G-d Is The Best Guarantor
Once a poor man, a stranger, came to the Gaon, Rabbi Isiah of Zichovirtz, and requested a loan of $1,000 for a period of a half-year.
“I’ll be glad to,” replied the Rabbi, “but do you have a co-signer or guarantor to vouchsafe for you?”
“I am a stranger in town,” replied the man who now began to cry. “I have been to every place, but no one will trust me enough to lend me the money, which I desperately need. G-d is my guarantor. He knows why I need the money. Let Him be my co-signer!”
“You couldn’t have chosen a better guarantor than Him,” replied the Rabbi and he lent him the money.
A half-a-year later the man returned to the rabbi with the $1,000 and said, “G-d was good to me and my business has prospered. I needed the money to save my business then, and I couldn’t tell anyone how desperate I was, for my creditors would have closed me up if they heard of it.”
I am sorry but I can’t accept the money,” the Gaon answered. “Your co-signer has already repaid your loan.”
“How is that possible?” asked the merchant.
“One the day I gave you the money I received some rare merchandise which was immediately sold for a $1,000. The whole transaction appeared so miraculously that I attributed it to your co-signer, and I applied it to your account as payment in full.”
“I will not hear of it,” replied the surprised merchant. “I will not accept a free gift, for I always pay my loans.”
They both argued for a long time until they came to the following conclusion: The money was to be given to the charity fund Gemilas Chesed for the Jews of Vilna, and both were to share the mitzva.
The Gaon Exposes The Thief
The following story is told of the Maharal of Prague who was called upon to decide a very puzzling case.
It seemed that a butcher shop and a shoe store adjoined each other and were separated only by a thin partition, so that the proprietor of each could overhear the conversation of the other.
The butcher was a simple honest man, trusting all and suspecting none. It was his custom before closing the store to count the money collected for the day’s sales and then lock it in a strong wooden box, which served as a safe.
The counting was invariably done in a loud voice, which was heard through the partition. One night the proprietor of the shoe tore broke the thin partition dividing the two stores and then notified the police, that to his belief, he had been robbed by his neighbor. He informed the authorities as to how much money he had lost and urged them to open the box, so that the contents therein might be examined and his suspicion verified.
The box was opened in the presence of the two storekeepers and it was found to contain the exact amount claimed by the shoe merchant. The police were convinced of the butcher’s guilt. They were about to deliver the money to the plaintiff and arrest the accused man, when the butcher demanded that they all visit the Gaon, the Maharal, who through his Divine powers would ascertain the truth.
They all repaired to the home of the Gaon who listened with profound deliberation to the case. The evidence, although circumstantial, was clearly against the defendant. But there was something in the voice and appearance of the butcher which told the great man that he was the victim of a wily scheme.
For a long time the Gaon looked puzzled. Incessantly he paced up and down the long study, which was also his courtroom and stroked his patriarchal beard. At long last he had an inspiration.
“Bring me a pail of water,” he ordered.
The police brought a pail of water.
Throw the money into the pail,” commanded the tzaddik.
The officers obeyed, and in a few moments the water was covered with a layer of fat.
“The money belongs to the butcher,” declared the holy man, “and that man is a scoundrel. Arrest him!”
The Blessing Over A Horse Outweighed
All Other Blessings
The chassidim of the town of Nashkitz tell a tale of how a blessing over a horse outweighed all the blessings the town made over their Esrogim on Succot.
“And this blessing went directly to the Kisei Hakavod, the very Throne of G-d,” said one chasid reverently.
It seems that the rabbi of the town, the rightous Reb Mordechai of Nashkitz, lived a poverty-stricken life. All during the week he ate only a little bread and salt, except on Shabbos when he splurged and purchased a salted herring. He would skimp and suffer all year to save pennies every day, so as to be able to buy the most beautiful Esrog and Lulav in the city. For Reb Mordechai considered it as one of the most beautiful mitzvos of the year.
Immediately following Yom Kippur, Reb Mordechai set out for the city, carrying 10 rubles, his year’s savings. On the way he passed a man who was crying bitterly.
“Why do you weep so?” inquired Reb Mordechai.
“Woe is me,” sobbed the distraught man. “a terrible misfortune occurred to me. I am a water-carrier and usually load up my wagon with water from the springs in the country, and I sell it in the city. From these meager proceeds my wife and children exist. Today just as I filled up all the barrels in my wagon, my horse died and now before Yom Tov I can’t deliver the water to the city. My family will die from hunger.”
Without a word, Reb Mordechai gave the man his yearly savings, his 10 rubles. Returning home, empty-handed, Reb Mordechai announced to his chassidim who came to admire his beautiful purchase:
“This holiday I will make a blessing over a new horse, which I purchased for a destitute Jew,” he said. “Its mitzva should surpass any Lulav blessing of the previous years.”
The chassidim swear that they heard a heavenly voice ring out: “Amen”!
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Page last updated - 07/13/2006