This happened during the last week of the Hebrew month of Elul, just before Rosh HaShanah. It was the time for saying the special penitential prayers called S’lichot, the prayers asking for forgiveness.

In this village, an official walked from house to house at dawn with his lantern, and he knocked on each door calling “Wake up! It’s time to wake up!” And the Jews got up to go to synagogue to say their prayers asking for forgiveness.

During these days, a man came to the village to visit his cousin. He had never been there before, nor had he ever met their famous rabbi.  One morning, he rose early like the others to go and say his prayers.  But he noticed that the rabbi was not there. 

“So where is this ’sainted rabbi’ of yours?” he asked his cousin.  “This rabbi I have heard so much about. He isn’t here leading us all in our S’lichot prayers.  Doesn’t he himself need to ask forgiveness, too? Or is he so righteous and perfect?”

“We think he is up in heaven,” answered his cousin, “pleading with God to forgive all our sins before the solemn Day of Judgement.”

“He is probably saying in our defense that we are good people,” whispered someone.  “He is telling God that we try very hard, but we are only human, and make mistakes.”

“Nonsense!” said the cousin, and he laughed at them both.

“Well, where do you think he goes?” they asked him. “He’s not in the house of study, or at home, or—”

“I don’t know, but I will find out!” said the cousin, who came up with a daring plan.

Late one evening, when most people were asleep, he quietly entered the rabbi’s house, went into his bedroom, and hid under the bed where the rabbi slept soundly.  In this way, he planned to see exactly where the rabbi went—and he was sure it wasn’t up to heaven. 

He was so determined to prove himself right and the townspeople wrong that he managed to stay awake there under the rabbi’s bed all through the long and dark night. 

Very early the next morning, while it was still dark outside, Rabbi Moshe stirred. He said his morning prayers, washed, dressed in peasant clothes, and left the house. 

“Ah, look at those clothes,” thought the cousin. “Surely he isn’t going to meet God in an old shirt and patched pants.”

As soon as the door shut, the cousin squirmed out from under the bed.  He felt stiff all over, but he only took a few stretches.  He wanted to be able to follow the rabbi.  When he caught up with the rabbi, the cousin could see that this Rabbi Moshe carried an axe tucked into his belt.

“A peasant’s clothes? An axe?” the cousin thought. “Where is he going? To heaven? Surely not. To the house of study to pray and to study? No! But where?”

He followed the rabbi into the forest at the edge of town. He stopped when the rabbi stopped to take out his axe and chop down a small tree. Then rabbi Moshe split the tree into logs and kindling wood.  He tied all the wood into a bundle with some rope from his pocket and walked back into town, with the cousin not far behind.

Down a narrow, muddy street the rabbi walked, and so did the cousin, far enough behind to hide if the rabbi should turn around. But the rabbi didn’t turn around.  The rabbi stopped at a broken-down hut and knocked at the window. 

“Who’s there?” said a frail voice.

“It’s Vasiliy,” said the rabbi, in a voice that made him sound like a peasant.

“What do you want? You know I have no money to pay you for your wood.”

“And you know I trust you to pay me when you are well.”

The rabbi entered the poor hut, and the cousin crept closer, hiding out of view by the side of the house.  He could see a peasant woman lying under a thin blanket.  There was no fire in her stove, and the hut was cold and damp.

“Do you see how sick I am?” said the woman. “Do you think I will be able to repay you?”

“I’m not worried about that,” said Rabbi Moshe in his peasant’s gruff voice.

“But I can’t even get up to light my own fire,” said the woman. “I’m a widow and my son is already at work.“

“Ach, what trouble is it for me to light the fire,” said Rabbi Moshe. And he stooped down to put the wood in the stove and light it.  The cousin could hear him whispering the S’lichot prayers asking for forgiveness as he worked at the fire.

The cousin decided he had seen enough.

Quietly, he crept away from the hut and went to the house of study, where by now all the townspeople were gathered saying their morning prayers before going off to work.

And after the prayers, when the townspeople talked about their Rabbi Moshe not being there because he was in heaven, pleading for their sakes, the cousin did not cry “nonsense,” and the cousin didn’t laugh at them as he had before. 

When they said the rabbi went to heaven, he said quietly to himself, “To heaven, if not higher.”

And this same cousin stayed in the town to become one of Rabbi Moshe’s most devoted students.

THE END