Why a Turkey Princess Is Inviting You Under a Table

There is a famous and beloved rabbi known as Rebbe Nachman who lived in the late 1700's. A whole movement of Judaism has been structured around his teachings, many of which came in the form of stories.

One of these stories is called The Turkey Prince. You can find the story at the link, of course, but I'll put my own telling of it here:

There was once a prince who suddenly, out of the blue, declared that he was a turkey. He took off all his clothes, went under the table and began to peck at the crumbs. No one could understand why or convince him he was actually a prince and ask him to come out from under the table.

Then one day a wise sage realized that the only way to connect with this prince was to take off his own clothes and come under the table with him. He did so, spent time with the prince and eventually began to gently suggest to the prince, "Hey, can princes wear shirts? Let's do that!" "Can princes wear pants?" The prince agreed to these suggestions one at a time until he was lured out from under the table. 

This is usually told as a story about someone learning to change. But I want to invite you into it from a different angle.

The story, as it’s often told, assumes that something is wrong with the prince—and that the sage’s task is to meet him where he is in order to bring him back. But what if that urgency to bring him back is exactly what prevents anyone from truly seeing him?

What if the story stopped at the moment of connection?

What if the point was not that the sage succeeded in changing the prince, but that he was willing to be present with him?

It's easy to look at someone as if they've gone completely mad. It is much harder to set aside preconceptions and sit with someone where they are—without already knowing how the story is supposed to end.

It has been just over two and a half years since I discovered myself to be, in my own way, a turkey princess. Something shifted so abruptly that I found I was no longer walking and talking in quite the same company—that the conversation above the table had changed, and I was no longer part of it.

And from under the table, we have been looking at those standing above, listening as they try to make sense of us, often without ever coming down to see.

But if they would come under the table—just for a moment—leaving their assumptions behind, they might discover that there is a whole world here, too.

So come with me. Lay down your guard and your preconceptions. Put aside your responses of "yes, but," and set aside all the things you think you're supposed to say. Not to fix anything. Not to convince me of anything. 

Just to be here with me.