By Rabbi Yechiel Spero
Rav Yisrael Aryeh Margolis, later known as the Premishlaner Rebbe of London, the patriarch of the prestigious Margolis family, lived in Galicia before World War II. There he enjoyed a close relationship with Rav Aharon of Belz. While he was blessed with a magnificent family, eleven children in all, he didn’t have the means to support them. Rav Yisrael Aryeh hoped to find a job locally, but there were almost no opportunities, so he realized he would have to seek parnassah elsewhere.
The Belzer Rebbe, who was intimately aware of Rav Yisrael Aryeh’s greatness in Torah and his exceptional care and love for all Yidden, recommended him for the position of rav in a city in Hungary. He praised Rav Yisrael Aryeh as a true gadol, one with the appropriate talents and capabilities to motivate and inspire the kehillah. Eager to hire such an individual, the shul committee sent a ksav rabbanus and invited Rav Yisrael Aryeh to come and spend some time with the kehillah. He would speak publicly and meet the prominent members of the kehillah.
Upon receiving their invite, Rav Yisrael Aryeh accepted the offer to visit the town, so he could see firsthand if it would be workable for his family. Galicia and Hungary were two different worlds. In those days, there were only two trains a week from Galicia to Hungary. One of them departed on Wednesday and arrived on Sunday. The second one left immediately after Shabbos, arriving in the middle of the week. Wednesday was not an option, because it included travel on Shabbos, so Rav Yisrael Aryeh chose to travel on Motza’ei Shabbos, immediately after davening Maariv at the zman of Rabbeinu Tam.
His Chassidim organized a minyan for him right at the station. But there was still one issue. Where would he wash for Melaveh Malkah? To Rav Yisrael Aryeh, washing for Melaveh Malkah was non-negotiable. However, in those days, there was no way to access water on trains. Even at the train stops, there was no guarantee that there would be water available. So where would he wash?
After conducting some research, Rav Yisrael Aryeh discovered that the train was going to make one stop between Galicia and Hungary. Over there, he would be able to find water. Even better, the train was scheduled to arrive at the stop before midnight, which would allow him to wash before chatzos, the preferable time to eat Melaveh Malkah. With all the preparations out of the way and all the details ironed out, Rav Yisrael Aryeh boarded the train and headed toward Hungary.
But on the way, he ran into some unexpected difficulty. Indeed, there was one stop along the way, right on schedule. And, as planned, he hurriedly disembarked from the train and ran to retrieve some water so he could wash his hands for Melaveh Malkah. But when he returned to the train, he encountered resistance. The Hungarian conductor, a virulent anti-Semite, refused to allow him to board the train again. Rav Yisrael Aryeh begged him to open the doors, but the conductor would not give in. Rav Yisrael Aryeh banged on the doors, pleading, but all he received was an antagonistic smirk in return. The whistle blew. The train was departing the station. He tried running after the train, but he quickly recognized there was nothing more to do.
Holding only a piece of bread in his hand, Rav Yisrael Aryeh watched as the train left the station. With his suitcases and all his personal items still on the train, Rav Yisrael Aryeh stood hapless and helpless at the station in the middle of nowhere. Deeply disheartened, it was time to decide where he wanted to go and how he would get there. He realized it would be best if he headed home by foot, a journey of three days. After all his plans, and all the hope and dreams, he had never made it to his destination. He kept walking, enduring the bitter cold and brutal conditions, until he finally reached his town.
Exhausted, he made up his mind that he would put on the best face possible. He would explain how it was all from Hashem, and this was all for the best. But when he walked up to his house, he noticed through the window that the mirrors were covered, as if the people living there were in mourning. Confused, he knocked on the door and let himself in. As soon as he entered, his family froze. And then they ran over to him, crying as if they had seen a ghost.
What they were looking at defied logic. After hearing bits and pieces, Rav Yisrael Aryeh began to make sense of all he was hearing. The nine people with whom he had davened Maariv had witnessed him boarding the train. They had no doubt whatsoever that he was on board. Even his luggage was on the train. But there had been a deadly train crash, with no survivors. And since Rav Yisrael Aryeh’s body had not been found, it was assumed that he had been buried underneath the deep snow.
Shuddering from the implications of what had just transpired, he realized that unquestionably, the zechus of Melaveh Malkah had saved his life. Rav Yisrael Aryeh never did travel back to Hungary. Instead, he took a position in London, and that is where he created his legacy. His children would go on to become rabbanim, Admorim, and community leaders, who warmed and inspired the heart of English Jewry.
Furthermore, residing in England, he and his entire family were saved from the horrors of the Holocaust, having left Galicia before the clouds of darkness descended upon European Jewry. One nasty Hungarian anti-Semite had sealed off the doors, thereby opening the archway for generations of the Margolis family. What an important lesson to remember. Sometimes, it appears as if the doors of life are closing. But in reality, a whole new world of opportunity may just be opening
Reprinted from the Parshas Shelach 5784 edition of At the ArtScroll Shabbos Table.
