Every day they walked around collecting for their needs.
It’s how they made their living. “Please give me, sir” each one pleads.
“But business isn’t all that good,” the shnorrers all lament.
“We must think of a plain, or we’ll never pay our rent!”
They thought of doing different jobs but no one had the skill.
For some, they lacked dexterity; for some, they lacked the will.
Undeterred, they kept on thinking. Finally, one thought –
“I’ll become a phony Rebbe. I just better not get caught.”
His cohorts were nexcited – the gabbaim they’d all be
Announcing to the town that all should come and see.
The people lined up quickly, money they’d donate
For a bracha from the Rebbe to assure them a good fate.
Right on time, he did arrive, dressed up like a king.
“The FaltchePhony Rebbe’s here!” What mazal he would bring!
The plan went down just perfectly, the cash began to flow –
The chevra ate like royalty, only they were in the know.
But one day, came a mother – here eyes filled with tears.
“I need your help, dear Rebbe, won’t you calm my fears?
My little girl’s so ill; on your prayers we rely –
Tell me, Rebbe, she will be alright. Promise she won’t die!”
The Rebbe’s face turned ghastly white; he could barely stand.
He cried and said, “It’s over now! It’s not as we had planned.
This little joke has gone too far; after this I’m through –
This family believes in me, oh what am I to do?”
He closed himself up in a room, the tears he shed so real –
“Oy Bashefer, heal her,” he cried with such g’feel.
“Hub rachmunis ich bet fun dir – please Hashem forgive –
The little girl’s done nothing wrong. Please just let her live!”
They waited, all with bated breath – what would the outcome be?
The young girl slowly came around, a full recovery.
The good news reached the Rebbe. With a deep sigh of relief –
Truly humbled, simply awed, by what tefilla can achieve.
A lesson we can learn from here, the message rings so true –
The essence of a prayer’s weighed by what’s inside of you.
The tears we shed are always real, a little or a lot –
Though at times we may pretend to be someone who we’re not.
It’s how they made their living. “Please give me, sir” each one pleads.
“But business isn’t all that good,” the shnorrers all lament.
“We must think of a plain, or we’ll never pay our rent!”
They thought of doing different jobs but no one had the skill.
For some, they lacked dexterity; for some, they lacked the will.
Undeterred, they kept on thinking. Finally, one thought –
“I’ll become a phony Rebbe. I just better not get caught.”
His cohorts were nexcited – the gabbaim they’d all be
Announcing to the town that all should come and see.
The people lined up quickly, money they’d donate
For a bracha from the Rebbe to assure them a good fate.
Right on time, he did arrive, dressed up like a king.
“The FaltchePhony Rebbe’s here!” What mazal he would bring!
The plan went down just perfectly, the cash began to flow –
The chevra ate like royalty, only they were in the know.
But one day, came a mother – here eyes filled with tears.
“I need your help, dear Rebbe, won’t you calm my fears?
My little girl’s so ill; on your prayers we rely –
Tell me, Rebbe, she will be alright. Promise she won’t die!”
The Rebbe’s face turned ghastly white; he could barely stand.
He cried and said, “It’s over now! It’s not as we had planned.
This little joke has gone too far; after this I’m through –
This family believes in me, oh what am I to do?”
He closed himself up in a room, the tears he shed so real –
“Oy Bashefer, heal her,” he cried with such g’feel.
“Hub rachmunis ich bet fun dir – please Hashem forgive –
The little girl’s done nothing wrong. Please just let her live!”
They waited, all with bated breath – what would the outcome be?
The young girl slowly came around, a full recovery.
The good news reached the Rebbe. With a deep sigh of relief –
Truly humbled, simply awed, by what tefilla can achieve.
A lesson we can learn from here, the message rings so true –
The essence of a prayer’s weighed by what’s inside of you.
The tears we shed are always real, a little or a lot –
Though at times we may pretend to be someone who we’re not.
עוד באתר:
א ביסלע ביטעאלס
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