This translation was given in the book From a Ruined Garden Kugelmass and Boyarin, pp. 174-175.. The original text was found among Velvel Greiniman's papers and published posthumously.
One beautiful morning Zalmen Shoykhet [ritual slaughterer] sat outside his house, sharpening and polishing his knife, and humming the rebe's favorite melody. In came his wife Sore-Batye, telling Zalmen that she was preparing pickles and needed several boards.
Sore-Batye's word was sacred law to Zalmen. He put his knife down on the table, went off to his neighbor, Yisroel Stolyer [carpenter] to borrow a saw, came home and made the boards. When he was finished, he put down the saw and carried the boards off to Sore-Batye.
When the slaughtering knife saw all this, he couldn't understand what was going on: "Zalmen, with his noble hands that hold only me, how could he have held that saw, that lowlife?" He turned angrily toward the saw and said:
"Look at that thing standing over there. It can't even count to two. And such a face! It grinds and gnaws its way through with that row of teeth. I, on the other hand, am smooth, beautiful, and shiny. When Reb Zalmen picks me up, he focuses all his attention and winks to the Creator to let him know that he's doing His will. But you, good-for-nothing?"
Replied the saw:
Listen to him singing! We know all about your sharp little tongue. I saw, and I know my place, together with the artisan, sho's always the black sheep of the family. But you, slaughtering knife! You have all the luck. You cut throats, and people say a blessing!"
