Chaim Leib was a wandering musician. He traveled from village to village playing his violin at every opportunity. His music made others happy, and he asked for nothing more than a meal and a place to sleep.

Now Chaim Leib especially loved playing at orphans’ weddings and at the end of every Shabbos (Sabbath Day). His favorite songs were niggunim – haunting Jewish melodies without words. During the summer, when the windows were wide open, the sound of his violin was heard up and down the roads and byways. Old people as well as young listened to his wonderful playing, which brought joy to a neighborhood that was sad and poor.

At many celebrations, Chaim Leib could be heard playing his violin, which had been in his family for many generations. He played on the eve of Hanukah after lighting the candles, and he played on the eve of Purim.

Each year it was his custom, right after the Purim meal in his house, to take his violin and go to entertain sick and poor people. When he played for poor families, the children would hum along and the women would clap. Before he left each house, Chaim Leib would taste some wine and continue on his way to the next house.

Now one year, Purim took place during an exceptionally cold winter. Deep snow covered the ground, and a strong wind shook roofs and shutters. Chaim Leib was more than sixty years old, and his wife, Feige Chava, asked him not to go out that year. He was determined to lighten the hearts of the sick and poor on Purim, as he had done for so many years.

So Chaim Leib left home and went from house to house playing for the people. He did not refuse any food or drink that the poor gave him in thanks.

When Chaim Leib had not come home by midnight, Feige Chava began to worry. By one o’clock, she started to worry even more. When the old clock showed two, Chaim Leib’s wife woke Shlomo di balegole (the wagon driver) from a deep sleep.

Shlomo di balegole hitched a horse to the sleigh and went with Feige Chava to the house of the village rabbi. They woke the rabbi. With the rabbi’s assistant, the shammash, they lit several lamps and went to search for Chaim Leib. Every place they went, they were told yes, he had been there. He had played his violin, drunk a glass of wine, and gone on his way.

At last they returned home without having found Chaim Leib. The shammash was weary, but he did not return to bed, for it was time to open the old wooden shul (synagogue). He was surprised to see Chaim Leib sitting there. He was playing a beautiful melody on his ancient violin . The melody that the shammash had never heard before.

“Chaim Leib!” cried the shammash. “Are you all right? Where have you been?”

“Don’t bother me,” said Chaim Leib. “I must not forget the melody that I just learned from Moishe the chazzan (cantor).”

“But Moishe the chazzan died many years ago,” the shammash said.

“I know,” said Chaim Leib. as he played the song over and over until he knew it by heart. Then he turned to the shammash. “Let me tell you what happened:

“I went from house to house, playing my violin, as I do every Purim. Everyone was very generous, and perhaps I drank a little too much wine.

“On my way home, I decided to take a shortcut through the yard of the synagogue even though I have heard that the dead pray in the synagogue every night. While passing in front of the gate, I heard a voice from inside the synagogue say, ‘Will Chaim Leib, the son of Yaakov haLevi come forth and pray?’ At that instant I was filled with terror. Who was calling me ? I wanted to escape, but I knew that I had no choice but to go inside. For when you are called to pray before the Torah, you must do it.

“As I approached the door of the synagogue, my legs were trembling. All at once, the door opened as if by itself, and I peered inside. There I saw that the Torah had been taken out of the Ark and lay open. And standing before it I saw ghostly figures as transparent as spider webs.

“Shivering with fear, I took my place before the Torah, made the blessing. and was ready to run away. When suddenly I saw Moishe the chazzan, hurrying toward me. I was very surprised to see him, for I knew that he was no longer among the living.

“‘Chaim Leib,’ he said, ‘please, have mercy. There is something that I must tell you.’ I tried to remain calm, although I could hear my heart beat¬ing. I nodded for him to go on.

“The ghostly figure said, ‘There is a melody I composed just before I died, which I took with me to the grave. I wrote it for the living and it is a great burden for me. The song has never been heard by anyone else. Let me share it with you, so that you can play it for others. As soon as you do, my melody will be set free, and you, Chaim Leib, will be rewarded with a long life.’

“When I heard this, I realized that I had not come there by chance. Even though I was speaking to a spirit, my fear vanished, and I listened carefully as Moishe the chazzan began to sing that niggun. And as soon as he finished, he and all the other ghostly figures vanished, and I took out my violin and played, so as not to forget it. Now I must play it again and again, till my fingers know it by heart.” And so he did, while the shammash listened in amazement.

The next day Chaim Leib sang that magnificent melody for the first time in front of the congregation of the old wooden shul. All who were present agreed that it was truly a haunting melody, the likes of which had never been heard.

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)

Rachmiel Tobesman is a motivational speaker and Maggid (spiritual Storyteller). He is available for speaking engagements or storytelling, Click here to contact us

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