Reb Michael was the only Jew in town who could organize a clandestine minyan. Reluctantly, Reb Michael's wife agreed that he should stay until after Rosh Hashana.
Rosh Hashana came and went. Now it was almost Yom Kippur. "How can I leave these Jews without a minyan for Yom Kippur?" Reb Michael tried to convince his wife.
"All right," she gave in. "But as soon as Yom Kippur ends, you're leaving!"
After Yom Kippur, Reb Michael changed his mind yet again. For years he had been building a tiny sukka in his backyard, no more than four cubits by four cubits. The whole thing was cleverly concealed with branches and leaves. On the night of Sukkot, many of the area's Jews would come and make Kiddush and eat a small piece of challa before rushing home. Some even returned on the first and second day of Yom Tov to eat their meals there. "I can't very well leave them without a sukka..." Reb Michael told his wife.
When she realized he intended to stay until after Sukkot she almost fainted from fear. But her husband would not budge. There was no way he was leaving.
The night of Sukkot arrived. At the makeshift synagogue the congregants wished each other a quiet "Good Yom Tov," then left. As planned, each person took a different route through the city, arriving at Reb Michael's sukka at staggered hours throughout the evening. Great care had been taken so that not even two people would be present in the sukka at the same time.
One after the other they snuck in, made Kiddush on the wine, washed their hands, ate a piece of challa and departed hastily.
The first two days of Sukkot were uneventful. The next morning Reb Michael informed his friends that the time had come for him to leave. If previously there was insufficient evidence of his "crimes," his activities of the past few weeks/ had surely provided it. Building a sukka for the entire Jewish community was icing on the cake.
It was the middle of the night when Reb Michael returned from the gathering his friends had made in his honor. Deciding on a late night snack, he took some food and went out to the sukka. Pretty soon he was lost in thought.
The loud knocking on his front door broke his reverie. Reb Michael jumped up and started in the direction of his house. But what he heard next stopped him in his tracks. "Open up! Police!" a harsh voice demanded.
Reb Michael's brain was working overtime. Every second was crucial. But what to do? He heard the police announce that they had come to arrest him, and his wife's reply that she hadn't seen him in ages. Very well, they told her brusquely, they would search the house for themselves.
Now was his only chance. Stealthily, his heart beating wildly, Reb Michael tip-toed around the house. Reaching the street, he broke into a run in the direction of the train station.
In the meantime, his wife's only prayer was that her husband not arrive home in the middle of the search.
For several days she was unaware of his whereabouts. Then a letter arrived from her brother who lived several thousand kilometers away, informing her of a guest who had come to see him, and noting the guest's robust health...
In truth, Reb Michael had the merit of many mitzvot to protect him. But in his heart, Reb Michael knew it was the sukka he had built that was his salvation.
