[Traditional, with adaptations.]
In a certain village there lived a rabbi, famed for the time he had spent studying Talmud. One day, two villagers came to see him about a dispute. The rabbi agreed to hear them out and decide the matter for them, and a small crowd gathered around.
Chaim went first. “Moshe’s chickens have been running into my yard,” he explained, describing how they were eating from his stores and harassing his children. “Moshe needs to build a fence to keep them in.”
The rabbi frowned sadly and spread his arms in empathy. “I’m afraid that you are wrong,” he began. For fifteen minutes he spoke, quoting Torah and Talmud, explaining why Moshe and his chickens had violated none of the Law. By the end of his learned explanation, the crowd was nodding and murmuring in agreement.
Now it was Moshe’s turn. “My chickens are well-behaved and I look after them carefully,” he said. It was rare that even one chicken got out, and it never went far. “I have done all I can. If Chaim is so concerned, well then he should build a fence to keep them out.”
Again the rabbi frowned, a wistful look on his face. “I’m afraid that you too are wrong,” he said. For another fifteen minutes he spoke, quoting Torah and Talmud, explaining why Moshe had failed in his obligations towards his wayward chickens. Once again, the crowd of villagers was nodding along with him—all except one.
“They can’t both be wrong!” Herschel shouted. “First you told us that Chaim was wrong, and then you told us that Moshe was wrong. Which is it? It has to be one or the other.”
The rabbi nodded sadly. “Alas, my son, I’m afraid that you are wrong as well.”