Nasreddin Dhoja: The Sephardic trickster

Every professional storyteller worth his or her salt knows at least a tale or two about Nasreddin Hodja, the simpleton/trickster from Turkish folklore. But what I learned recently—from Jake Kohenak at a meeting of Valencia Isles Shalom Hadassah in Boynton Beach—is that the Sephardic oral tradition shares with much of the Arab world the same character, whom they call Nasreddin Dhoja.

Here is my retelling of a story from Matilda Koen-Sarano and Reginetta Haboucha’s book King Solomon and the Golden Fish: Tales from the Sephardic Tradition. Do you recognize “The Emperor’s New Clothes”?

Nasreddin Hodja was hungry. He was always hungry, but he was usually too poor to do anything about it. So when he passed an inn with a sign “Free Food, Drink and a Ducat,” he entered immediately.

The proprietor sat him at a long table. The person at the other end turned out to be the King himself.

“Food!” shouted the King. And one by one, the innkeeper brought out platters of lamb, fish, and other delicacies.

There was only one problem. The platters were imaginary. The food did not exist. Had not the King told Nasreddin what it was he was supposedly eating, he would have had no idea. But as he lay down his fork after each imaginary bite, Nasreddin smacked his real lips and said, “Delicious! Wonderful! Extraordinary!”

Meanwhile, Nasreddin was growing hungrier and hungrier and angrier and angrier. By the time the King ordered the wine, he had hit on a plan.

“No wine for me, your Highness,” he protested. I am not a drinker. Heaven only knows what I would do if I tasted wine.”

“Nonsense!” said the King. “You must try it. I insist.”

And so Nasreddin swallowed imaginary glass after imaginary glass of imaginary wine. Eventually he rose from his seat and began to weave and sway toward the King.

“Have some more,” he said, waving the imaginary bottle. But inside of handing the King a handful of air, he punched him.

“How dare you attack your Sovereign!” the King cried out.

“I am sorry, your Highness,” Nasreddin answered. “When I am drunk, I know not what I do!” And with that, he punched him again. And again. And again.

At last the King understood what was happening. “Innkeeper!” he roared. “Bring this man some real food! And a bag of gold besides!”

For as it happened, no one had ever before called the King’s bluff, much let beat him at his own game.

Caren Schnur Neile, Ph.D. is a performance storyteller. She teaches at Florida Atlantic University. Contact her at cneile@fau.edu.

Fuente: sun-sentinel.com