Every night, after reciting the last blessing of the bedtime prayers, the tzadik, Reb Yitzchok of Drohovitz, lay his head on his pillow, closed his eyes, and fell fast asleep. Why was this night different? Why did his soul refuse to ascend to the celestial realms? He couldn't figure it out, but tossed and turned in his bed; sleep refusing to come to him.
What is one to do in such a circumstance? Why, any pious Jew, and certainly a tzadik like Reb Yitzchok of Drohovitz would take stock of the day's events -- an "accounting of one's soul" -- for perhaps there was something in his speech, his deed or even his thought which contained a spiritual blemish. And so, Reb Yitzchok sat up in his bed and began pondering his day, minute by minute, word by word and thought by thought. And then, it came to him in a flash! Of course, that was it!
That afternoon, he had overheard a conversation in which the Baal Shem Tov had been maligned by a certain Jew. Reb Yitzchok was about to reprimand the speaker, but then, for some reason unclear to him now, he refrained and was silent.
Reb Yitzchok knew what he must do. He quickly jumped from his bed and put on his clothes. He saddled his horse and rode through the night, never stopping until he dismounted in Medzibozh in front of the Baal Shem Tov's shul.
As Reb Yitzchok entered the shul, the morning service was in progress. He stood there for a few minutes contemplating the scene, when a strange thing happened -- someone called his name. He was being honored by being called up to the Torah. "Funny," he thought, "no one knows me here, I wonder why I am being called," but he stepped forward to the bima.
When the prayers ended, Reb Yitzchok had no chance to beg forgiveness. The Baal Shem Tov strode up to him, hand extended and said quite simply, "Yisroel forgives you from the bottom of his heart."
