The Moshiach Clock

The great Chassidic Rebbe, Reb Dov Ber of Radoshitz, was traveling across the Polish countryside. Night fell, the roads would soon be unsafe, and so he directed his wagon driver to stop at the first Jewish inn that they could find.

In a short while, they had pulled up in front of a small Jewish tavern. The owner welcomed them in warmly, helped them with their bags, fed and watered their horse, and prepared for Reb Dov Ber a special room reserved for traveling rabbis and noblemen. After praying the evening prayer, Reb Dov Ber retired to his chambers and to bed, tired after the long day's journey.

Soon the house was quiet, the fields outside still. Only the occasional barking of a lone farm dog broke the silence of the night. And yet . . . the clock on the wall -- it was ticking in the most amazing way; it wouldn't let Reb Dov Ber sleep. He tossed and turned in his bed. He got up and started pacing the room. Verses from the Books of the Prophets flooded his mind, songs of deliverance and hope. He tried to lie down again, but the clock kept ticking, until he was forced to rise from bed once more. Thus he spent the night, pacing the room in anxious anticipation.

In the morning, the tired but exhilarated rabbi approached the inn-keeper. "Where did you get that clock in the room?" he asked.

"That clock? Well, several years ago another rabbi stayed in the room, Reb Yosef of Turchin, the son of that tzaddik, the Seer of Lublin. He came for only one night, but the weather turned bad and he was forced to stay for several days. In the end, he found that he did not have enough money to pay the bill, so he covered the difference by giving me that clock. He said that he had inherited it from his father."

"Now I understand why I couldn't sleep," said Reb Dov Ber. "Most clocks in the world only cause depression, for they count the hours that have passed -- another day lost, another opportunity gone by. But the clock of the holy Seer of Lublin counts the time that is coming - - another minute closer to the final redemption, another second nearer the age of universal peace."

The Bed Filled With Sadness

The town was buzzing with the great news of the impending visit of the tzadik (righteous person). Reb Yossele, the son of Reb Mordechai of Neshchitz, couldn't rest from the moment he heard that the tzadik Reb Yaakov Yitzchak, the famous "Seer" or "Chozeh" of Lublin would be passing through his town. He had heard many awesome reports about this holy man and he burned with the desire to meet him and glean some insight from him.

So intent was he to host the great tzadik that he commissioned a local carpenter to build a bed especially for the Chozeh. He undertook this extraordinary preparation because he had heard it said that when the "Seer" traveled and had to sleep in a strange bed, he would sometimes be heard to cry out, "It's prickly! It's prickly!" Wanting to avoid any possible discomfort for the tzadik, he decided to provide a brand-new bed for him, and thus eliminate any possible problem.

Reb Yossele was very exacting in his instructions to the carpenter. First of all, he was careful to choose a workman who was known to be a G-d-fearing man; second, he instructed the carpenter to immerse himself in the mikva before beginning his work, and to very carefully guard himself from impure thoughts while he was working.

For his part, the carpenter was not anxious to accept this complicated assignment. He was particularly unwilling since the work would have to commence during the first week of the month of Av, the intense mourning period for the Holy Temple. However, since his rebbe had made the request of him, he couldn't bring himself to refuse. He undertook the job in a depressed frame of mind, feeling spiritually unworthy of the task ahead. Despite his unwillingness, he worked well and completed his task successfully and in good time.

When the bed was finished, Reb Yossele placed it in a specially prepared room. He covered the bed with fresh, new bedclothes, and put next to it a small table, a lamp and a chair. Satisfied that his preparations would ensure the comfort of the Chozeh, he then closed and locked the door to guarantee that the bed would be untouched by anyone except the tzadik himself.

A few days later, when the Chozeh arrived in the town, Reb Yossele went out to meet him. His joy was complete when the tzadik accepted the invitation to be his guest. Reb Yossele happily escorted his honored guest into the newly appointed room. He proudly showed the Chozeh the bed, explaining that a G-d-fearing carpenter constructed it especially for the tzadik's use. Tired from his long journey, the tzadik lay down to rest.

After only a few moments had passed Reb Yossele heard the Chozeh exclaiming, "Prickly, help, it's prickly!"

Reb Yossele was astonished. What could these cries mean? He quickly went to the tzadik's room and not knowing what else to do, offered him the use of his own bed, hoping it would prove more comfortable. The Chozeh gladly accepted Reb Yossele's offer, and all was quiet. Reb Yossele, however, suffered a sleepless night wondering if the tzadik's rest would be disturbed by some spiritual unworthiness in his house. When morning came the Chozeh awoke refreshed and happy. He remarked to Reb Yossele, "Thank you so much, I had an excellent rest. Your hospitality has revived me!"

Reb Yossele was gratified by the tzadik's words, but still, he couldn't understand the Chozeh's initial reaction to the new bed, and he questioned him about it.

"Don't worry about it at all. The bed is perfect and kosher in every respect," the tzadik assured him. "The reason I couldn't sleep in it was because it had a certain smell of sadness about it since it was built during the Nine Days preceding Tisha B'Av. The carpenter, being a pious man, was mourning the destruction of the Holy Temple while he was building it, and the spiritual residue of his grief adhered to the bed."

Reb Yissachar Dov of Radoshitz' Preperations For Blowing The Shofar

Reb Yissachar Dov of Radoshitz took longer than usual on Rosh Hashana to join the congregants for the blowing of the shofar. When he finally came out of his room, he told his Chasidim the following:
"Let me tell you a story about my Rebbe, the Chozeh (Seer) of Lublin.
"One Rosh Hashana the Chozeh remained an extra long time in his study. He felt unable to leave and join his Chasidim for the blowing of the shofar; he was heartbroken at the thought that he had to his credit no single merit which would give him the strength to go ahead this special mitzva. Finally he remembered that he had, in fact, one merit in his favor: in the course of the previous year he had not spoken one angry word.
"On one occasion, it almost happened that he lost his temper. His attendant had forgotten to prepare water next to his bed so that he would be able to wash his hands in the prescribed manner in the morning. He had decided to reprimand the attendant for his negligence -- until the Chozeh recalled the warning of the Sages, "He who is angry, it is as if he worshipped idols."
The Chozeh thought to himself, "For the sake of the mitzva of washing my hands in the morning I am going to allow myself, G-d forbid, to become an idolator?" He had therefore said nothing.
"When the Chozeh reminded himself that he had this one merit to his credit, he went ahead with the blowing of the shofar."
Upon completing the telling of this story, Reb Yissachar Dov proceeded to lead his own congregation in reading Psalm 47 which speaks of the majesty of the Creator and which serves as the introduction to the blasts of the shofar.

The Well Water That Changed Taste

One wintry day a man came to the saintly Rabbi Tzvi Elimelech of Dinov. The man braved the winter weather to seek the saintly Rebbe's help.

He told the Rebbe that he was an innkeeper in a village some distance away, the inn having come down to him from his late father, who had rented it from the old country squire. The old squire was a reasonable man and made no trouble if the rent was not paid on time in a bad season, in the wake of a severe winter. But the old squire died, and his son, the new squire, was not so kind. Now, he threatened to throw them out if the rent was not paid on time. He came to ask the Rebbe's help, so that his family would not be left without food and shelter in the midst of a terrible winter.

"Do you live in such and such village?" the Rebbe asked.

"Yes, Rebbe."

"Still in the same house, with the narrow windows and three steps leading up to the front door?"

"Yes, Rebbe," the innkeeper replied, wondering how the Rebbe knew.

"And is the well in the courtyard still plentiful, and the water still good?"

"Yes, Rebbe," the innkeeper answered with even greater amazement.

"I'm glad, I'm glad," the Rebbe said, stroking his silver beard. "You have nothing to worry about."

The innkeeper's face lit up with relief and he turned to go. But then he stopped and hesitated. He was baffled. How did the Rebbe know about the inn and the well, and what had the well to do with it all?

"Forgive me, Rebbe, for my insolence, but how does the Rebbe know my inn so well?" he finally asked.

The Rebbe smiled and said, "Very simple. I was there. It was a long time ago. Let me tell you the whole story.

"Many years ago, a young man was on his way to the saintly Rebbe, the 'Seer' of Lublin. He had been traveling for three days without food and shelter. He came to your village and stopped at the inn for a rest. He was so tired and hungry that he could barely climb the three front steps leading to the door. Your father was busy at that moment with peasants and wayfarers who crowded the inn, and he did not notice the stranger. After the young man rested a while, and seeing that no one took any notice of him, he decided to move on. As he passed by one of the narrow windows, he saw a small boy peeking out. The boy saw the haggard face of the stranger and ran after him. He begged the stranger to return with him to the inn. 'My father always welcomes poor wayfarers, and he would not forgive himself if he knew that one had passed by his inn without a good meal and a good night's rest. Please, come with me,' the boy urged.

"The young man returned to the inn and was immediately greeted by your father, then led to the dining room where a sumptuous meal was set before him. After the meal he was quite thirsty. The innkeeper sent the maid to fetch a pail of water. In her absence the innkeeper explained that she had to go to the village to fetch water.

" 'Have you no well in your courtyard?' the young man asked.

" 'Yes, but the water is not good. We only use it for the horses and garden.'

" 'If you don't mind, I'd like to taste your well-water. I'm very thirsty,' the young man said.

"The innkeeper brought a pitcher of water from the well and poured some for the thirsty guest. He drank it and said, 'Fancy giving such good water a bad name! Taste it, and see for yourself.' Everyone who tasted it was astonished. 'It's wonderful! It's even better than the water from the village well!' they said."

"Now I remember," the innkeeper said. "I was that little boy, and the young man - he must have been you!"

"Yes," said the saintly Rebbe, "and thanks to you I had a good meal and a good rest."

"That was nothing in comparison to the blessing which you brought into our home. Word got around how the water in our well suddenly turned pure and fresh. People still come just to drink our well water, saying it is good for their health!"

"If the water in the well is still good, then you can be sure that G-d is with you. Go home, and don't worry. Carry on with the mitzva of welcoming guests and G-d will continue to bless you," said the Rebbe.