Soccer Dad

A Time of Watching

[Blogger's note: I write for a local publication called Where, What and When. The following is my partially edited article from the March 2005 issue.]
A Time of Watching
by David Gerstman

Author’s Note: Reb Leib Soros is an ancestor of mine. He would be my great, great, great, great, great grandfather. This retelling is based on a story in Sippurei Chasidim – Moadim by Rabbi Shlomo Zevin. The collection has been translated into English by ArtScroll.
I woke up in pain. That was common these days. After all the beatings and torture, every part of me hurt. But I wouldn’t be suffering much longer. In a few days they would kill me and put an end to my suffering. That’s why I confessed. The pain they inflicted on me was so great, I preferred death at that point. It doesn’t make a difference that I didn’t kill my servant. They needed a confession and forced it out of me.
In the dark dungeon I had no real sense of time. But one day, the prince’s men came to get me. I was going with the prince to a horse show. After I helped him pick out the finest horses, he would turn me over to the Church authorities to be killed. At least I’d see the sun again and breathe fresh air before I died.
As I prepared to go with my escorts, I thought about the events that brought me to this point – seemingly the premature end to my life.

I remember when it started. It wasn’t more than a few weeks ago. The day started as most days did. With the help of my family, I tended to the guests at my inn in Vilna. I was successful and had a good reputation. But then that rabbi came.
The rabbi’s name was Reb Leib Soros. I heard he was quite holy. In fact, he was a talmid of the Ba’al Shem Tov. And indeed, his appearance and the way he carried himself projected holiness. He was traveling with his aide, a younger rabbi named R’ Azriel, and when the two rabbis entered, I was so flattered they had chosen my inn as their lodging that I had my family prepare the best accommodations for them.
The next morning, my life turned into a nightmare. After davening and breakfast, R’ Azriel came to me and told me that the tzadik, R’ Leib Soros wished to see me. I could not understand what interest the holy man would have in me, a simple Jew.
I entered the elderly tzadik’s room and asked what I could do for him. “Go to the street of the goyim, knock on the door of the prince there, and tell him that Leib the son of Soroh wishes to see him.”
I looked at the tzadik with frightened, disbelieving eyes. As respectfully as I could, I said, “The Rebbe cannot mean that. A Jew who visits the street of the goyim is in grave danger. There is no guarantee I will return home. And even if I did, the prince is royalty and probably has never met a Jew in his life, why would he listen to me?”
The piercing eyes of the tzadik immediately filled with rage. “Do you know who I am? I am Leib ben Soroh. If you don’t listen, you will regret it.”
I left the room shaking. I tried to go back to my work but I couldn’t. The tzadik’s implied threat stuck with me. Still, the fear of going to the street of the goyim outweighed any fear of the unknown threat that the tzadik had hinted at.
Suddenly, my wife and oldest son developed fever and became weak. They could barely move and lay in bed. When I looked at them, they looked awful, and I feared for their lives. Was this the regret I’d have? I’d rather my own life be in jeopardy than see my loved ones suffer, so I returned to Reb Leib Soros.
“Rebbe,” I said meekly, “Please save them. I’ll do whatever you require.” The tzadik answered softly, “Do as I tell you. Go and call the prince, and they will be healed immediately.” I wasn’t going to fool around. I quickly left my inn and didn’t look back. If the tzadik said that my family members would recover, I believed him. And I started to believe no harm would befall me on the street of the goyim.
I hurried to the dreaded street. To my surprise, everyone there ignored me. It was as if the tzadik had decreed that I be invisible to my enemies.
I got to the palace of the prince and knocked on the door. One of the servants answered, and I requested to see the prince. The servant told the other servants that a Jew had the audacity to request an audience with the prince. The servants were quite amused and raised a ruckus, snickering among themselves. I wondered if my request would ever reach the prince.
I needn’t have worried; he eventually heard the small commotion and investigated. When he heard that a Jew wished to see him, he asked that I be brought to him.
“What business do you have with me?” he asked. “There’s an old man staying at my inn, named Leib ben Soroh. He commanded me to come before my master and ask my master to go to him.”
I was sure that the prince would have me thrown into the dungeon for my impudence. Instead, I watched with amazement as he searched for his coat and mumbled, “I must be going right away.” With that, he left his palace with me and headed back to my inn.
I brought the prince to the room of R’ Leib Soros. The tzadik told me to check on my relatives and see that they were healed, and he was soon left alone to talk with the prince. The prince did not stay long. Before long, R’ Leib Soros and R’ Azriel were on their way, and the prince returned to his castle. I suspect he had no idea why he felt compelled to visit the tzadik.
A few weeks later, as Pesach was approaching, one of my non-Jewish servants disappeared. It didn’t take long before the local bishop was agitating against me for killing the man and using his blood to make matzos. The influence of the Church was strong and I was soon arrested.
Using a variety of terrible tortures, the Bishop tried to get me to sign a confession. When the pain became too great and death seemed like a relief, I signed the cursed confession.
Once the bishop had his confession, he convened a trial, which was to be presided over by the prince. There wasn’t much suspense. All the bishop had to do to obtain a conviction was to produce the confession. And he did.
The prince looked at me several times during the proceedings. I thought he showed signs of recognition. I wondered if it would help me. My hopes were shattered as the prince said, “Very well. This confession appears legitimate. I condemn the accused to death. Yet, I have been informed that he is a fine judge of horses. I have a trip planned to a nearby town to purchase some new horses. I wish to take the Jew with me so he may help me select the finest horses. I will, of course, be responsible for him and when we return, I will sign his death warrant and turn him over to you.”
I noticed the disappointment in the eyes of the bishop and his henchmen. Their bloodlust would have to wait a little longer to be sated.
During the trip to the fair the prince didn’t talk to me at all. Nor did he look at me. Was he feeling guilty for promising to turn me over when he knew how the confession had been obtained? I didn’t know. I appreciated the brief escape from the dungeon, even if it meant that my time on earth was approaching its end.
When we got to the fair, at least two of the prince’s guards kept an eye on me. There was no chance of escape. As I circulated through the fair taking note of the different merchants selling horses, I noticed a familiar person. It was my servant! I didn’t know whether to be angry or happy.
I also felt slightly guilty. As my ordeal had progressed I blamed R’ Leib Soros for it. It seemed that since he visited me, my life had fallen apart and I attributed it somehow to his visit. But how did the prince know about my expertise with horses? (And if he was the source, how did R’ Leib Soros know?) It must be that the tzadik’s meeting with the prince planted the seeds of my salvation.
When he saw me, he ran and embraced me, “I knew you’d find me!” he said.
“Why did you leave me then?” I asked.
“I didn’t.” My servant explained that a stranger tried to bribe him to leave my employ and relocate. He consistently refused, saying that I had treated him very well and he had no desire to work elsewhere. One night he was attacked, knocked out, and kidnapped. His assailants left him near the town where the fair was held. He had nowhere to go and had been scrounging for food and lodging since then.
I explained to him my dire circumstances and he agreed to stay near me for the duration of the fair. On my recommendation, the prince bought several horses. As we prepared to leave, the prince asked me if I knew of anyone who was skilled at handling horses, as we now had several extra animals to get home.
“Actually, I do know a young man who is quite adept at handling horses,” I said, and presented my servant to the prince. We loaded up the wagon and headed back to town. My hopes were a lot higher for the return trip than they were on the trip to the fair.
As we traveled, the prince said, “I’m disappointed.” I asked him why. The prince continued, “Perhaps you remember that some weeks ago a holy rabbi was staying at your house.” I nodded my head in agreement. “When the bishop came with the charges against you, I was hoping that something the rabbi said would save you. But now we are headed home. When we arrive there, I will have no choice but to sign your death warrant. I had hoped that the rabbi had arranged a miracle for you, but he apparently did not.”
“Your Honor,” I said, “actually, the rabbi did prepare a miracle to save me. The horseman to whom I introduced you is my servant. He isn’t dead; he was just kidnapped so that I could be framed and killed.”
The Prince’s face turned dark with anger. I could tell that he hated injustice and was truly sympathetic to my plight. Still, he asked, “But if you were innocent why did you confess?” I answered, “The tortures the bishop and his helpers inflicted upon me were so severe and painful that I reached a point where I preferred the thought of death to continued pain.”
When we arrived in town, the bishop quickly arranged an audience with the prince. He was quite anxious to rid the world of a Jew. The prince, however, had other plans. At the proceedings, where he was supposed to sign my death warrant, he introduced my servant. Then he asked two witnesses to identify my servant. With proof that my servant was still very much alive, the bishop’s case crumbled. As the prince tore up my confession and turned his attention to the bishop, the bishop’s face became ashen.
Fearing the judgment of the prince, the bishop got up and attempted to flee, but the prince ordered the guards to grab him. Facing the now livid prince, the bishop pleaded for his life. The prince, however, took the death warrant and filled in the bishop’s name instead of mine. The next day it would be the bishop who would face the executioner’s sharp blade instead of me.
The first night of Pesach, we say, is a “leil shimurim,” a night of watching for the Jewish people. For me and my community, that year, the time of watching came a few weeks before Pesach. And it was due to the miraculous intervention of Leib Soros.