News of the death of the porter from Tsfat brought only a handful of people to the scene, mainly his workmates—laborers worn by the toil of their hands. They left their affairs behind and came to accompany their friend on his final journey.
The small funeral procession moved slowly, winding through the twisting alleys of the city on its way to the ancient cemetery. Along the way, it passed a narrow path overlooked by the windows of the home of the tzaddik, Rabbi Avraham Dov of Avritch, author of the book Bat Ayin.
Suddenly, the tzaddik stepped out of his house and joined the few mourners. He did not settle for a brief accompaniment, as was his custom at most funerals he attended, but walked with the group all the way to the grave site, and even waited for the covering of the grave.
The mourners were astonished by the great honor the tzaddik had shown the porter. Perhaps the porter had been one of the thirty-six hidden righteous individuals, they wondered in their hearts. If that were so, they puzzled, why had the tzaddik not called upon the rest of the townspeople to also join the funeral of this ‘tzaddik’?
The House Search
Out of awe for the tzaddik, the mourners did not dare to ask him. They hoped he would explain the matter himself.
Indeed, after the funeral, the Rabbi turned to several of his close followers and asked them to go to the porter's home and search for evidence of the deceased’s righteousness. They soon arrived at the widow’s home and, with her consent, conducted a brief inspection. An hour later, they returned to the tzaddik empty-handed. “We found no books of Kabbalah or any other signs indicating that the deceased was anything more than a simple porter,” they said.
Rabbi Avraham Dov was not satisfied. “Return to his home and speak to the widow. Perhaps you’ll be able to learn something about his character from her,” he instructed. The messengers did so, but again came back with nothing.
The Unwanted Proposition
The tzaddik did not give up. “Go back to the widow and ask her to tell you about her husband's life,” he said, adding, “You may tell her that you came at my request.”
When the widow heard the tzaddik’s request, she began to tell: “In the early years of our marriage, my late husband was a traveling merchant, going from village to village. He arrived at each place on a set schedule and brought the residents what they requested. Most of his customers were Arab villagers from the Upper Galilee.
“In his youth, my husband was handsome and tall, and found favor in everyone’s eyes. We lived comfortably and honorably. Suddenly, a terrible misfortune struck us—a noble Arab sheikh’s only daughter fell in love with my husband.
“The sheikh invited him to his home and told him about his daughter’s wish to marry him. He described his failed attempts to dissuade her. ‘If I don’t marry this Jew, I would rather die,’ the daughter had told her father.
“The sheikh presented my husband with two options: one—a wedding feast, expensive clothes, gifts and money. The other—death.
“My husband did not hesitate for a moment. He was certain he would withstand the trial no matter what. He was ready to give his life rather than go against G-d’s will. But he sought a proper way to escape the misfortune that had befallen him. He did not reveal this to the sheikh. On the contrary, he gave him the impression that he agreed to the proposal.
The Pillar of Fire
“The sheikh was overjoyed, believing his daughter’s life was saved and that he had gained an honest and handsome son-in-law. He immediately ordered his servants to prepare a wedding feast worthy of his only daughter.
The wedding night arrived. The happy sheikh sat beside the groom. In the midst of the celebration, the servants brought out hookahs (water pipes) to smoke.
In the center stood a copper tray with glowing coals. Each guest took coals to light his hookah. Clouds of smoke began to rise above the revelers' heads.
The groom also approached the tray to take coals. Suddenly, to everyone’s shock, he lifted the tray full of coals and overturned it onto his own abdomen and legs, burning his body.
Panic and chaos erupted. The joy turned into sorrow. The sheikh was ashamed and embarrassed by the groom’s behavior.
He and his companions began to beat my husband, who was already covered in burns. They did not stop until they drove him out, bleeding and in agony.
With the little strength he had left, my husband fled the village. He somehow made it back home—wounded, beaten, and ill.
Until his dying day, he suffered from the severe burns. Yet his face always shone, and in his heart he was grateful that, with G-d’s help, he had stood firm in his trial. He accepted all his suffering with love,” concluded the weeping widow. “That was my late husband.”
The messengers listened with awe to the porter's extraordinary story and knew that this time their Rabbi would be satisfied.
And indeed, when they returned and told the tzaddik what the widow had said, they saw a glow of light on his face.
“When the funeral passed by my home, I saw a pillar of fire rise from the bed and stretch to the heavens,” he said to them.
“Now I understand why he merited that.”
