch, singing happily.
