The Ruby: The Power of Stories Across Time And Place

This afternoon, a Reconstructionist Rabbi visited my college. he told a story that my camp director told when I was growing up, and I found myself bursting with emotions, so I decided to write about it. The story goes like this:

There once was a king who had all of the possessions that he could want in the world. He had gold, a huge library, and many gardens. But his prized possession was a red ruby that he only looked at on his birthday. Every year, he would sit down at a long table on his birthday, and his servants would bring him the box with the ruby in it. He would open the box and look at the ruby, and his face would light up with the biggest smile. But one year, he opened the box and there was a scratch on the ruby. 

The king was devastated. He recruited all of the best jewelers, magicians, and scientists and his kingdom, and they all tried one by own to repair the damage, but none of them were successful. But then a little girl approached the king. She told him that if he just gave her some food and water and a little bit of space to work, she would try to fix the ruby.

So the king left the little girl alone with the ruby for a few days, and a few days later, she exited the room in which she had been working and presented the box with the ruby in it to the king. The king was holding his breath when he opened the box, but when he saw what was inside, his face lit up. The scratch was still there, but now, etched on the face of the ruby, was a beautiful rose. 

The first time that I heard this story I was nine-years-old. I was squished in a building with all of camp, and I was not so happy. I didn't know the songs very well, and I was quite homesick. But I remember being drawn to that story. Looking back on it, perhaps I felt empowered by that story. The little girl is the one who saves the day. None of the grown-ups were successful, but she was.

This story means something different to me today: this story shows the difference between perfection and meaning. Something can be perfect but completely without meaning. A blank notebook means very little without its pages filled. This is true about humans as well. We can live more meaningful and dare I say, beautiful lives if we accept our broken parts and use them to continue to shape ourselves. And stories help us to do this. This story, apparently, had an impact on my heart. It taught me that having a "scratch" does not make me broken or any less beautiful. Rather, we are an anthology of our stories, our parents' stories, and the stories of our religion and culture. 

Stories have always been important to me. At a young age, I fell in love simultaneously with biblical stories and Greek mythology (post on why I love/study Classics coming next week), which coincidentally are the two things I major in in college. I am a completely different person than I was when I was nine when I heard the Ruby, but throughout my life, it has taught me the beauty within the  (apparent) brokenness and the power of the little voice speaking from the back of the room.