The Baal Shem Tov's closest disciples were accustomed to their Rebbe's sudden journeys. "We're leaving," he would an-nounce, and they never asked him where they were going or why. They would climb into the wagon, and allow it to carry them to all sorts of distant places. Even Alexei, the gentile wagon driver, did not ask many questions. He would crack his whip to get the horses moving, and then allow them to carry the wagon wherever the tzaddik wished to go.
Usually, during the journey or by its end, the disciples discovered the answers to those two questions. But on this journey, they remained a mystery. In fact, every-thing the Baal Shem Tov did that day filled his disciples with wonder, even though they were accustomed to witness-ing extraordinary things from their Rebbe.
After the wagon had traveled a tremen-dous distance and reached a forest, the Baal Shem Tov instructed Alexei to stop. He stepped down from the wagon, with-drew to a secluded corner, and became deeply absorbed in his thoughts. Then he instructed one of his disciples to bring him a small bottle of wine he had brought.
The Baal Shem Tov removed the cork and poured a small amount of wine onto the ground. "L'chaim!" he called out to the disciples, his face radiant.
"L'chaim!" the disciples replied, some-what bewildered.
The Baal Shem Tov then searched for and found a small stream. He washed his hands and began to pray the afternoon prayers with tremendous devotion. When he finished, he returned to the wagon and made a circular motion with his hand to the wagon driver, signaling, we are return-ing to Mezhibuzh.
The Mystery
As mentioned, both the destination of the journey and its purpose remained shroud-ed in mystery. Had the Baal Shem Tov not decided to do his disciples the kindness of revealing what lay behind the journey, the mystery would have remained to this day.
Many years earlier, the Baal Shem Tov began, there had lived in one of the sur-rounding villages a Jew named Rabbi Patachya. He was an upright and G-d fear-ing man who earned his livelihood by managing a tavern.
He had one daughter, a kindhearted and virtuous young woman. When she reached marriageable age, her father married her to a young Torah scholar who was excep-tionally diligent in his studies. The young groom continued studying Torah day and night, supported by his father-in-law.
The Cunning Persuasion
One day, Rabbi Patachya passed away, and the management of the tavern passed to his daughter and son-in-law. The daughter, a true woman of valor, quickly learned the business and successfully managed the establishment, while allow-ing her husband to continue devoting him-self to Torah study.
Everything proceeded smoothly until the day the local priest began taking an inter-est in the diligent young scholar. His ef-forts to become friendly with the young man were successful, and the two became close friends. The scholar and the priest found that they had much in common, as both were intelligent and well educated.
One day, the young scholar fell ill, and the priest came to visit him. "Come to my home, which is situated at the top of the hill," the priest sug-gested. "There, in the fresh air and peaceful pastoral surroundings, you will recover much more quickly!" The priest continued to entice the young scholar with his smooth words. "Put your mind at ease. Every morning, I will have a special messenger bring kosher food from your home!"
In the end, the young scholar was persuaded by the priest. The visit, which was supposed to last only a few days, stretched on and on. The young man became increasingly drawn to his friendship with the priest and to the peaceful atmos-phere of his home, far from the bustle of the tavern.
At first, he would return home for visits. But these visits became less and less frequent, until eventually he aban-doned his home altogether, leaving his wife and children behind in sorrow.
The Gardener
Years passed. The once diligent Torah scholar gradually shed every outward sign of his Jewish identity. One day, as he was strolling among the fruit trees surrounding the priest's spacious home, he suddenly heard someone crying. It was the garden-er, an elderly man bent with age.
The former scholar approached him and asked why he was crying. The gardener replied that he was a Jew and that, for various reasons, he had been forced to leave his home and his community and earn his living tending the priest's garden.
"And why have you suddenly begun crying?" the man asked.
The gardener's crying intensified. "Today is Yom Kippur," he said. "To-day is the holiest day of the year for us Jews. And, I am here alone, far from my fellow Jews and far from a syna-gogue. Can you understand my pain?"
The gardener's words pierced the man's heart. "Yom Kippur," he mur-mured to himself. "Yom Kippur..." At that very moment, his lost Jewish soul awakened. A minute later, he left the priest's home for good, making his way back to his people and his family.
The elderly gardener, who had spent most of his life cut off from a Jewish community, also decided a few days later to leave and search for a more suitable place in which to spend the remainder of his life.
And so the old man wandered from place to place. One day, while walking through a forest, he collapsed and died. The soul of the elderly gardener came before the Heavenly Court. As with every soul, his deeds were carefully examined. Yet, in an unusual turn of events, the judgment of this soul could not be decided in either direction.
On the one hand, the gardener had spent most of his life far from other Jews, living a life without Torah and with very few mitzvot. On the other hand, toward the end of his life, he had awakened a wandering Jewish soul and brought it to complete repentance. And that was certainly no small accomplish-ment!
The Baal Shem Tov concluded his sto-ry: "For a long time, the soul of the gardener wandered restlessly. He was not condemned to Gehinnom, but nei-ther was he worthy of entering Gan Eden. The place in the forest where I prayed and where we said 'L'chaim' was the very place where the gardener fell to his knees and died. That is why we came there at an auspicious time, to perform a tikkun (spiritual rectifica-tion) for his soul and finally bring it through the gates of Gan Eden."