A tale of two families in Chelm

MARK BINDER

Years ago, in the village of Chelm, there were two major families, the Chiribim and the Chiribom. And they were enemies. They fought over everything. They fought over land, they fought over water, they fought over cows and horses and chickens. They fought over air.

They were stubborn.

The Chiribim and Chiribom didn’t talk to each other. They didn’t look at each other. In the synagogue and village hall, they would sit on opposite sides of the room and glare or shout or scream. Or spit. It was disgusting.

The feud had been going on for years, decades, perhaps centuries. No one knew where it began or how it had originated. What insult had provoked the first Chiribim to scorn the first Chiribom? It was long ago and long forgotten.

Sometimes the anger came to blows, but fortunately, so far, no one had been seriously injured or killed.

Rabbi Kibbitz, the oldest and wisest of leaders, was sick of it. He was tired of the malice, tired of the hatred, tired of the tension. He was tired of mopping spit off the floor of the synagogue.

So he decided to solve the problem. The Chiribim and Chiribom needed to come together to work out their differences. They were farmers, they worked the land. They were neighbors, living so close but so far away. Problem was that he couldn’t get them all in the same room without someone blowing up.

In those days, after a long rain, everyone in the village would go out into the woods to pick mushrooms. Mothers, fathers, grandmothers, grandfathers, aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers and sisters would all pack up their lunches, bring along empty baskets and hunt for wild treasure. The youngsters would find dozens of kinds of fungi, and the elders would teach them which ones were tasty, which were revolting and which might kill you.

During the rainstorm, Rabbi Kibbitz sent a note to the Chiribim asking them to join him for lunch in the forest. He also sent a note to the Chiribom asking them to join him for lunch in the same place, at the same time.

Early the next morning, the rabbi pulled on his boots, put a basket over his arm and plodded into the Black Forest. First, he would find the Chiribim and, then, the Chiribom. And they would work it all out.

Unfortunately, he forgot his glasses, so he was having a hard time seeing where he was going.

Soon, he came upon a group of people. “Chiribim?” he asked them.

They shook their heads. “Chiribom,” they answered.

Sighing, the rabbi continued his search. He decided to change his tactics. He would meet with the Chiribom first, and then the Chiribim.

Soon, he came upon another group of people. “Chiribom?” he asked them.

They shrugged, “Chiribim.”

“Hmmm,” the rabbi muttered, wandering off. “Chiribim Bom Bim Bom Bim Bom.”

Another group of people were asked, “Chiribom?” and they answered, “Chiribim.”

The next group was queried: “Chiribim?” and they replied, “Chiribom.”

The rabbi was getting frustrated. “Ai Chiribiri biri bim bom bom. Ai Chiri biri biri bim bom bom. Ai Chiri biri biri bim bom bom. Ai Chiri biri biri bom.”

Back and forth the rabbi went racing through the forest. If he asked, “Chiribim?” they told him, “Chiribom.” If he asked “Chiribom,” they told him, “Chiribim.”

The Chiribim and Chiribom were stubborn. They loved an argument, and neither group liked to be pinned down or admit to anything. Perhaps they were playing tricks on the rabbi. Perhaps they were being obstinate.

“Bim!” the rabbi shouted.

“Bom!” they answered.

“Bom?” the rabbi yelped.

“Bim!” came a chorus.

“Aaagh! Bimbom, bimbom,

bimbom!”

He began to twirl about. He asked another group.

“Bom?”

“Bim!”

“Bom?”

“Bim!”

Impossible! “Bimbom, bimbom, bimbom!”

The rabbi was running and twirling, almost dancing. “Ai Chiribiri biri bim bom bom.”

His hair was everywhere. His coat was open. “Ai Chiri biri biri bim bom bom. Ai Chiri biri biri bim bom bom. Ai Chiri biri biri bom.”

Well, the Chiribim and the Chiribom started laughing. They couldn’t help themselves. Their rabbi, this wise old man, was acting like a chicken with his head cut off, like a frog trying to escape a pack of curious boys, like a school teacher with a cube of ice dropped down his back. All the time he was muttering to himself like a crazy man, “Chiribimbombimbombimbom.”

They laughed and they grinned and they smiled and then they looked up. Across the forest they saw something that they had never seen before.

They saw each other smiling and laughing and grinning. They looked and they realized that they all wore the same kind of clothes. They had the same kinds of shoes and hats and hair. They all held baskets full of mushrooms. So the Chiribim and the Chiribom came together in the middle of the forest, shook hands, they kissed cheeks and they hugged. And, of course, they had lunch. Such a feast!

When they were done, they lifted the poor rabbi up on their shoulders, because he was still too dizzy to walk, and together they carried him back to the village of Chelm, singing: “Ai Chiri biri biri bim bom bom.”

From that day on, they were no longer known as the Chiribim or the Chiribom, but as the Chiribimbombimbombimbom ... bim ... bom....

Mark Binder’s latest book, Stories for Peace, is about resolving conflict and handling bullies. It is available through Amazon and for iBook, Nook and Kindle.

^TOP