By Rabbi David Bibi
A second story, told by Rabbi Sruly Shain from Shully Rosenblum himself, reveals this same hidden precision. Shully works at The Bagel Hole in Brooklyn. One Friday there were leftover chocolate chip muffins. Instead of letting them go to waste, he brought them home. On the way, he stopped by his parents. His father had injured his leg and was resting at home. Shully also brought him a store bag he wanted for his tallit — the muffins were inside.
His parents said they did not need the muffins. “Save them,” Shully replied. “Maybe the grandchildren will come.”
Shabbat morning at 5:00 a.m., his father was sitting on the couch learning Chumash, his injured leg elevated on a motorized footrest. He fell asleep. The Chumash slipped from his lap and hit the electric lever, pushing the chair into an unusable position. Everyone else in the house was asleep. He stepped outside, hoping to find a non-Jew to help.
A man was walking by. “Excuse me... I have something in my house—”
Before he could finish, the man said, “Don’t worry, Rabbi. I’m a Shabbos guy.” He came inside and reset the chair.
Wanting to show appreciation, the father offered the chocolate chip muffins. The man turned pale. “G-d watches over His people,” he said. He explained that he worked as a caretaker for Mr. Fried, an elderly Jewish man in his nineties. Every Shabbat he brought him breakfast before taking him to shul. Usually, Mrs. Fried bought a kosher chocolate chip muffin on Friday afternoon. This week she arrived after the kosher store had closed. So, he bought a non-kosher muffin. He was on his way to deliver it when he was stopped and offered a kosher one.
After Shabbat, the family learned that Mr. Fried had survived World War II and had gone days without eating rather than compromise kashrut. Decades later, when he had no idea what was unfolding, HaShem was guarding that commitment. The Megillah never writes the Name explicitly. But sometimes HaShem writes it in chocolate chip muffins. The world looks random. A book falls. A lever shifts. A man walks by. A muffin remains. Precision.
But Shully’s father had to step outside. He had to ask for help. He had to offer the muffins. Participation unlocks providence.
After Haman falls, Mordechai and Esther do something extraordinary. They do not simply celebrate survival. They establish mitzvot: the reading of the Megillah, mishloach manot, matanot la’evyonim, and the Purim seudah (Esther 9:21). None of these depend on the presence of an enemy. They build Jewish life itself. They ensure that redemption is not merely reactive but constructive.
HaShem is behind the curtain. But He waits for Esther to speak. He waits for Mordechai to stand. He waits for Rabbi Friedman to rent the bus. He waits for Shully to take the muffins.
Purim calls us not only to believe in Hashgachah Pratit, but to activate it. Is there a call we need to make? A child we need to invest in? A mitzvah we have postponed? A stand we need to take publicly as Jews?
The strings are there.
But they move when we do.
