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No One Can Fool A Chelmite
By SOLOMON SIMON
Early one morning, a miller
arrived in Chelm, climbed the
mountain, and began to examine
the mill.
Around and around walked the
miller, followed by all the Chelmites,
mouths agape. They walked around
and around, after him, eager to
know what his business was.
The strange miller casually
remarked, "A lovely mill!"
"Of course it's a lovely mill,"
echoed the Chelmites.
"But," continued the miller,
stroking his beard, "the waterwheel
doesn't turn, the cogs don't clatter,
and the millstones don't grind."
"True," the Chelmites nodded.
The stranger went on:
"The mill will never work. After
all, it's a watermill, and a watermill
must be built near a stream, with
the great wheel against the
current."
"We've heard that foolishness
before," sneered Gimpel, "but it
isn't true. We Chelmites are
convinced that the mill doesn't turn
because the climate of Chelm is not
suitable for watermills."
The stranger looked sharply at
Gimpel, the wisest man in Chelm,
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and noticed that the Chelmites, like
so many sheep, were nodding at
Gimpel's every word.
Thought the miller:
"When in Chelm, do as the
Chelmites do. If one talks to a child,
one talks like a child, and if one
deals with a Chelmite, one reasons
like a Chelmite."
So the miller said to Gimpel:
"Yes, I too have heard that the
climate of Chelm is not suitable for
watermills. But you Chelmites own a
mountaintop that is an excellent
place for a windmill."
"There is the watermill on our
mountaintop," said Gimpel.
"Sell me the watermill," said
the miller, "and I will rebuild it into a
windmill."
"Sell the watermill!" Gimpel
shuddered. "No! We have labored
too long and too hard to build it."
The Chelmites nodded in
agreement.
"But it's of no use to you!"
said the miller.
"Nonsense," retorted Gimpel.
"The mill is beautiful. It can be
seen for miles around. We can look
at it and admire it."
"You could look at a windmill,
too," said the strange miller.
This thought so confused and
bewildered the Chelmites that they
immediately decided to call a town
meeting to give the matter their
fullest and weightiest consideration.
For seven days and seven nights
they pondered until finally they
decided to allow the strange miller
to address them. Whereupon he
arose and said:
"Sell me the watermill which I
intend to rebuild into a windmill.
That will give you a chance to pay
off the mortgages on your land, and
even have a little something left
over for herring and onions three
times a week."
The poor folk of Chelm looked
pleadingly at Gimpel, who now rose
thoughtfuly to answer the miller:
"I have a plan."
"He has a plan, he has a
plan," chorused the Chelmites
eagerly. "Let us hear the plan!"
"Yes, let's hear the plan,"
sighed the miller.
Gimpel turned to the Chelmites:
"The miller likes our mountain
because the mountaintop is an
excellent place for a windmill. But
we don't care to part with our
watermill. Therefore, let's push our
mill to one side, and there'll be
plenty of room left on the
mountaintop for both."
"Now, there's a brain for you!"
rejoiced the Chelmites.
The miller shrugged his
shoulders and remained silent. But
he decided to stay in Chelm to see
what would happen.
The very next morning, the
Chelmites gathered on the
mountaintop and began preparing to
push the watermill aside. They
removed their coats, piled them on
the ground, rolled up their sleeves,
spat upon their palms, and —
began to push.
They pushed and pushed and
pushed. They pushed till they
puffed for breath. They pushed till
they were drenched in sweat. They
pushed so hard, they didn't even
know they weren't budging it an
inch. So engrossed were they in
their labor that they had eyes for
nothing else.
A thief, who happened to pass
just then, noticed the pile of clothes
with no one guarding it, so he took
pity on the coats and carried them
off.
All day long the good folk
continued to push and push and
push. When the sun began to set,
Mottel commanded:
"Stop! We've worked long
enough! Let's see how far we've
pushed the mill."
The chill of evening having
descended on the mountaintop, the
Chelmites went to look for their
coats. They looked here, they looked
there, they looked everywhere. there
was no sign of a coat anywhere.
"Ha!" exclaimed Gimpel
gleefully. "That's Chelm for you!
When we do something, we do it
right! We've pushed the mill so far
that we can't even see our coats.
Send for the miller. Now he has
plenty of room for his windmill."
The miller came, looked at the
mill, looked at the weary Chelmites,
and remarked hopelessly:
"The mill stands exactly where
it stood before. You haven't moved it
an inch."
"Then where are our coats?"
asked Gimpel angrily.
"How should I know where your
coats are?" replied the miller.
"Maybe someone stole them," he
added.
"Listen to the fool," snapped
Gimpel. "Who would need so many
coats? No one can wear more than
one!"
"Now I know what they meant
when they told me about the
Chelmite who was going to Warsaw
and his wagon died, his horse fell
apart and his whip became lame in
one leg," retorted the miller, and
departed forthwith.
From "The Wise Men of Chelm and
Their Merry Tales" by Solomon
Simon. Reprinted by permission of
Behrman House, Inc.
The Meaning of Chanukah
L'Chayim invites students of all ages to write a brief statement on
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