The Turkey Prince #54 min read

This series is dedicated to the loving memory of Rabbi Moshe David Averick, l’illui nishmas Moshe David ben Naftali Yosef HaLevi v’Leah. May his neshama have an aliyah.

.וּשְׁאָלוֹ בֶּן הַמֶּלֶךְ: ‘מִי אַתָּה וּמָה עוֹשֶׂה פֹּה’? וְהֵשִׁיב לוֹ: ‘וּמָה אַתָּה עוֹשֶׂה פֹּה’? אָמַר לוֹ ‘אֲנִי הִינְדִּיק’, אָמַר לוֹ ‘אֲנִי גַּם כֵּן הִינְדִּיק

And the Prince asked him, “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

He responded to him, “And what are you doing here?” He said to him, “I am a turkey.” And he said to him, “I am also a turkey.”

The prince’s reaction to the Wise Man’s presence is straightforward and understandable. Here is yet another in a long line of attempts to try to “fix” the prince, and his defenses are up. What is different in this attempt, however, is that the Wise Man does not initiate, saying nothing at all to explain his actions. As we explained, this stems from the Wise Man’s internal understanding of what the goal is in relation to the prince. The initial goal is not to necessarily “heal” the prince, but rather to simply exist in harmony alongside him – to first accept him as he is, as a turkey. This first impression is critical to the success of the healing process, as it allows the prince to set the tone for the relationship. Otherwise, the interaction will stall, and no amount of wisdom will be able to penetrate the prince’s self-made prison of perspective.

Intrigued, perhaps unnerved by the silence of the Wise Man, the prince initiates and asks, “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” The Wise Man has hidden his intentions of “healing” the prince to such a degree that the prince does not even immediately identify him as a healer or teacher. This was accomplished by the Wise Man stripping himself of his uniform. Often, our greatest teachers are the ones we allow into our lives without even realizing that they are teaching us. Indeed, sometimes we only realize their role after the lesson is over. This is the modest way of the Lamed Vavniks, the 36 special Tzaddikim in each generation that walk among us as equals, touching each of our lives without us even realizing how much they elevate our existence (see Sanhedrin 97b and Sukkah 45b).

Another example of those exceptional personalities who have the ability to weave themselves into our lives without us recognizing their extreme exaltedness is found in the following story recorded in the Gemara:

Rabbi Beroka Choza’a frequented the market of Vei Lafat and Eliyahu HaNavi would appear to him. Rabbi Beroka asked him if there was anyone in this market worthy of the World-to-Come. At first, Eliyahu HaNavi said no, but then showed him one person… In the meantime, two brothers came to the marketplace. Eliyahu HaNavi continued and said that the two brothers also have a share in the World-to-Come. Rabbi Beroka went over to the men and asked, “What is your occupation?” They said to him: We are jesters, and we cheer up the depressed. We also strive to make peace between people who quarrel.”

Maseches Taanis 20a 

In response to the inquiry of the prince, the Wise Man asks, “What are you doing here?” This turnaround is instrumental in allowing the prince to dictate the terms of the relationship, a necessary step in moving things forward. Even more subtly, it creates the opportunity for the first crack of vulnerability to show in the prince’s defenses, as we will momentarily explain.

The prince, as we can see, is only too eager to answer this seemingly impertinent question from a complete stranger. Here, we are given an important insight into the mind of one who is captured by self-doubt and internal pain: given the right environment and person, even the most closed-off “turkey person” is looking for an opportunity to explain themselves and to express their feelings. Simply put, when people feel accepted, people share. All of the pushing away and hiding under the table is a pretense, a hard exterior meant to keep out those with unhelpful opinions and harmful judgmental statements. All that the prince is waiting for is the right person to come along with just the right tactic. When that happens, he easily opens up.

At the clever prompting of the Wise Man, the prince now makes a gigantic leap towards healing and freedom with one simple statement: “I am a turkey.” In these words, the prince begins to face his own self-made identity, along with all that it entails. As the prince states as plain fact what he has become, a bottom-feeding turkey dwelling under a table, he becomes more vulnerable. The bleakness of his circumstances can slowly come to light now, and life as a turkey won’t seem all that carefree as it had before. Until the prince manages to look in the mirror, as it were, and realize what his life has come to, he will persist in his rose-colored delusion.

At this point, we might expect the Wise Man to triumphantly point the finger at the prince’s statement of “I am a turkey” and point out how illogical it is. Perhaps the Wise Man would follow in the methodology of all the other healers, attempting to bring proofs and logical arguments to the contrary, supporting the definitive conclusion that the prince is not, in fact, a turkey. However, the Wise Man does none of this. Instead, he calmly and patiently explains that he, too, is a turkey, accepting the prince’s assertion and making a similar one of his own.

The prince’s misguided mindset is not merely an inconvenient obstacle to be cleared away and overcome. Rather, the Wise Man shares in the prince’s feelings completely, accepting them as they are in the moment. He shows the prince that it is okay to think of oneself as a turkey, as indeed the Wise Man claims of himself.

It is axiomatic that every Tzaddik has fallen and risen anew at several points in their life. Rabbi Tzadok HaKohen takes this a step further:

It is not the way of the righteous to stand upright at all times. Similarly, am Yisrael falls and rises, as it says, “You should not rejoice over me, my enemy, because I may have fallen, but I will rise” (Micha 7:8). And it is through the falling itself that will create the rising, as it says, “a downwards motion of the sake of an upwards one” (Makkos 7b). The downwards motion causes an upwards motion that is even higher. And as it says, “For the righteous fall seven times, and rise” (Mishlei 24:16) – through the falling itself, he will arise [anew, to even higher heights].

Pri Tzaddik, Nitzavim 1

Rabbi Tzadok HaKohen is teaching us that the Tzaddik attained his lofty stature precisely because of his having fallen and risen once more to meet the challenge. We do not idealize the person who has never faced low moments, who experiences an uninterrupted string of spiritual successes. True righteousness is incomplete without these crucial experiences. They are what gives the Tzaddik the means to identify with and connect to others in their lowliness, as well representing the source of their unique wellspring of strength and holiness.

The key to reaching those who have fallen low, as the Wise Man understands, is to fearlessly face one’s own past and low points, embracing them internally. Having accomplished this, the Wise Man can then utilize that awareness within himself to connect and relate to the prince’s own feelings without judgement or rejection. A bold acceptance of his own shortcomings gives the Wise Man just the right tools he needs to reach the prince deeply and authentically.

The Wise Man will continue, throughout the relationship, to allow the feelings of “turkey-ness” to flow unimpeded while growing and progressing, as we shall see. This small act of self-acceptance and mutuality are the first steps to healing the prince in a tangible way.