A Rosh Hashana Miracle

“Shlomo?”

“Abba (father), is that you?”

“Yes, Shlomo. Did I wake you? Were you sleeping?”

“Abba, I had the strangest dream . . . Something about one of our relatives . . . His life was saved by a bunch of baked goods… What a strange dream . . .”

“You know, Shlomo, there was such a story. I wouldn’t have thought to tell you, but now that you mention it, I’m remembering. Funny, it also took place close to Rosh Hashanah, about this time of year.”

“It’s probably not what you called for, but do you have time to tell me the story?”

Suddenly Papa YosefChayim heard a sharp knock on the door“Sure. Are you awake enough to hear it?”

“I’m listening.”

“So, like I said, it was Thursday night, the week before Rosh Hashanah. The weather had turned early in Galicia that year, and already snow had dusted the ground. My grandfather, Yosef Chayim, the father of my father Shlomo, for whom you are named, was up late learningTorah. His candle was burning low, and the house was filled with the sweet smells of his wife Devorah’s hard work. Challahs and yeast cakes, stew, chicken and fish, and of course the aroma of her potato kugel filled the home, and apparently wafted out the windows as well.

“Suddenly Papa Yosef Chayim heard a sharp knock on the door. Curious who would be visiting at such an hour, he got up and opened the door. To his shock, he found a burly robber pointing a pistol directly in his face. Over and over he repeated in a shrill, startled voice the words of the foundational prayer of theShema, ‘Shema Yisroel, Hashem Elokeinu, Hashem Echad! Shema Yisroel, Hashem Elokeinu, Hashem Echad!’ (‘Hear O Israel, the L‑rd is our G‑d, the L‑rd is One!’)

“Finally the robber screamed at him, ‘Silence! Enough of your babbling! Bring me food!’ Reb Yosef Chaim was brought back from the intensity of his devotions.

“‘Food?’ he asked? ‘Yes, and quickly!’ the robber replied.

“You know, Shlomo, it’s a shame that you never met my grandfather. Besides being learned and well respected, he was a kind and discerning man. He looked into the robber’s eyes, and saw that the man was not inherently violent, but was filled with fear and desperation. Like our Creator, my zeide (grandfather) fulfilled the verse v’rachamav al kol ma’asav, “His mercies are on all that is created”—for his mercy was for all of G‑d’s creations. He quickly got a basket and packed into it all of his wife’s delicacies. He then looked up at the man and went to the closet, where he retrieved a warm winter coat, a pair of boots and a blanket. He wrapped them up in a bundle, adding in a few pieces of firewood from next to the oven. By this time the robber’s face had softened, and he arranged under his arms the various packages that Reb Yosef Chayim handed to him, and ran off into the night.

Zeide was grateful that his life had been spared“Zeide was grateful that his life had been spared, and that he had been given the opportunity to sanctify G‑d’s name and provide help to a man who sorely needed it. While I can’t say for sure, I’d like to think that their neighbors pitched in and helped them with all that they needed for Shabbat that week. As is the nature of time, the incident was soon forgotten, as routine continued in their home.

“Many years later, in the same season, Zeide was preparing to travel to RebYehoshua, son of the Sar Shalom of Belz, for Rosh Hashanah. While there were other Belzer chassidim traveling from Krakovitz, where they lived and where my father was born, those who for various reasons could not travel brought their letters and requests to Zeide to carry to the rebbe. While there were still a couple of days until Yom Tov, Reb Yosef Chayim was excited to see the rebbe, and it was with joy and animation that he finished packing up the carriage and taking leave of his family.

“Normally it was a bit more than a day’s travel, but Zeide thought he could shorten it a bit by taking a side road through the forest. He was absorbed in his mental and spiritual preparations for Rosh Hashanah, and by the time he realized that he was surrounded by a band of robbers, he had no chance of escape. He was pulled off the carriage at gunpoint, and tied with harsh ropes to a nearby tree. His horse was also tethered, and the robbers assured him, laughing, that they would be back, as they headed off into the woods with his money and belongings.

“Those hours, Zeide told me, were the most powerful accounting of his soul that he ever experienced. When the robbers returned a few hours later with their leader and his son, he was prepared to meet his Maker. The head robber turned to his son and told him, ‘Today is your birthday; you are thirteen years old. It’s time for you to kill your first Jew,’ and handed him the pistol. Reb Yosef Chayim cried out in his piercing voice, ‘Shema Yisroel, Hashem Elokeinu, Hashem Echad! Shema Yisroel, Hashem Elokeinu, Hashem Echad!’ again and again.

“Sudddenly the robber stepped up close to him and asked him, ‘Do you know who I am?’ Zeide opened his eyes, and looked deeply into the eyes of the man standing before him. Without allowing Zeide to answer, the man turned to his son and told him, ‘Thirteen years ago, you were born on a snowy, dark night. Our home was empty. Without heat and food, we feared for your life. This man gave us enough tasty food for a week, as well as a blanket, coat and other supplies. This man saved your life.’

This man saved your life“Within minutes, Zeide had been untied, and all of his property was returned to him. The head robber even insisted on sending two escorts to accompany him, to see to it that he would arrive safely in Belz.”

“Wow, Abba, what a story!”

“Yeah, I don’t know why I never thought to tell it to you before . . .”

“But Abba, what did you call for?”

“Oh, that’s a good question . . . I’m not remembering at the moment.”

“Okay, so you’ll call back when you do. But if you hadn’t called right now, I might never have heard this story.”

“Then I guess that’s what I called you for, my dear son. Sleep well.”

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R' Boruch The Wagon Driver

In general, the study hall of Rabbi Boruch was a joyous place. During the Nine Days before Tisha B'Av, however, the atmosphere was rather somber, as if a dark cloud hovered above.

The tzadik himself had disappeared; no one knew where he was. Rumor had it that Rabbi Boruch had disguised himself as a beggar and was wandering from town to town, the better to experience the exile of the Divine Presence.

In the village square stood a wagon driver next to his horses. To all outward appearances he looked like any other wagon driver, but it was really Rabbi Boruch in a new disguise. It didn't take long until a Polish nobleman asked to engage his services.

The tzadik made a quick calculation: If everything went well, he would make it back to town on the day before Tisha B'Av. He agreed to take the nobleman to his destination, and the two set off.

Now, the horses that Rabbi Boruch had procured were not exactly in their prime; the poor specimens could barely pull the wagon and stopped every few feet to rest. The most tranquil of passengers would have found it irritating; how much more so did the Polish nobleman, who was in a hurry to reach his destination. The tzadik was subjected to a steady stream of curses and insults. But he remained silent, feeling acutely the pain and affront to the Divine Presence in exile.

The journey would take several days, and each evening the two travelers sought refuge in an inn. The nobleman obtained the finest accommodations, while Rabbi Boruch slept in the barn with his horses. The tzadik made sure to don his tefilin and pray several hours before the nobleman woke up. Only afterwards would he rouse him to resume their travels.

One morning, however, when Rabbi Boruch knocked on the nobleman's door he received no answer. The nobleman, he soon realized, was in a drunken stupor, having spent the night before carousing with some local peasants. With great difficulty the tzadik managed to haul him over to the wagon and dump him in. Throughout it all, the nobleman remained unconscious.

The next stage of the journey took them through a dense forest. The horses plodded along at their usual sluggish pace, keeping time with the nobleman's loud snores. Rabbi Boruch was lost in thought.

Suddenly, a terrible pain ripped through the tzadik's head. When he woke up he found himself tied to a tree, with the Polish nobleman in similar circumstances. The horses and wagon were gone, but Rabbi Boruch noticed that his prayer book, talit and tefilin had been tossed aside. Immediately he thanked G-d for having saved his life.

Moving his arms and legs the tzadik was able to gradually loosen his bonds. The first thing he did was to pick up his prayer book, talit and tefilin and kiss them. Next he turned his attention to the Polish nobleman, who was still unconscious but appeared to be breathing.

Rabbi Boruch found a stream and splashed some water on the man's face. Nonetheless, it took a few hours until his eyelids fluttered. "What happened?" the nobleman stammered. "Why am I lying on the ground?"

The tzadik told him what had happened, but as soon as he heard the word "robbers" he began to scream. "My money! My money!" Rabbi Boruch tried to calm him down and told him that he should be grateful for being alive, but the nobleman remained extremely agitated and kept looking at the tzadik with barely concealed suspicion.

With no other choice the two set out on foot. After wandering for several days they came upon an encampment of hunters, some of whom were the nobleman's friends. Out of earshot of the wagon driver, the nobleman told them that he suspected his companion of having stolen his money. His suspicion was based on the simple fact that the driver was the only person who had known of its existence.

One hunter suggested that they shoot him immediately, but the oldest member of the party demurred. "Let's tie him to a tree," he proposed. "If he's guilty, he will die. If not, then G-d help him." The tzadik was immediately seized and bound.

Night fell, and Rabbi Boruch's tears flowed freely as he prayed the evening service. From the depths of his heart he implored G-d to save him, his voice echoing back in the eerie silence.

The sound of approaching footsteps suddenly cut off his words. It was the old hunter who had returned, the very one who had objected to killing him. "I wanted to see how you were," he said. "I never thought you were guilty in the first place. The real robbers have just been apprehended and have admitted to everything. It seems that when our foolish friend got drunk the other night, he boasted to everyone about all the money he was carrying."

It was the night of Tisha B'Av when Rabbi Boruch arrived back at the study hall, where his disciples were waiting for him expectantly. And everyone noticed that the tzadik's reading of the Book of Lamentations was especially emotional that year.

The Dumb Robber

Once, in a small Russian village, there lived a poor melamed (teacher). The parents of the children were as poor as he, and so, more often than not he wasn't paid the small salary due at the end of the week. The melamed and his family just managed to keep bread on the table, and so, it wasn't surprising that when it came time to marry off the eldest daughter, there was no money for a dowry or the many expenses needed to make a wedding.

The melamed had no choice but to take to the road and go from village to village collecting charity. The mitzva of "dowering the bride" has always been popular amongst Jews, and he found the townspeople very willing to help. After several weeks the melamed felt that he had collected a sufficient amount of money, and he decided to return home with his heavy, little pouch of money.

One day, as the melamed made his way down the dusty road, a highwayman suddenly jumped out at him. Brandishing a pistol, the man snarled, "Give me all your money, or I'll shoot!"

The terrified melamed was rooted to the spot in shock. "Sir, take pity on me! I have only a little money that I have collected in order to marry off my daughter. Without this money, my poor child will never be able to make a match! Please, sir, leave me in peace!"

"Be quiet, Jew! I'm not interested in your pathetic stories. Just give over your money, and be quick about it!"

The melamed took out his purse and handed it over. But then, the robber raised his gun again, and took aim, pointing it straight at the melamed's heart. "Now, I'm going to kill you," he said, grimly.

"But, why? I gave you all my money. Now, let me go to my family. Please, I am the father of a large family, and my small children will be left orphans - paupers, without me!"

But the robber was relentless. "No, if I let you go, you will just run to the police and then they will capture me. You will testify against me, and I will be hanged! No, I cannot allow you to go, or I will be the one killed!"

The melamed begged and pleaded for his freedom, swearing that he would never breath a word of the robbery to any soul in the whole world. But, all his pitiful words fell on deaf ears. The robber just became more hardened in his resolve. The melamed saw no hope, and he asked the robber for a few moments to prepare himself to face his Maker. To this request, the robber acquiesced, and the melamed said his last prayers.

When he had finished, the melamed had a new look in his eyes. Our tradition teaches us never to despair, for even when the sword rests upon one's neck, G-d can still bring about salvation. During his moment of prayer, the melamed was given the glimmer of an idea.

"Sir," the melamed began, "I can tell that you are not an ordinary, wicked man, for if so, you would never have allowed me to pray. I see than you have more than a spark of goodness in you, and you are not the type who would want to murder an innocent man in cold blood. I want to do you a favor and I thought of a plan by which you could kill me in self-defense. I will pretend to attack you and then you will have a good reason to shoot. You will be able to honestly say it was self-defense."

The robber looked at him as if he couldn't believe his ears. "What crazy things are you saying? You're going to do me a favor? That's a good one! If you imagine that I'll give up my gun, you really are nuts!"

"Of course, I would never imagine such a thing," the melamed countered. Nothing like that. Why, you just sit on this tree stump and hold your gun. I will take my walking stick and wave it in the air like this. Then I will run towards you and gently tap you on the head. But, you will pretend to believe that I'm attacking you, and you shoot me. Isn't that simple?"

The robber thought about it for a minute or two as the melamed prayed from the depths of his heart for salvation. "Well, I guess it'll be all right," he replied. "Just be sure that your tap is real gentle," he chuckled.

"Don't give it a thought," the melamed assured him. Then, backing up a few paces, the melamed grabbed his stick firmly in his right hand, and praying fervently, he sprinted toward the robber who was sitting calmly with a smirk on his face. It was over in a flash. The melamed brought his heavy walking stick down on the robber's head with all his strength (plus the extra strength he gathered by way of his prayers). The man toppled over, his glassy eyes registering the shock of this unexpected turn of events.

When the melamed realized that he had succeeded in saving his life, he grabbed his money purse and ran down the road, as fast as his feet could carry him, never even glancing back at the felled murderer.

Soon the family celebrated the joyous wedding of their daughter, but the melamed never forgot how he managed to save the dowry and his life at the same time.