All of the townspeople turned out to bid farewell to their friend, one of the most respected citizens of the town of Uman. Now an old graybeard, he had decided to set out for the Holy Land, there to spend his last days, and to be buried in the holy soil when the time came.
It was only a few months later that they heard the news: he had suddenly returned to Uman after only having spent a few days in Israel. No one could understand why he had suddenly come back, and he made no reply to their repeated questions.
He had been back in his hometown only a short while before he took ill and summoned the officials of the Chevra Kadisha (burial society), for he had something of great importance to tell them. They came without delay, but when they arrived the man lay in his bed and chatted randomly about this and that, coming to no particular point. They left disappointed, and were surprised when the man called for them again the following day. They were reluctant to go, but their sense of duty won out and they arrived at his sickbed only to have the whole scene of the previous day repeat itself. The officials listened for a while and then left, concluding that the unfortunate man was not in his right mind. When on the third day the officials of the Chevra Kadisha were summoned again, they flatly refused to come. This time, however, the old man begged their indulgence, promising to explain his behavior of the preceding two days.
The officials assembled around the old man’s bed, and he turned to them with these words: “When I was a young man I used to do business traveling from town to town buying and selling merchandise. Since most of my business took me to the vicinity of Berdichev, I used to be sure to stop over for a day or so in order to see the tzadik Rebbe Levi Yitzchak who lived there.
“One morning I stopped in Berdichev and went straight to the Rebbe’s house. The Rebbe stood wrapped in his talit, deep in prayer, and I was unwilling to interrupt him, so I sat down in an adjoining room to wait. As I sat absorbed in my own thoughts, I was disturbed by a group of angry people who hustled past me into the Rebbe’s study. From the bits of conversation I overheard, I gathered that the man was a poor fellow who earned his living by money-changing. As he had no money of his own, all his transactions were accomplished with borrowed money. The day before, three hundred rubles had disappeared from his house, and he was accusing the young maid who worked in his house of stealing it. Her parents pleaded their daughter’s innocence, and all were engaged in an angry screaming match. Finally, the Rebbe interrupted, saying, ‘It is clear to me that this young woman is completely innocent, and the accusation is erroneous. It is also apparent that the money is truly missing. But where it is, that I cannot discern.’ He paced the floor several minutes more, and then said, ‘If a person who would give me the three hundred rubles for this man, I would promise him a place in the World to Come!’
“When I heard that I presented myself to the Rebbe with three hundred rubles in my hand. ‘Would you put that promise into writing?’ I asked the tzadik. ‘Of course,’ he said and I handed over the money. The Rebbe then gave the money to the poor money-changer, and said to him, ‘I give you my blessing that you will never suffer a loss again.’ Then, he turned to the young woman and said, ‘Because you have been falsely accused I give you my blessing that you will make a good match.’ The little group then left the study of the tzadik happy and content.
“When I had the chance I reminded the tzadik of his promise, and he called to his attendant for a pen, ink and paper. He wrote out a short note and folded it double. He gave it to me saying, ‘You must never read this note, nor reveal its contents to another soul. On the day which you sense is your last on earth, call the officials of the Chevra Kadisha and give them this note, asking that they place it inside your grave.’
“My joy was immeasurable as I took the note from his hand. To preserve it I had a bookbinder enclose it in the cover of my prayer book. When I left for the Holy Land I forgot the prayer book. When I realized I didn’t have it, I was shocked. After a little reflection on the matter, I decided to return at once. Then when I fell ill I called for you, but when you arrived, I felt better, so I realized that my last day had not yet come. The same thing happened the second day. I hope that you gentlemen will forgive me. But, today, I feel my end is near, and so I entrust you to follow the instructions of the tzadik, and put this note in my grave.”
The old man handed over the precious note, and soon after, he departed this world. The officials were curious to know the contents of the note, and they reasoned that although the tzadik had forbidden the man to read it, the prohibition surely didn’t extend to them. After the funeral was concluded they took the little note and unfolded it and found these words, “Open for him the gates of the Garden of Eden. Levi Yitzchak the son of Sarah.”
