From the desk of Yerachmiel Tilles
One wintry day, a man came to the tzadik, Rabbi Tzvi of Dinov [known to all as “the Benei Yisasschar”]. The man braved the winter weather to seek the saintly rebbe’s help. He told the rebbe that he was an innkeeper in a village some distance away, the inn having come down to him from his late father, who had rented it from the previous regional landlord.
The old squire was a reasonable man and made no trouble if the rent was not paid on time in a bad season, in the wake of a severe winter. But the old squire died, and his son, the new squire, was not so kind. He was threatening to throw them out if the rent was not paid on time. He came to ask the rebbe’s help, so that his family would not be left without food and shelter in the midst of a terrible winter.
“Do you live in such and such village?” the rebbe asked.
“Yes, Rebbe.”
“Still in the same house, with the narrow windows and three steps leading up to the front door?”
“Yes, Rebbe,” the innkeeper replied, wondering how the rebbe knew.
