The boys had gathered at the bottom of a mountain trail and saw in the distance a small building. “Wonder what it was?” questioned Yosaif. “it sure looks old.” Added Dovid. Another voice chimed, “Let’s go. What are we waiting for?” A deep voice said, “Boys let’s stay together and no running ahead. We want to have fun on our trek and not have anyone hurt. Okay?” That was Rabbi Siegel whom the boys wanted to spend part of their vacation in the Galil (northern part of Israel) with their favorite rebbe who told them great stories and taught them Torah.

Rabbi Siegel started the four boys up the mountain trail saying, “We’ll climb up to get a good look of the building. Then we’ll find a nice shady area to eat lunch and then do some learning.” Can we hear some great stories?” Asked Akiva. “Okay, do you boys remember we learned:

answered the rabbi.

The boys seemed to be more interested in the old building an were not raelly listening to their rebbe.  Rabbi Siegel grinned at them, “I can see we won’t be leaving here until we’ve explored that deserted building — so let’s go.”

The boys climbed up the mountain trail, at one point they lost sight of the building. The sun beat down on them as Rabbi Siegel stopped and told the boys to gather around him. Some of the boys were breathing heavy and Rabbi Siegel told everyone to sit and rest a few moments and to drink water. The boys thought they rested forever, but it was only about ten minute and they started up the mountain trail again.

As they turn and climbed higher, suddenly they saw the old building. The boys rushed to the doorway of the ruin. Step­ping over the crumbled rocks, they found themselves in a rectangular room with stone benches jutting out of the walls. The roof was gone and weeds and wild flowers grew everywhere. They explored every inch of the old building, trying to figure out what this room had been.

Suddenly, Yosaif yelled, “Hey, guys! Look at this!” as he looked at a large black stone that seemed to be out of place.  “Help me move this stone”

Dovid got there first, pushing and pulling with Yosaif to move the large, flat  black stone that was covering a deep, narrow hole.

“Yaakov, shine your flashlight down here,” said Yosaif. At the bottom, out of reach of even the rebbe’s long arm was a rusty metal tube.

“How can we get it’?”

“What do you think it is?”

“I hope its not dangerous!” said Mendy, the class worrier, who was ignored as usual.

“You know what? It looks like an old Megillah case,”

“Come on boys let’s figure out a way to get the thing up.” Added Rabbi Siegel.

“I’ve got it!” said Yosaif, digging around in his backpack. “I’m glad I was too lazy to clean this thing out before I left. Does anyone have a rope?”

The boys looked at each other  “Nope, but maybe we can use the laces from my hiking boots” said Yaakov. They tied the boot laces together and then tied it to a large magnet Yosaif had produced and lowered it down the hole.

Everyone watched as the magnet was lowered into the hole and then they heard a click, “I think I got it, It’s coming up!” shouted Yosaif.

The boys brought the metal tube to Rabbi Siegel “Look at this,” he said. “The tube is sealed with clay at both ends.” He pushed gently on one of the clay seals and it slowly came off and there was a scroll rolled up inside. “It’s stuck . . . no, it’s coming out. It must be hundreds of years old!”

Not a sound was heard as Rabbi Siegel carefully pulled out the an­cient scroll and unrolled it. The boys crowded around him, so impressed at the discovery that, for a change, they all spoke quietly, almost in whispers.

“What is it?”

“Is it words?”

“It looks like a foreign language.”

The sunlight played on the scrawled writing that seemed so strange, it was truly a mystery. Rabbi Siegel began speaking in a quiet voice, the boys strained to hear each word.

“This looks like an ancient letter of some kind. It was deliberately hidden by someone in the hope that it would be found, and we have found it.”

“But we can’t read it,” interrupted Yaakov.

“I know, but I think I know someone who can. This is written in ancient Hebrew script. I can recognize a few of the letters. I have a friend who is an ex­pert in this field. If everyone agrees to skip the rest of our trek today, we can go see him. He’s not too far away; he lives in Tzefas.”

The boys were excited and raced down the mountain trail, piled into the car and sang the whole way to Tzefas.

They came to an old house and Rabbi Siegel knocked on the door. A tall man with long peyos wearing thick glasses opened the door. Seeing Rabbi Siegel, he wrapped him in a friendly bear hug. They clapped each other on the back as Rabbi Siegel told the boys that they had been chavrusas (study partners) many years ago. Explaining why they had come, Rabbi Siegel carefully un­rolled the scroll.

Rabbi Stern inspected it in amaze­ment using a thick magnifying glass. “This appears to be a child’s writing and the parchment seems at first glance to be from the time of the Second Bais Hamikdash. The script is an old hebrew used by most of the people of that time.” He placed it on his desk and took out a piece of paper, writing in modern Hebrew script as he read the ancient parchment.

About twenty minutes later he looked up, pure joy on his face. “This is an amazing find! Can I keep this to examine and analyze it?”

“Of course,” answered Rabbi Siegel. He picked up Rabbi Stern’s copy and turned to the boys, his eyes alight. “Just listen to this:

I write these words knowing that I will soon be killed, and I pray that someone will find them and know what happened to me, Uriel ben Hyrkanos, and my chaverim in this school founded by the Kohain Gadol (High Priest), Rabbi Yehoshua ben Gamla, about 150 years ago. We have studied Torah together with our melamed (teacher) for six years and four months. Until the Romans issued their harsh decrees against Torah learning, we studied in a wonderful way. The Sanhedrin sent messages throughout the land that children should not endanger themselves, but we wanted our studies to con­tinue no matter what the risk. The last few months we have had to meet secretly and in different places. To be found by the Romans meant certain death. Now we have been gathered together in this room, our beloved room, for two weeks. Our parents were taken away and we were warned not to return to our homes. Our food is gone, our bodies are weak, but still we learn Torah. The Romans are in our town, on our hill, near our school. We can hear their shouts, as they look for little children who cannot fight back, but whom they will kill for disobeying the Emperor’s cruel and senseless decree. How they hate us all for the simple reason that we are Hashem’s chosen people. But they can never destroy our Torah or our nation. I have seen men die in this terrible war. I am not afraid. We will learn up until our moment of death. Our melamed has taught us that Hashem loves the learning of young children — it is very sweet to Him. I fear that the Romans know this and that is why they con­tinue to search for our schools, To destroy our learning would be to destroy our nation. The footsteps come closer, my hand is shaking from weakness, but our chanting becomes stronger. I am putting this in the pit I have prepared. A future person might read it and put it in his heart. Perhaps he can tell others about our struggles to keep Torah alive. They have surrounded our room. Shema Yisrael….

Rabbi Siegel looked up, his eyes glistening with tears. The mouth of each boy hung open. Eyes were wide, faces white, their minds back in that little room where Uriel and his class­mates studied Torah until the Roman swords struck them dead.

Rabbi Siegel said, “Do you re­member the other teaching we learned?

 And the children of that time knew it!”

Three nights later, four boys were back in their own beds having shared the extraordinary story with their families, classmates and friends. As they slept, each had a dream. A boy named Uriel ben Hyrkanos stood outside an abandoned building, smiling. “I am happy now,” he said. “My letter has been found and its message has been spread. Thank you, my friends.”

May all your tales end with Shalom (peace)

Click here for more storytelling resources

Tell it to your children, and let your children tell it to their children, and their children to the next generation. (Joel 1:3)

Please share this story with family and friends and let us know what you think or feel about the stories in a comment or two. Like us on Facebook or tweet us on Twitter

If the stories are not shared they will be lost.

Please share this story with others