Things always come when they are meant to, even if a bit late. This post, “Passing Through,” for example, seemed perfectly harmonious with the lyrics of a song, entitled “Empty” by Ray LaMontagne.
I’ve been to
hell and back
so many times
I must admit
And then late this morning, as I was idly paging through a mostly forgotten book, the perfect pairing of word and image found its way to me in this fable taken from the Tales of the Hassidim. While the weathered door hardly resembles the modest room depicted in the fable, it, somehow, matters not.
A tourist from America paid a visit to a renowned Polish rabbi, Hofetz Chaim.
He was astonished to see the rabbi’s home was only a simple room filled with books, plus a table and bench.
“Rabbi,” asked the tourist, “where is your furniture?”
“Where is yours?” replied Hofetz Chaim.
“Mine?” asked the puzzled American. “But I’m only passing through.”
“So am I,” said the rabbi.