There was a little Jewish community in Poland, I think it was Tsoyzmer, or maybe it was Nemirov… I guess it isn’t really that important, now is it?  Anyway, it was the same as any other little shtetl… the Rov and his immediate circle of devotees, those men who would throw down their lives for any cause that the Rov deems worthy of such-until such time as they are asked to deliver on that pledge; the pious members of the community who observed all of the Yontev with fervor-at least that is what any casual observance will tell you.  But that is how this particular faction of the population survives-by turning a blind eye to any minor infraction of Torah observance made by one another, because they are at least pious enough to not be hypocritical by throwing stones from within their own very delicate infrastructures.   A pity that their piety was only superficial and that their house of cards itself was erect over top of a fault line whose quake swallows all of them in the end.  But I have digressed deeply into metaphor… or was that simile?  Anyway… There were also those who lived on the fringes of society… the beggars, the milk-carriers, etc.  These people, though commonly over-looked for all intents and purposes, are at the visual mercy of the “upper-classes” because of their dependence on the community at large. Their transgressions are not only seen by everyone, but their existence is essential to the survival of the whole community. It is by putting the sins of these martyrs on the proverbial cross that the hidden sins of their masters are over-looked.  If one looks closely at the filth on the streets, it’s easy to over-look the stain that has become the permanent color of the mansions who’s outer walls have been so carefully tended to. Through a truly impartial eye, the truth revealed is that the sins of many of these street urchins is remaining faithful to themselves and their values, and that the piety of the “elite” is conditional… that their devotion is for sale to the most affluent bid.  Interpretation  of the Torah can, and has, changed.  Scripture can be, and has been, manipulated to accommodate the transgressions of the ruling class, and even of the Rabbi’s.  Funny how those with their fingers on the pulse of the community  have also the ability to orchestrate the ideals of their followers in such a way that the magistrates somehow are always justified in their words and actions.  But, my, I have taken a long breath to identify a phenomenon that exists everywhere.  I have taken the long way down the social helix to get to the focus of my tale… that is to come to meet the fellow whom I would like to introduce you to.  His name is simply Mendl, and his livelihood is made as a candle maker.  His greetings could be heard throughout the town, however, as Rebbe Mendl,  the lamdan, or even simply “The Rov”, which made Mendl wince and blush all at once.  Mendl had no particular spiritual upbringing, nor had he formally studied Torah, Kabbalah, Mishna, or Zohar.  He had never spoken to a congregation , never presided as a mohel at a briss, never even introduced to visiting dignitaries as a significant member of the society.   But to those who lived in his village, he was known to be the one to whom everyone looked, if not went, to for spiritual guidance and blessing.