There is a famous made-up maisah (as the Yiddish saying goes, you don’t have to believe that it happened; you just have to believe that it could have happened) about the Ba’al Shem Tov and a shepherd. (As I am writing this, I am realizing how much better this story works in Yiddish.)

The details are a bit murky, but apparently, during davening on Rosh Hashana morning, there was a Postich (Yiddish for shepherd. Congratulations on your first Yiddish lesson; more to come) who was illiterate and didn’t know what to do, so he whipped out his flute, which he used for his animals, and started playing on it.

Insanely enough, the rest of the mispalilim were infuriated. Even the kids knew how to be quiet during davening, and here you have a grown adult who apparently has no social awareness or respect for anyone around him. They wanted to throw him out of shul, but as they were dragging him out the Beis Medrash, the Ba’al Shem Tov stopped them and said, “Bring him to the Mizrach Vant” (where all the cool kids and the Rabbi sit).

After davening, they asked the Baal Shem Tov what had happened, to which the Baal Shem Tov responded (this part is definitely made up), “I saw that there was a gezeirah (decree) in shamayim that all the Jews were going to die or something like that, and no matter how hard I tried, I could not get our tefillos to penetrate the sharei shamayim (I don’t even know how to begin to explain what sharei shamayim means). But when this kid started playing his flute, the walls came crashing down. And the reason why the flute playing worked, is because his intent was so pure. He could not read or understand anything, so he did the only thing that he knew how to do, which was play the flute.”

This is where the story ends, and most people nod their heads along like they get it. Their takeaway is that even when you see another person who is at the bottom of the totem pole in the Yidishkeit hierarchy, you should know that he can still have a massive impact.

The problem is that this is where it all goes wrong.

These types of stories were told as folk tales with morals and lessons to be learned; hence, the Yiddish expression “you have to believe it could have happened.” It’s a way of saying that the point isn’t whether the story actually happened or not; the point is to take away the lessons you can learn from the story.

For some bizarre reason, all of these Rebbe stories were flipped on their heads. They started being told in a way that focused on the greatness of the tzadik and his powers instead of on the practical takeaways for everyday life. All all of the extra magical carpet-flying stuff was just added in later because they had to start competing with Harry Potter for kids’ attention. It’s was never meant to bet he focal point of the story.

The takeaway is very obvious and practical: If you are stuck and don’t know what to do, do something. Pick the closest thing and just do it. This isn’t the same idea as taking the first step. This is for when you don’t even know what the first step is. Do something. And as the Brisker Rav famously said, “An object in motion stays in motion.”

Good things happen to people who try.

To everyone who is fasting, I hope all of your wishes come true. To the people who aren’t fasting, you’re causing Moshiach not to come. No judgment, I’m just letting you know. Also, subscribe to the Rav’s email so that you’ll have something to read while you’re pretending to work.