It was the first night of Chanukah. Outside a snowstorm raged, but inside it was tranquil and warm. The holy rabbi stood in front of the menorah, surrounded by a crowd of his students. He recited the blessings with great devotion, lit the single candle, placed the shammash (“attendant candle”) in its designated place, and began to sing HaNairos Halalu. His face radiated holiness and joy; the amazed students watch his every move.
The flame of the candle was burning bright and strong. The rabbi and his students sat nearby and sang Ma’oz Tzur and other Chanukah songs. All of a sudden, the flame began to flicker and leap wildly, even though there was no breeze in the house. It was as if it were dancing to the lively songs, and then it just disappeared,
It didn’t blow out, there was no smoke, it just was gone without a trace. The holy rabbi seemed lost in thought. One of the students went to re-light the wick on the candle, but the rabbi waved him off.
He reminded the students that Chanukah was a happy holiday and to continue their singing. Between the songs, the rabbi spoke such words of Torah that it seemed everyone was in a higher realm. The students were so caught up in celebrating Chanukah, they had all but forgotten about the disappearing flame.
It was almost midnight when they heard the sounds of a carriage stop at the house, the door burst open and in came a student who came from a distant village. His clothes were ripped and muddy, and his face was puffy and bleeding. Yet, his eyes were sparkling and his features shone with joy.
He sat down at the table, and with all eyes upon him, began to speak excitedly. “This isn’t the first time I came to visit the rabbi by traveling through the forest, and I know the way very well. But there was a terrible snow storm this week, which greatly slowed me down. I began to worry that I wouldn’t get here in time to be with the rabbi for the first night of Chanukah. The thought disturbed me so much, I decided not to wait out the storm and started out immediately.
“That was a foolish idea, I must admit, but I didn’t realize that until too late. Last night, I ran into a gang of bandits, who thought if I was out in this weather, at night, alone, I must be a wealthy merchant whose business could not be delayed. They demanded that I surrender to them all of my money.
“I pleaded with them and tried to explain that I was a student travelling to see my holy teacher. They absolutely refused to believe me. They wanted money or my blood. They took me to their leader so he could decide my fate.
“While they waited for the bandit chief to arrive, they questioned me in great detail, searched me and the wagon, and beat me, trying to get the secret of where I had hidden my money. I had nothing to tell them except the truth, and that they didn’t want to hear it.
“After hours of punishment, they tied me up and threw me into a dark cellar. I was hurt and bleeding, and my whole body ached in pain. I lay there for a long time, when the bandit chief came to speak with me.
“I tried to the best of my ability to describe to him the great joy of being in the rabbi’s presence, and how it was so important to me to get to the rabbi by the start of Chanukah and that it was worth it to endanger myself by traveling at night.
“It seems my words made an impression on him, and he untied and released me, saying:
“I sense that your faith in Holy One, blessed be He is strong and your wish to be with your teacher is genuine. Now we shall see if this is the truth. I am going to let you go, but you should know that the way is extremely dangerous. Even the most rugged people never venture into the heart of the forest alone, only in groups, and especially not in a storm and at night. You can leave and try your luck. I am telling you, if you get through the forest and the other terrible conditions safely, unharmed by the ferocious wild beasts or anything else, then I will break up my gang and reform my ways.
“If you actually reach the outskirts of the city, then throw your handkerchief into the ditch next to the road, behind the signpost there. One of my men will be waiting, and that is how I will know that you made it.
“I was very afraid of what might be ahead of me on my journey, but when I thought about how wonderful it is to be to watch my teacher, the holy rabbi light the menorah lighting, my fear seemed to fade away. I was determined to proceed without delay. My horse and carriage were returned to me and I set off on my way.
“There forest was dark and forbidding and I could hear the sounds of the night creatures. I feared that I might be surrounded by a pack of vicious wolves.
“I crouched down over my horse’s neck and spurred him on, but he wouldn’t move. He refused to move in the pitch blackness. I tried to get him to move with kind words, but he wouldn’t budge.
“I had no idea what to do. At that moment, a small light flickered in front of the carriage. The horse stepped eagerly towards it. The light moved and the horse followed. All along the way, the wild animals fled from us, as if the tiny dancing flame was driving them away.
“We followed that flame all the way here. I kept my end of the bargain and threw my handkerchief at the designated place. Who knows? Perhaps those cruel bandits will change their ways, all in the merit of that little light.”
It was only then that the students noticed that the holy rabbi’s Chanukah light had returned. There it was, burning in the simple menorah, its flame strong and pure as if it had just been lit.
As the students marveled at the small flame in all its brightness, the holy rabbi mysteriously commented, “The light of a candle is serviceable only when it precedes man on his way, useless when it trails behind.” (Kad haKemach 37, 14th century)
May all your tales end with Shalom (peace)
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Tell it to your children, and let your children tell it to their children, and their children to the next generation. (Joel 1:3)