As the story goes, a young man approaches the Rabbi in his village and asks, "Sir, what must I do to enjoy a life of happiness?"
The Rabbi, turning from tending his garden, pauses and looks at the young man for a brief while. "Feed your chickens," returns the graying Rabbi.
Puzzled, the young man watches the Rabbi slowly turn his gaze away and return his focus to his vegetable garden.
Undaunted, the young man returns to the home of the Rabbi a week later and finds him writing. "Rabbi," says the young man, "I really need to know: What must I do to be happy?"
Smiling and looking up from his desk, the Rabbi patiently says, "My son, go feed your chickens." And, just as before, the Rabbi turns back to his work at hand. More puzzled, the young man shakes his head and walks away.
A month passes and the young man is still nagged by the Rabbi's words. Maybe he's just getting old, thinks the young man but, crossing paths at Temple, the young man stops the Rabbi and says, "Rabbi, your advice to me makes no sense. How can someone who feeds his chickens be assured of happiness?"
My son, replies the Rabbi, if you take care of what's in front of you with love and care, isn't that the recipe that grows like yeast and begins to spread from your backyard to your neighbor's, and then down your street, and then across town and, one day, across the whole world?