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Meir was a good boy. He always listened to his parents and helped out around the house, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t learn to read. Instead of going to school, Meir tended his father’s cows. Every morning he led them to a meadow, where he would take out his flute and play them the most beautiful tunes. When he put his flute away, the cows knew it was time to go home.
Meir was thirteen when his father took him to the Ba’al Shem Tov on Yom Kippur. “Maybe the presence of such a great man will do Meir some good,” his father thought. For a while, it even seemed to work. Meir was excited to be in the same synagogue as the Ba’al Shem Tov, but he was also very sad that he didn’t know how to pray.
As the long service came to an end, Meir had an idea. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his flute and began to play. “This is how even I can pray,” he thought proudly. No one agreed, though; in fact, the entire congregation was outraged. How dare this boy disturb their prayers? They jumped up from their seats to throw Meir and his father out of the synagogue. Even the Ba’al Shem Tov rushed toward them.
The Baal Shem Tov looked at Meir and hugged him. “Thank you,” he said. “All Yom Kippur I wondered whether our prayers would be answered. We said all the words, but we lacked the passion. Then I heard your flute, so simple and sincere, and I knew our prayers would be answered.” The Ba’al Shem Tov turned to the congregation. “I see you’ve risen to thank this boy. After all, his flute opened the Gates of Heaven to our prayers.”
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