Before a month had passed, the accountant died. He had been so heartbroken and depressed that he had lost all will to live. In our wickedness, we rejoiced that now we could simply proceed with our former plans of demolition, expansion, and renovation. But a hitch in our scheme arose. The accountant’s relatives began to arrive from far and wide to seek a claim of his vast fortune.
It seems that his children and relatives all lived far away. They had not heard the recent turn of events. How he had been laid off and reduced to poverty? How he had sold his estate? They still believed that he had left them an inheritance worth coming to claim.
The townsfolk introduced us to them as his former employers and the accountant’s relatives began to search for his will along with the deed to his home.
“Why do you all search in vain?” we asked derisively. “Your dearly departed father left you nothing more than a few rubles; all his wealth was spent in paying off his debts and creditors.” We then explained how he had been recently laid off and had failed in his new business venture.
“Where is the deed to his home?” they asked nervously.
“Sorry,” we returned shaking our heads in mock sadness, “there is no deed. Here is the bill of sale. Your father sold us the estate for two hundred rubles of which virtually nothing remains after covering his vast debts.”
In disbelief they began to yell and accuse and we soon found ourselves seated across from them as defendants. They were suing us and we stood trial in the beis din of the Rav of Zlotshuv, Rav Yechiel Michel Zlotshuver. Rav Michel presided over our hearing. He was a saintly man-- a tzaddik and a miracle worker.
The trial began routinely enough. The deceased accountant’s children stated their claim to their father’s inheritance and said that we wrongfully laid hands on his estate at a third of its market value using some form of chicanery.
“Well what do you say against the claim?” asked the Rav.
“Let us end this swiftly,” we stated confidently and produced the bill of sale. “Here you have the contract, signed and dated. We are the owners of this property; the deceased sold it to us fairly.”
We handed over the contract and the rav scrutinized the wording. When he read the fine print, he pointed to the words: “All this has been contracted against my will under coercion and duress.”
Seeing this, the rav was indignant over the injustice.
“Is this what you call fair and straightforward !?” he thundered, pointing to the words of the contract. “This document is a sham; I have never seen such falsehood! This is ‘sheker ayn lo raglaim (falsehood has no feet to stand on’).
The Zlotshuver set his holy gaze on the offending clause as we sat stunned at what occurred next. The holy Hebrew letters-- having been falsely written in support of deceit—were unloosed from the page by the holy gaze of the tzaddik. The letters ascended heavenward until the contract was one blank white page. The tzaddik smiled.
Then in righteous anger he turned towards us and yelled: “So, you think you can fool me and make a mockery of this beis din and do the deeds of Lavan, the trickster and fraud?” He emphasized the name “Lavan”, which also means “white” in Hebrew, as he shook the now blank white page before our eyes, and before all those in the courtroom.
“Do you take us all for fools? What contract is blank? What bill of sale is a plain empty page?” With that, he tore the contract up before our eyes.
The accountant’s children cheered and went to claim the estate. After we had recovered from our shock, it was we who were incensed. Instead of accepting the miracle we had witnessed as proof of the rav’s holiness and righteousness, we hardened our hearts and plotted revenge. Rav Michel of Zlotshuv would pay for what he had done-- embarrassing us in public and robbing us from our ill-gotten property. And so, filled with vengeful thoughts, we approached the duke with our plan.
We introduced ourselves as wealthy merchants from Zlotshuv.
“Your honor the duke.”
“Jews! Filthy Jews!” he frothed in anger, “That’s what you all are: thieves and liars. You are always stealing from me-- always claiming you cannot pay your rent; yet year by year you renew your leases. Annually, you request that I lower the rent fees because you cannot pay!”
This was exactly the opportunity for which we had been waiting, for in it, we saw our chance to slander Rav Michel.
“Yes, your Excellency; that is why we are here. We know the cause and source of all your troubles and we have come to help his Excellency regain his wealth.”
“I am listening,” replied the duke.
“There is a Rabbi in Zlotshuv named Rav Yechiel Michel. It is he who runs the affairs of the Jewish community and it is he who rules that no Jew may compete with his fellow Jews in business. The rav is ruining free enterprise by suppressing all competition. In this way, he forces your hand since no Jew dares to bid against another Jew. That is why no one bids on renting your estates when another Jew already has the contract. In this way, they keep the same contract and pay less each year. With no threats to have them turn a profit or live up to your demands, they are secure.”
When the duke heard this he was enraged, “My tavern, inn, flour mill, and all my farms and holdings are all being run into the ground by this Rabbi?!”
“Yes,” we said, “and his injunction is the same in the entire district.” This incensed the duke even more.
The duke called together all the Polish noblemen, squires, and poritzim of the district to a lavish celebration to be held two months hence. The invitation included the spectacle of an execution—that of the local rabbi who was the root of all their financial losses.
We were overjoyed; soon we would be rid of the nuisance of a rabbi. Meanwhile, two Jewish merchants arrived at the duke’s estate to peddle their wares and the cook took a liking to a pair of earrings from the selection. The peddler, thinking that the scullery maids had surely heard some news that could be to his business advantage, decided to exchange the item for news. It was quite possible to learn of something useful about the duke’s business dealings that could turn him a profit.
He was stunned at what he heard as the cook began sharing the news about how their rabbi’s life was in danger.
“How can this be?” The peddler thought aloud. “Since when does the duke involve himself in the rabbis’ affairs?”
“Yes sir,” the cook nodded her head importantly, “all I’m sayings is this-- the duke’s men have been busy preparing the household for a grand party. I’ve been cooking night an’ day to feed a hundred hungry nobles. And what’s more--the entertainment for the night is your rabbi’s execution!”
The horrified peddler was in a real dilemma. On the one hand, he was worried that this piece of gossip was nothing more than a fantastic story concocted by one of the more imaginative minds of the duke’s household. On the other hand, what if it was somehow true? He must rush off to warn the rav right away!
When he arrived though, he found that his way to the rav’s study was barred by the faithful gabbai. “Oh no you don’t; you can’t disturb the rav’s rest. He has just lain down for a well-deserved rest and here you come to bother him with some silly story. How can you believe that the duke would bother about the rav? Who ever heard such utter nonsense!?”
The peddler was convinced by the gabbai’s skepticism and having told his story, was relieved that the gabbai didn’t believe a word of it. He wished he had his earrings back. The gabbai, having deflected the peddler, was satisfied. The rav, however, had heard the commotion from inside his study. He had also overheard the entire story. At least now, he could be prepared.
Within two months, all the local noblemen, squires, poritzim and their wives, along with their entourages, arrived at the duke’s palace. We also came to witness the rav’s downfall firsthand.
The lavish party was a drunken spree of wild music, gluttony, and debauchery. The wild carousers jeered and called for the death of the rav as they stuffed their faces and poured mug after mug of beer and ale down their greedy throats.
Meanwhile the Jewish community sat in mourning, stunned at the turn of events, for the duke had sent an armed guard to escort their beloved rav to the palace for trial which was like a death warrant. Not only was the rav’s life in danger, they knew all too well that such events were followed by pogroms carried out by the local rabble of peasants. The Jewish community recoiled in fear from what awaited them should the duke carry out this malevolent act. The rav, for his part, walked calmly along, offering words of strength and comfort to his flock. “Keep the faith; hold strong. Have emunah and bitachon. Trust in Hashem’s salvation!”
Meanwhile, the duke retired to his inner chamber. Fifteen halls, rooms and corridors lay between him and his rowdy guests. This was the law of the land-- that he who sentenced a person to death was not permitted to witness the execution. And so, the duke made his way to await the rabbi’s fate. The executioner sat sharpening his blade and the duke’s daughter stood waiting to view the event. Rumor of the rav’s handsome features had reached her and she wanted to deliver a slap to his face before they would lop off his head.
However, all their wicked plans failed instantly.
The rav arrived and ascended the platform. The executioner’s axe was raised, the duke’s daughter outstretched her hand and the crowd’s eyes were fixed eyes on the victim, when suddenly they froze as if they had all been turned to stone. They stood petrified.
The axe hung in its place above his head; the duke’s daughter’s hand halted mid-swing, and the jeering faces of the guests were fixed in their contorted expressions like gargoyles.
This was the scene outside as the rav calmly walked from room to room, hall to hall, corridor to corridor until he reached the duke’s inner chamber. He pushed open the door.
“Why is it so silent out there!? And who are you who dare to enter unannounced and unwelcome!?”
“It is I, your guest, Yechiel Michel of Zlatshuv,” replied the rav.
“No, no it cannot be!” cried the duke in disbelief. He ran from room to room, hall to hall, chamber to chamber, screaming louder as he encountered each of the frozen figures from the large gathering. When he came to his daughter, a wail escaped his constricted throat, “No! My beloved daughter, my only child! What has happened? What have you done to her; what have you done to them? Please, I beg you, honored, holy, rabbi-- reverse your spell and release them from your enchantment and I shall grant you anything: gold, silver, riches, honor and glory, anything! I shall reveal the identity of your accusers and have them hung in your place!”
“Hold your words,” declared the rabbi. I order you to release my accusers. Further, you are to utter an oath, a pledge to G-d, that from now on, you shall harm no Jew in your lands. Let them rent your property fairly and tax them fairly. Promise me that no Jew will come to harm and I will pray that your daughter and guests will return, to their previous states. For it is no spell, but the wrath of G-d Almighty Himself that has petrified these people and only He can release them.”
“Yes, I swear it” said the duke “please pray!”
Rav Michel davened and the people returned to normal. We were released and we ran away in shame. The holy rav had repaid our wickedness with mercy and we were reduced to the state you see before you. Our punishment on High was that we were left bereft of all good deeds and naked of any spiritual garments; all our mitzvos were taken from us.’
“Now you understand my disciples,” asked the Rebbe Elimelech, “why these two go before me with no garments of mitzvos?” Then he turned his attention to the men, “But you two have now confessed your crimes, admitted your guilt and expressed remorse. This is the formula for teshuva. I now declare that your path to repent has begun. No longer shall you wander naked with no garments of mitzvos. From now on, your tikkun shall begin and you will once again accrue mitzvos and good deeds. You will begin to dress yourselves anew, for your shame and repentance have been accepted by the Heavenly tribunal of beis din shel maalah through this confession. And I shall guide your way back to teshuva and tikkun.”
Having finished the story, Rav Moshe Lelover released me and let go of my hand. “You see” said Rav Nosson Dovid said, “I told you it was worth paying him extra to hear such a story as that. That is why Rav Moshe Lelover held your hand so long; he must have imbued you with all the details of the tale-- the vitality of its lesson coursing through his hand to yours so that you could faithfully retell it all to us in detail, word for word.”
Hisgalus HaTzaddikim p. 43 cited in Ohr Zarua LaTzaddik intro to Aron Eidus pp. 87-92
Rav Noson Duvid gave his beloved uncle a parting gift, a beautiful silver kos shel beracha. A handwritten engraving on the lip of the silver goblet asks his uncle to daven for him, his wife and two children: “Noson Duvid ben Golda for refuah for his eyes; his wife, Devorah Perel bas Yuta and their children, their son, Tzemach Baruch and daughter Sarah Yuta-- may she have an easy delivery and healthy children.” A photo of this silver becher is in Toras Rebbe Noson Duvid p. 182.
