by Menachem Zeigelbaum
A small wooden house stood on the side of the steep mountain as though hiding in its shadow. As far as the eye could see, were the majestic Carpathian Mountains. The Divine creation was visible in all its glory.
A young couple lived in this house. They had married only a few months before, and now they were building their lives quietly and peacefully.
The wife was called Rachel and the husband was called Yisrael. When he became the Rebbe of the Jewish people, he was called Rabbi Yisrael Baal Shem Tov.
Despite his youth, his appearance and demeanor reflected profound wisdom and understanding. His eyes always radiated joy, and his face bespoke a deep tranquility.
His young wife Rochel was content, and this was despite the fact that she hardly ever saw her husband. Throughout the week, Yisrael left home and walked through the forests that covered the Carpathian mountains. He would leave Sunday morning and return Friday afternoon, before Shabbat. Rochel was happy because she knew her husband was an outstanding tzadik, a holy man. Most people didn't know this. She knew, though her husband hid it from others. The time for his greatness to be revealed to the world had not yet arrived.
It was the height of winter and snow fell and covered all in its white blanket. It was almost Chanukah, the holiday of light, joy, and warmth.
On Sunday Yisrael went out as he usually did. Before leaving, he said to Rachel, "With G-d's help, I hope to return with nightfall of the first night of Chanukah in order to light the menorah. But if, G-d forbid, I tarry and don't come till night, don't wait for me. Light the menorah yourself so as not to delay this great mitzvah (commandment)."
The days passed quickly. In a few minutes it would be nightfall and the first Chanukah light would be lit in all Jewish homes. Yisrael had set out to return home much earlier but his progress home had been slow. Though dusk was approaching, the light of the joy of a mitzvah illuminated his visage.
Yisrael's high boots sank deeply into the snow. The thick stick cleared the path before him. A fur hat, like the peasant farmers wore, was on his head. The bitter cold and the piercing mountain winds whipped his face.
The forest paths disappeared and the tangle of branches became ever thicker. Yisrael found himself walking in circles, but he maintained his trust in G-d.
The hour grew late and the time for lighting the menorah had long since passed. Yisrael so wanted to light the menorah at the proper time. He knew that each year, at the time that the menorah is lit, the "hidden light," the light of Moshiach, is revealed. But something, some force, seemed to block Yisrael's way.
A strange heaviness took hold of Yisrael. He found it difficult to continue walking against the howling wind. He finally sat down on a rock that stood among the trees. Yisrael sat there, exhausted. Another two minutes went by and he fell asleep. The shrieking wind and the sound of the trees branches moving above awoke him from his slumber. To his surprise it seemed to him that he could see a figure approaching.
Yisrael saw a figure in white, holding a large candle, walking towards him. The figure came closer and he could see a tall, distinguished looking Jew with a white beard framing his shining face.
"Who are you?" asked Yisrael.
The man smiled and said, "I am Matityahu the Priest from Modiin, a Hasmonean."
Yisrael blinked his eyes and the man was no longer nearby but far, far ahead. He quickly got up in order to follow the man with the candle. The flame danced on, the winds powerless to extinguish it. Yisrael walking without knowing how much time had elapsed, until he finally began to recognize his surroundings. He noticed some familiar signs, roads that he had frequented. In another few minutes, he identified the paths that led to his house.
From a distance, he could see a tiny flame in the window of his house. A pure flame that had been kindled by his wife. Despite the severe cold, she stood in the doorway, outside the house, wrapped in her heavy coat and fur hat. She was relieved and overjoyed to see her husband finally approaching. It was long past midnight and she had been worried.
Yisrael looked right and left, but there was no trace of the man who had led him home.
A few minutes later, the Baal Shem Tov was standing in front of his tin menorah. He prepared the wicks, poured the oil, and with lofty, mystical intentions, he recited the blessings. When he finished reciting the poetic songs that follow the lighting, dawn began to break over the snowy Carpathian Mountains.
Reprinted from Beis Moshiach Magazine
