Clergy Sermons

Bereshit: Roosters and Princes
Based on a sermon by Rabbi Ed Feinstein

There is a famous story told by the Hasidic master, Rabbi Nahman of Bratslav. Like all great stories, you can read it on different levels and even find contradictory lessons. Listen to the story and ask what its lessons are, and who you identify with:

Once, the King and Queen of a nation faced a terrible dilemma. Their son, who was their pride and joy—the Prince who one day would become King—became convinced he was a rooster. He removed his clothes and sat clucking beneath the table. He refused to eat human food, only rooster food. He refused to speak.

The parents were beside themselves. They called in doctors, healers, therapists, and wizards. No one could help. Finally, they invited the rabbi. The rabbi assured them he could cure the boy, but it would be unconventional. They told him, “Just do it.”

So, the rabbi took off his clothes, climbed underneath the table, and began clucking like a rooster and eating rooster food. The King and Queen were astonished. They now had a pair of clucking roosters under their table.

The rabbi and the boy spent the day together, clucking and eating rooster food. At one point, the rabbi turned to the boy and said, “It hurts my throat to cluck. Wouldn’t it be better for us to speak like people?”

“But we’re roosters!” exclaimed the boy.

“So, we’ll be roosters who speak like people.” And the boy agreed. So, they spoke.

The rabbi said, “It’s cold here with no clothes. Wouldn’t it be better for us to dress like people?”

“But we’re roosters! Roosters don’t wear clothes!” exclaimed the boy.

“So, we’ll be roosters who dress like people,” responded the rabbi. The boy agreed, and they got dressed. Then the rabbi said, “I don’t really like rooster food. Wouldn’t it be better to eat like people?” And the boy agreed—they would be roosters who ate human food.

Finally, the rabbi said, “My back hurts. Wouldn’t it be better for us to stand and walk the world like people?” And the boy agreed. They rose from beneath the table and walked around like humans. Of course, they were still roosters. That’s the story.

What is the lesson of the story? I’ll explore a couple of interpretations and am interested in yours.

But first—who did you relate to in the story: the Prince, the rabbi, the parents, or all of them? As we explore the possibilities, different interpretations of the story will emerge. I imagine some of us felt like the Prince. I know I do. People see us in a certain way—“That person is behaving like a rooster—how odd.” And they come to their judgments. They can’t just sit and be with us as we are. The story may be telling us to be ourselves and accept whoever we may be. That is the power of the rabbi’s response—he accepted the boy as a rooster and got down on his level.

Or maybe there is another way to read the story—we forget who we are; we lose our true identity. I know I relate to the Prince who forgot who he was. The story might teach us to see where we have lost who we are and return to our authenticity. Both ways of understanding the Prince speak to my soul, as they make me face truths I sometimes run from.

I know I have felt like the rabbi—trying to just be present with people where they are, helping them see who they might become and what they may have lost. The story teaches that change is gradual and needs lots of patience. And I have been the parent—seeing a child do something that jeopardizes their well-being and not knowing what to do to help them.

Let’s weave these lessons together with our Torah portion. In describing the creation of humans, Genesis teaches that humans were created in the Divine Image—b’tzelem Elohim. What does that mean? One way to interpret it is that just as God is unique and holy—so are we. There is a part of ourselves we cannot point to that makes us unmistakably who we are—unlike anyone else. To live with an awareness of being created in the Divine Image is to ask, “What makes me special and unique?” and appreciate that this is actually Divine.

The verse and the story are about embracing who we are and living with authenticity, and saying, “Who I am is Divine. I matter. I am loved just as I am.” The Prince is Divine being a rooster if that is his soul and essence. Or maybe he has forgotten his divinity—his unique and special soul—and needs to be reminded of what his divinity actually is. And then we take the lesson a step further—we look at others and say, “They too have something unique and special.” We seek to understand and elevate it: “You are special. I respect you and try to see you for who you are.”

There is another way to interpret the phrase b’tzelem Elohim—created in the Divine Image—and that is not merely a statement of value but one of purpose: a special charge to humanity to engage in repairing the world, being God’s partner in caring for creation. We are meant to protect the vulnerable and perform acts of love and kindness. As God made clothes for Adam and Eve as they were expelled from the garden, we too clothe and feed those in need. That is what it means to be created in the Divine Image—as God cares, we care. It is another way to understand the rabbi in the story—being a healer through care.

If the story is about how we lose our essence and forget who we are—thinking we are roosters when, in fact, we are princes—then the challenge of the story is to discover how to regain the authenticity we have lost. Rabbi Ed Feinstein teaches us to ask three questions to find our authenticity:

Who is with me in life? Who knows me and cares for me? Who can I call at 3 a.m. and say, “I need you,” and they’d say, “I’m coming.” It is those connections that help us be the person we are meant to be.

What are the causes and purposes that inspire me? What vision of the world and ideals do I believe in and find worth struggling for? Life’s greatest dignity comes when we care, help, and heal.

Where is my creativity? What can I contribute to the world that is precious, beautiful, and mine? We each have a unique story to tell.

Let’s never forget who we are and cultivate behaviors that lift us up.

Let’s look at one more way to read the story. Maybe the Prince doesn’t want to be a Prince anymore—or to eventually be King. Maybe everyone wanted to change him, and he really wanted to just be a rooster. Is the story a warning about how intensely we try to change people to fit in? It’s an interpretation of the story that gives me pause. Perhaps that interpretation—how we impose conformity, assuming that is the right thing to do—needs to be lifted up as we think about the story.

What interpretation of the story resonates with you? Each of the contrasting interpretations has beautiful lessons for us to reflect upon.

Let’s embrace our authenticity—being who we are truly meant to be and embracing our own divinity.
Let’s explore where we might have lost ourselves and think about how to reclaim our uniqueness.
Let’s climb under the table like the rabbi and help one another find our inner truths.
Let’s embrace that caring for others nurtures divinity in beautiful ways.

Each of us is a special soul—with divinity inside of us. Let’s get up from under the table and celebrate.