Nissan marks the birth of creation, the beginning of life – also referred to in the Torah as Chodesh Ha’Aviv, the month of spring. The nature of Aries, the first signs of the Zodiac, lends itself to physical and moral courage, creatice energy, and a propensity for leadership.
Moshe’le was almost three when he disappeared from in front of his home on a Friday afternoon. His distraught parents, a young rav and his rebbetzin, were inconsolable. Search as they did, little Moshe’le was not to be found.
It so happened that a roaming band of gypsies had abducted the attractive little boy. As days and weeks wore on, the youngster, sold to an elderly childless Polish landowner and his wife, lost any recollection of his parents. Renamed Yanush, the child was raised as a poritz. When his “adoptive parents” died, he was bequeathed their inheritance – and a legacy of loathing for the Jewish people.
Yanush lived a carefree existence and became the darling of the Polish aristocracy. Eventually designated governor of the region, his discriminatory ordinances left the Jewish inhabitants reeling.
The rav and rebbetzin, albeit with a perpetual ache in their hearts, went on to serve their Creator faithfully, thankful for the additional children they were blessed with.
As custom had it, the Jewish residents of the area regularly employed a “Shabbos goy” – a gentile who would help out with chores, mainly on the Sabbath. The rebbetzin, who would offer him generous helpings of her home cooking, once spied him in the act of pilfering. Turning a blind eye at first, she was eventually forced to let him go, as were others who became wise to his thieving ways. The spurned scoundrel soon plotted his revenge.
Shortly after Purim, as the Jews prepared for the upcoming holiday of Pesach, a figure moved stealthily under the night sky to unearth a freshly interred body from the cemetery grounds. The dead child, after having its throat slashed, was carried off and deposited on the rav‘s property – and the magistrate was forthwith informed that a Jew had taken the blood of a Christian child to use in the preparation of matzos and wine for Passover.
The “evidence” recovered on his premises rendered the protests of the rav baseless. The argument that it was against Torah law to ingest blood – even as much as the tiniest blood drop found in an egg – fell on deaf ears. The rav was sentenced to die, leaving the Jewish populace in anguish over their dismal state of affairs. A sliver of hope remained, however, since the governor held sway over the judge’s ruling.
An exhausted Yanush, back from a deer hunting expedition, tossed and turned in restless sleeplessness. He was unable to rid himself of the scene that pervaded his conscience – the earlier visit of a delegation of Jews who had pleaded with him to halt an unspeakable travesty of justice.
In his heart of hearts, he knew they were innocent victims of a blood-libel – but why would the sorry fate of the Jews cause him any loss of sleep? Finally dozing off, he dreamed he was riding in the woods when his horse abruptly stopped on its hind legs, nearly throwing him to the ground.
An enraged Yanush faced an elderly Jewish man, with a long flowing grayish beard, leaning on his cane.
“I am your grandfather and I’ve come to tell you, Moshe, that it is time for you to return to your people.”
“It is a lie, a falsehood! I am not a Jew and my name is Yanush not Moshe!” thundered the livid governor.
“False are the accusations against my son, your innocent father! Take pity on him and on your desolate soul!”
Yanush awoke in a state of agitation. Collecting himself, he fell back to sleep.
The old man came again the following night. “Don’t think this is just a dream. The fate of innocents rests in your hands. Return to your roots; it is never too late for teshuvah!”
His heart palpitating, the governor awoke with the conviction that he had imbibed one too many.
His forebear didn’t let up. The governor, in yet another of his dreams, was about to affix his signature to the judgment condemning the accused, when the by now familiar voice boomed, “Wait! You can’t attest to a miscarriage of justice! Gevald, Moshe! Have pity on your soul! You’ve bemused yourself for long enough on this earth! You were kidnapped and sold to the poritz who was not your father, as he claimed to be.”
This time Yanush demanded proof – of impropriety by the gentile and guiltlessness of the Jews, and of his background.
Acting on the old man’s advice, Moshe searched the belongings of the late poritz and discovered the arba kanfos, the small, fringed undergarment he had worn at the time he was snatched. Memories streamed to the fore – the beatings he sustained from his captors every time he cried for his parents, and his relief when the poritz and his wife took him under their wing.
A contingent of VIPs awaited the governor who came to personally hear testimony from the accused and accuser. The unnerved Shabbos goy stammered as he spun his fabricated tale. When the governor confronted him with a cry of “Liar!” the actual perpetrator of the heinous deed fell to his knees and begged for mercy.
Next in line for the governor’s sharp rebuke was the judge. “How dare you allow yourself to be led by blind hatred! Are you not aware that the blood libel is a sadistic invention of mindless bigotry?” A glance the rav‘s way sent shudders through the governor, who noted a marked resemblance to the old man in his dreams. He turned to the rav to express sincere regret for his needless suffering and to request the honor of a private audience.
Upon seeing the rebbetzin, the governor had to restrain himself from throwing his arms around her neck, from kissing his mother’s wrinkled face and hugging her. The rav proudly shared with the governor nachas of his children and grandchildren . . . and when prodded, quietly related the heartbreaking saga of their lost son.
“I know of his whereabouts,” said the governor. The rav was on his feet with guarded elation.
“He was raised in a non-Jewish environment but now wants to return – if his parents will have him.”
“Where is he? Bring him to me!” cried the rav, tears welling in his eyes.
“He stands before you, Tatte. It is I, Moshe’le”
The emotional reunion between Moshe’le and his parents can hardly be set down in this limited space. By early dawn, the threesome came to a painful but necessary resolution.
Yanush the governor would ride his horse into the sunset and abandon the steed, along with his clothes, by the side of the lake, where it would be assumed he’d gone for a swim. Yanush – Moshe’le – would then take off for a faraway land with a letter of reference from his father, the rav. There he would become a baal teshuvah and make up for lost years of Torah learning and avodas Hashem.
Before taking his leave, Moshe’le was blessed by his father, who tenderly told him, “We may never see each other again in this world, but we will certainly meet again in Gan Eden”
The brilliant light of Creation, which enabled man to see from one end of the world to the other, was subsequently hidden due to man’s sin. God imbued Moshe Rabbeinuwith this light for the first three months of his life. When he was brought to Pharaoh, the supernal light was taken from him – and returned to him by Hashem at Har Sinai. From that time on, Moshe was impelled to hide his countenance, for no mortal man could withstand the radiance of his otherworldly glow.
* * *
In a small village near Trisk, a lone Jewish inhabitant eked out a living as a tailor. Yitzchak impressed the townsfolk with his earnestness and humility. Itzik, as they fondly called him, furthermore took it upon himself to foil the plans of prowlers. Often working late into the night, he had more than once rescued the peasants from thievery, placing his own life at risk by alerting them with his cries. He refused their humble gifts of gratitude, insistent on earning his own flour, potatoes and the like.
An unpretentious Itzik spent his years sewing the peasants’ attire and thus supporting his family. As tempting as it was for the simple tailor to work through Shabbos, he maintained double duty on the weekday in order to keep the Shabbos holy.
And then a brutal summer’s heat wrought devastation on the land. Wheat and cornfields were scorched to worthlessness. Horses hankered for feed, the grass having burnt to their roots. Commoners were forced to sell their possessions in order to stave off hunger. And poor Itzik was left bereft of a livelihood. Not that he would ever so much as grumble. For everything was min hashamayim – from the heavens.
