One day Reb Malkiel lost his way on a journey. Because the Sabbath was rapidly approaching, it appeared that he would have to stop somewhere for the night. He noticed a hut some distance away and, drawing near, he was delighted to see a mezuze nailed to the doorpost. God had sent him to a Jewish home where he could spend the Sabbath.
He went into the hut and found a little boy playing on the floor and an old woman salting meat in preparation for the Sabbath meal. He said, “Tell me, may I spend the Sabbath here?”
The woman said loudly, “Yes.”
“Where is your husband?” he asked.
“He is pasturing the cattle in the woods,” she said.
In a while her husband came in, nodded at the woman, and greeted Reb Malkiel.
Sometime later, the woman blessed the Sabbath candles and they all seated themselves at the table. The man of the house made the prayer over the wine, as is the devout custom. He ate a bit of fish and a bit of meat and an olive-sized bit of the bread. After the meal he recited the blessings like a man of learning and then left the hut.
Reb Malkiel asked, “Where has your husband gone?”
The wife replied, “He’s spending the night in the woods with the cattle.” This struck Reb Malkiel as mysterious, and in general the husband gave him a strange feeling. In appearance his host seemed to be an unlettered workingman, but he had spoken his prayers and the blessing over the wine very much like a man of learning.
When the household was asleep, Reb Malkiel went to the bedside of the couple’s little boy and gave him a chain, a button, and other such shiny things that attract children. Then he said, “Show me where your father has gone.”
“All right,” the boy replied and led him to the woods. There they came to a cellar. The boy said, “In that cellar you’ll find a little door. If you open the door, you’ll see a room. My father is inside it.”
Reb Malkiel took the boy home and then returned to the cellar. When he opened the door, he was startled to see a number of people sitting around a table on which were 702 lighted candles. And every sort of good food was on the table, and at its head sat the man who had been Reb Malkiel’s Sabbath host. When the company saw Reb Malkiel, everyone stood up.
Reb Malkiel’s host, looking at him, opened a sacred text and pointed to it. He said “You see where it is written, ‘It is forbidden to inquire too deeply.’ ”
Reb Malkiel stayed with that company for the whole of the Sabbath, and on Sunday he went home. In Lomzhe he made inquiries about his host and was told that in winter the man sold bundles of logs and in summer he sold sand. But poor as he was, when he went to buy an esreg, a citron, before the Succos holiday, he always said, “Give me the best esreg you have and I’ll pay whatever you ask.”
The more Reb Malkiel discovered about the man whose guest he had been for the Sabbath, the clearer it became that he had been in the home of a lamedvovnik, one of the thirty-six hidden saintly men without whose merits the world could not continue to exist.
128
A modern miracle
My father, may he rest in the light of paradise, loved to tell this tale about the Rebbe of Nizkhizh. Though it wasn’t really a tale, but something that actually happened to him.
It occurred soon after my grandfather was married, when he was perhaps thirteen years old and still living in his father-in-law’s home. One day his father-in-law, who was a disciple of the Rebbe of Nizkhizh, decided to take a trip to visit his Rebbe. He took his son-in-law along, so that he might introduce him.
Off they went. Well, they arrived in Nizkhizh, settled into a rooming house, rested a while, and then went to see the Rebbe. The warden of the synagogue, seeing them, ushered them right in.
Oh yes … I nearly forgot the main thing. My father was wearing a new pair of lacquered boots, made to order. Now, lacquered boots were not considered Jewish dress, but something aristocratic, daytshmerish—that is, strictly for westernized moderns. But as an only son my father was much indulged; nothing was too good for him.
Well then, they walked in to see the Rebbe, and the boots went squeak, squeak, squeak. Step, squeak. Step, squeak. Well, never mind. They approached the Rebbe: my grandfather greeted him first, then introduced my father so that he too might greet him.
“You’ve a fine son-in-law,” the Rebbe said, and pinched my father’s cheek. “And he has fine boots,” the Rebbe added. “They go squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak.”
Later my grandfather said that he would have preferred for the Rebbe to slap him ten times than to say what he did. Well, what’s done is done. They stayed and joined the Rebbe’s circle over the Sabbath, and everything was fine. On Sunday just before they were to start home, they went to say their goodbyes to the Rebbe.
“No,” said the Rebbe, “what’s your hurry? If one can afford lacquered boots, one can afford to follow me too.” My father and my grandfather, blessed be his memory, felt their hearts sink, but if the Rebbe expressed a wish, who would object?
So they stayed. The next day, Monday, the Rebbe made his rounds in the district, and my father and his father-in-law followed him. They went first to one town, then to another. Perhaps, they thought at each place, the Rebbe would send them home from there. But no. Not on your life.
The Rebbe feigned ignorance of their discomfort. They followed after him for another week and a half, but still he didn’t let them out of his sight. Finally he said he wanted nine rubles, and then they could go home. “On your way,” the Rebbe remarked as they were making their farewells, “you will pass such-and-such a squire’s place, where there will be a hundred oxen for sale. You must go to him and buy fifty.”
Finally, and after much difficulty, they left the Rebbe. Altogether they had half a ruble in their pockets. How could they even consider following the Rebbe’s instructions? The real question was how they were going to make the long journey home with fifty kopecks.
But now listen. As they were passing some squire’s compound, the squire himself came out to greet them. “Hey, Jews. Do you want to buy something?” he cried cheerfully. “I have a hundred oxen to sell.”
“Pardon me, lord, but I have no money just now,” my grandfather replied.
“Who’s talking about money?” said the squire. “Go on, take the ones that please you, and you can pay some other time. I trust you.”
Well, to make a long story short, they picked out fifty of the oxen. The squire even lent them two herdsmen, and they went off with the cattle. Later they made a tidy profit from the resale, and that was the beginning of an important business relationship with the squire.
Clearly it was a miracle. This much I know.
129
How Judah Halevi Entered Heaven alive
In heaven, in paradise, there was a space available for the soul of a tsadek among the seats in the Celestial Council of Justice, right next to the Holy One, blessed be He. The tsadikim, the saintly ones in heaven, were asked, “Who is worthy to be seated in that most honorable place?” They divided into two camps: One group proposed the great poet and religious philosopher Judah Halevi; the second group objected. But the first group prevailed, so God sent for the Angel of Death and said, “Go bring me the soul of Judah Halevi. Do not come back without it.”
The Angel of Death descended to earth and, disguised as a short man with a pointed beard, went to Judah Halevi. He found the rabbi studying gemore, a commentary on the Mishnah. Now, that was bad for the Angel of Death, who could do nothing while the rabbi was at his pious work. Judah Halevi saw something in the man’s eyes that made him suspicious. He said, “What do you want?”
The Angel of Death replied, “I am the Angel of Death. God has sent me for your soul.” And he told him everything that had happened up in heaven.
“Stop. You’re not going to get what you came for. Your stories don’t fool me; you can’t have my soul,” said Judah Halevi.
The Angel of Death realized that he was in trouble. “What’s to be done?” he wondered. He couldn’t possibly g
o back without Judah Halevi’s soul. Then he had an idea. He said, “Climb up on my shoulders and I’ll take you up to the gates of paradise for a moment, where you can see what’s happening on your account.”
So Judah Halevi seated himself on the angel’s shoulders. And when they approached the gates of paradise, he saw heaven’s spacious hall—larger even than the synagogue in Koyl! The hall was empty because the saintly ones had gone out for a stroll with God. Judah Halevi leaped down from the shoulders of the Angel of Death and went into the hall, where he instantly made a vow: “No matter what, I’m not going to leave this place.”
When the saintly ones came back from their walk, they saw that there was a man from the world below wandering about. “We had to pass through seven sections of hell before we got in here, and look at him: not dead, and in heaven.”
But God, aware of the vow that Judah Halevi had made, commanded that the Book of Memories be brought before Him. Then He said, “If we find it written that there is even one vow that Judah Halevi did not keep in the world below, then this latest vow of his will be null and void.” But there was no record of such an unkept vow. And that is how Judah Halevi was allowed to stay in heaven, without having died.
130
Rabbi Joshua and the Emperor of Rome
The Emperor of Rome once said to Rabbi Joshua, “If you have a God, show Him to me. Then I’ll know that He’s real.” Rabbi Joshua said, “Come with me and I’ll show you.” They went out into the street. Rabbi Joshua told the emperor to look up at the sky, but the emperor could not because the sun was shining so brightly. So Rabbi Joshua said, “The sun is but a servant of God, and you are unable to look at it. Then how do you expect to see God Himself?” The emperor was embarrassed and went home.
131
A Wonderful Legend of a Cave
A rich Arab nobleman owned a cave in which a saintly Jew was buried. And the nobleman was one of the friendliest of the Gentiles. Understanding the nature of the man who lay there, he kept a light always burning over the grave, adding oil every day as needed.
The nobleman also kept his sheep in the cave, as people used to do in those days. His shepherd drove the flock out every morning, pastured them all day, and drove them back into the cave in the evening. And that had been his custom for many years.
One day the shepherd forgot to lock the door to the cave. All night he worried for fear someone would steal something, and at daybreak he quickly dressed and hurried to the cave. There he was astonished to find a wild animal standing immobile near the eternal light. The shepherd understood at once what had happened. The animal had meant to lick the oil in the light, but the spiritual power of the saintly man was so great that it had paralyzed the beast. So the shepherd killed the creature and from that time always left the door of the cave open. He no longer worried about thieves.
Early one day the nobleman went to the cave and to his surprise found the door unlocked. He was very angry with the shepherd and beat him, though the shepherd insisted that no one could possibly steal anything from the cave.
Finally the nobleman decided to test the shepherd’s claim, so he too left the cave unlocked. One night thieves sneaked in and filled their sacks with the goods that were stored there. Then they started to leave, but at once paralysis seized them. The cleverer of the thieves understood what was happening and flung their sacks away, and were thus able to escape. Those who did not think so quickly were left standing paralyzed, the sacks in their hands.
In the morning the nobleman entered the cave and found the slow-witted thieves holding the sacks. It was then that he fully appreciated the saintly man’s greatness.
He called in the Jewish inhabitants of his city and told them about the wonders worked by the holy man’s grave. After that, of course, he gave a banquet worthy of a king. And from then on he helped the Jews in every possible way.
132
Waiting for the Messiah
Ibn Ezra was a perpetual wanderer, traveling from village to village, from town to town. It happened once that he came to a town where he could hear no human sound, nor, as he entered, was anyone to be seen. He walked street after street, but all were empty. This struck him as so strange that he decided to enter a house to try and find a human being. As he went into the kitchen, he saw all sorts of good food on a table, but everything was cold because there was no fire in the hearth. In the second room he came upon a table laden with wines and brandies and baked goods—strudles, honey cakes, fruitcakes, and cookies—but no one was in the room. Amazement! When he went into a second house, it was like the first. And the same was true of every house in town.
He thought it over and decided to visit the synagogue. Now, the synagogue, it turned out, was filled with people. All wore their prayer shawls, and all stood stock-still. Then Ibn Ezra, of blessed memory, asked one of the men why he never moved, but the man did not even look at him. So Ibn Ezra approached a second man and begged him to explain the mystery. Why had they been standing there for so long, and why did they stand so still?
“Many, many years ago,” replied the man, “people went off to the synagogue for kolnidre. There the whole congregation, men, women, and children, felt a surge of power as they stood praying to God. And so they continued to stand all night long, feeling that the power was capable of changing the world. So convinced were they that this was true that they vowed, all of them, not to leave the synagogue until the Messiah came to lead them from it.
“Their decision,” the man went on, “created turmoil in heaven, because it was not yet the destined time for the Messiah. And so it was decreed that, since the congregation would not leave the synagogue unless the Messiah came, they must stand in the synagogue with their prayer shawls on until his arrival.
“And so we stand here all week long, except on Friday evening, when we celebrate the coming of the Sabbath. And we have been standing in just this way for many, many years as we wait for the Messiah.”
That was what the man said. And when Ibn Ezra heard it, he bade farewell and left him standing there until the coming of the Messiah which, we pray, may happen in our own days. Amen.
133
The Torah of My Servant Moses
This is the story that Reb Joshua ben Levi tells concerning the time when the Holy One, blessed be He, gave the Torah to Moses, peace to his memory.
As Moses was descending again from Heaven, Satan came to the Holy One, blessed be He, and said, “Lord of the Universe, where have You hidden the Torah?”
The Holy One, blessed be He, replied, “I gave it to the Earth.”
Satan went to the Earth and said, “Earth, where did you hide God’s Torah?”
The Earth replied, “God knows everything. But as for me, I don’t have the Torah.”
So Satan went to the Sea and said, “Sea, where have you hidden the Torah?”
The Sea replied, “I don’t have it.”
So Satan went to the Abyss and said, “Where have you hidden the Torah that God gave you?”
The Abyss replied, “It’s not in my depths.”
Then Satan went to the dead and to those who are lost and asked them, “Where have you hidden the Torah?”
They replied, “It’s true that we have heard of it, but we don’t know where it is.”
So Satan went to God and said, “I’ve searched the entire world over and have not found the Torah.”
The Holy One, blessed be He, said, “Go to Ben Amram—to Moses, son of Amram. I gave it to him.”
So Satan went to Moses and said, “Moses, where is the Torah that God gave you?”
Moses replied, “Who or what am I that the Holy One, blessed be He, should have given the Torah to me?”
When God heard about this, He said, “Moses, why did you deny that I gave you the Torah?”
Moses replied, “Lord of the Universe, how can I take it upon myself to boast that it is I who have received the Torah, an instrument which produces such joy that studying it makes all humankind happy every day?”
God said, “Moses, Moses, it is not well to belittle oneself. Still, because you would not boast of having the Torah, let your reward be that it will henceforth be named after you.”
And so it is written, “Remember the Torah of My servant, Moses …”
134
Rabbi Jonathan and the Minister: A Disputation
As everyone knows, Rabbi Jonathan, the author of Urim ve Tummim, was constantly engaged in debate with the greatest people in the nation over matters of faith.
And there were those who were not fond of him. It was, for example, said of him that in the intermediary days between the first two and last two days of Passover, he prayed using tfiln that did not contain parchment slips with the appropriate verses from the Bible.
The rabbi had a keen intelligence and he was a God-fearing man, as everyone knew. A story is told about a minister who, meaning to test Rabbi Jonathan’s intelligence, sent a messenger inviting him for a visit. However, the minister instructed his servants not to tell the rabbi where in the palace he was to be found.
Reb Jonathan came to the palace and asked to be shown to the minister’s room. One guard replied that he was in such-and-such a room; another guard gave the rabbi quite different directions. And so with all the guards: they gave him contradictory answers and directions. Finally the rabbi paused and, thinking the matter over, decided that the minister must be in a particular room. He went to it and, indeed, there was the minister.
When the rabbi presented himself, the minister was amazed. “Ha! How did you know I would be in this room? Who told you?”
“How could anyone have told me, since all your Swiss guards gave me contradictory directions? Now, we Jews have a saying, ‘Follow the majority.’ And that’s what I did. I thought through everything they told me and counted up the replies. It was clear that this was the room, so I went to it.”
Yiddish Folktales Page 27