The tranquil silence that had settled over the poor, ramshackle homes of the town of Mosh was broken by the sound of a terrified shriek: "Fire!" Crackling noises accompanied by a suspicious odor came from one of the houses, and within a short time, the skies were illuminated by huge flames leaping in the air.
In seconds, the empty streets were filled with people. Men, women and children were darting to and fro, panicked and confused.
This was not the first fire to strike the poor town. Time after time, residents had to rebuild their homes, from the same cheap and easily available materials – wood and straw, which led to a repeating cycle of devastating fires, which sometimes even took lives.
The tzaddik Rav Yechiel – known by the villagers as Rav Yechiel Mosher – was the Rav of the town. Rav Yechiel was one of the prime talmidim of Rav Mordechai of Lechovitz, and he served as the Rav of the town for about forty years. He taught his flock Torah, chassidus, and yiras Shamayim.
We can imagine how deeply pained he was when he saw his people having to rebuild their homes time and time, after they were destroyed by fire. Their poverty compelled them to build the homes from these highly combustible materials, which meant that the next fire was only a matter of time.
Rav Yechiel thought a lot about a spiritual solution that would prevent the next catastrophe, and after much perusal and study, he had an idea. One day, the news spread through the town that the Rav wanted to deliver a special drashah.
In a flash, the people gathered to the shul. No one wanted to miss out on such sublime moments. The shul was packed with the people, and those who came late had to listen from the windows.
"My dear children," the Rav began. "My heart breaks to see the tragedies that strike you time and again. Aside for the daily grind of parnassah, you have to also rebuild houses from time to time, as they have become firetraps. Know, Rabbosai, that every fire, despite appearing to be a natural incident that cannot be stopped, and has the ability to burn down our entire town in very little time, is actually a gezeirah and each house that is harmed is because of Hashgachah pratis. In the Pamalya Shel Ma’alah, there is a discussion about every piece of wood belonging to a Jew, and whether it should be destroyed or spared. Every penny that a Jew loses as the result from a fire is considered and measured based on what is coming to him.
So I want to suggest a segulah that has been known for a long time to help open the gates of parnassah and bring financial reprieve to all who practice it. I promise you that it will be effective for you also, for your parnassah in general and as a protection against fire in particular. So, from this day on, anyone who takes upon himself to recite Birchas Hamazon with kavanah, from the written text, will merit to have Hashem open the gates of parnassah for him, and his home will be spared from pain and suffering."
The short speech left a deep impression on the listeners. Most of them resolved to fulfill their Rav’s advice and took upon themselves to be strict to recite Birchas Hamazon from inside. Indeed, in subsequent years, even after the Rav’s passing, they clearly saw how this kabbalah protected them and prevented fires from affecting their homes.
Among the listeners of that unforgettable drashah was Moshe the butcher. The Rav’s words made a strong impression on him, and at first, he was very careful to keep to the kabbalah. But as the time passed, his became lazier, and he often found himself saying the brachah by heart. Sometimes, he missed words and even entire passages, and he certainly did not have the right kavanah.
Things could have continued this way if not for one day, when the Rav’s brachah was put to the test.
Once again, the residents of Mosh arose to the sound of terrified shrieks of "fire!", this time coming from the direction of the non-Jewish homes. Having a lot of experience, they rushed to abandon their homes and raced for the fields. Moshe also hastened to flee from his home, as he gaped in wide-eyed fear at the fire spreading rapidly among the non-Jewish homes, and threatening his own abode, which was on the edge of the Jewish area.
With great heartache, he remembered that awe-inspiring day, when the Rav had promised that anyone who took upon himself to be strict about Birchas Hamazon from the written text would have his home protected from fire. "It’s too late," Moshe thought to himself dismally, as he fled towards the fields.
And suddenly, a thought crossed his mind: "Maybe it’s not too late to fix it?! When I was there, I wanted very much to take upon myself to fulfill the Rav’s words, and it is only laziness that overcame me that has prevented me from doing so."
Without thinking twice, Moshe turned and ran towards the cemetery, located on the outskirts of the town. He hurried to the tzaddik’s gravesite, prostrated himself on the silent headstone, and began to plead for his life: "I take upon myself with all my heart that from this day on, we – my family and I - will be very strict not to recite Birchas Hamazon by heart, fleetingly, but rather from the siddur and with kavanah. Please, holy rebbi, plead for me On High that this terrible fire should not affect my home."
Throughout those long moments when Moshe was davening at the grave of the tzaddik, the fire raged wildly, consuming everything in its path. But remarkably – wondrously – it skipped over many homes. Yes, those homes whose owners had heeded the Rav’s call were spared.
The fate of Moshe’s home was in the balance at that time, but in the end, his tefillah tipped the scale, and before he even finished davening, the fire began to suddenly die down on the threshold of his door and disappeared as if it never was. It was a tremendous, public Kiddush Hashem.
Yehi Ohr [Rav Y. Schwartzman] p. 434
