A poor villager once came to Koznitz on Purim to hear the reading of the Scroll of Esther (Megila) in the synagogue. The scroll was read by Reb Yisrael, the Maggid of Koznitz. The simple villager listened to the story of the Megila with the greatest attention.
When the reading was over the Maggid came over to the villager and asked "Aren't you from the village that is part of my region? Why didn't you bring me mishloach manot?" (One of the special mitzvot of Purm is to give gifts of food (known as "Mishloach Manot" to at least two people.)
The villager did not know what to say. His home did not even have enough bread for his half-dozen children. How might he have found money to buy mishloach manot for the Maggid?
Reb Yisrael softened his chastisement by inviting the villager along home to join in at the Purim feast.
With the help of the refreshments that he ate and drank in the home of the Maggid, together with the joy he felt at being privileged to be there, the villager became daring. He went to the house of a wealthy wine merchant, knocked on the door and told the householder: "A happy Purim to you, sir! Would you be so good as to give me a bottle of wine on credit? Without a doubt I will pay you, but just in case I don't - isn't it Purim today?"
The merchant agreed and the villager went off to a nearby fruit shop, where he repeated his request, this time for apples. With wine and apples in hand, he returned to the Maggid.
"Rebbe, I've brought you mishloach manot!" he said.
"Well done," said the Maggid. "And remember to bring mishloach manot every Purim!" On his way home reality hit the villager.
"My family is famished," he said to himself. "I'll have to do something about it!"
He went to the vodka vendor, where he once more employed his tested formula. He used it once more for a hot loaf of bread and yet again for a few fat herrings. With these luxuries under his arm he ran all the way home. "It's Purim today!" he shouted as he entered his home. He lay out the royal spread on their rickety table, and said: "Eat, drink, and be merry, because it's Purim today!"
The family ate their fill, and then sprang up from their places and danced around the kitchen.
A thud on the door dampened their spirits.
"Don't open it," whispered the villager to his wife. "It's probably one of those peasants who has come to disturb our Purim joy."
The knocking persisted.
"Don't worry," said the villager's wife. "I think it's only old Ivan who comes around to sell potatoes."
Opening the door, she was shocked to see the state of old Ivan. He was bleeding on all sides. They brought him in and gently washed and dressed his wounds. Then, they offered him bread and vodka.
"You saved my life," he muttered. He went on to tell them how his only son had beaten him and thrown him out of his own house. Had they not come to his help, he would surely have died of his wounds outside.
After he had rested a while he said, "Since my only son is a cruel murderer, and you had pity on me, I will show you something. It's the money I've saved, and was going to give my son before I die. Now it's yours - a gift from me!"
The villager followed the limping peasant into the forest. The peasant showed the villager a tree, under which, he said, the money was hidden. A few days later the peasant died. The villager went out to the spot he was shown, dug near the tree - and was suddenly a rich man.
And every Purim after that he would call on the Maggid, and give him mishloach manot with an open hand and a glad heart.
