Taam Shabbos
Erev Shabbos, a farmer bursts into the Rebbe’s kitchen — soup boiling, cholent bubbling, kugel steaming.
“Rebbe! A hundred chickens died on my farm this week!”
The Rebbe nods. “Nu… give me ten rubles.” The farmer hands him the money.
“Take this kugel,” says the Rebbe. “What for?” “It’s taam Shabbos — a segulah.”
Next week — same panic, same smell of Shabbos in the air. “Rebbe! Another hundred chickens died!” “Ten rubles,” says the Rebbe. He gives him kishka. “What’s this?” “Taam Shabbos. A segulah.”
Week after week — kugel, kishka, chopped liver — until finally the farmer trudges in, shoulders slumped. “Rebbe… I have no more chickens.”
The Rebbe sighs. “Oy, what a shame.” He glances toward the kitchen. “I still have more taam shabbos.”
The farmer blinks. “For me? Rebbe, I was feeding the taam shabbos to...
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