Many years ago, there lived a great tzaddik and talmid chacham whom we’ll call R’ Yeshaya. R’ Yeshaya was one of the foremost gedolim of his generation, a truly righteous leader who carried the burdens of klal Yisrael on his shoulders. In addition to the communal issues that required his attention, he also found himself involved in the personal tzaros of hundreds of people. From the most complex cases to the simplest ones, anyone with a problem found a listening ear, wise advice, and practical assistance from R’ Yeshaya.

R’ Yeshaya had no children of his own, a fact that pained him terribly, but instead he assumed the role of klal Yisrael’s father. His tefillos seemed to have a special power in Shamayim, and he readily poured out his heart on behalf of the hundreds Jews who came to him with their tale of woe. He carried Klal Yisrael in his heart like a parent carries all the pain of his child, not letting anyone’s pain go unheeded.

It wasn’t easy for R’ Yeshaya to absorb so much sadness and pain, but he didn’t have the heart to turn away suffering Jews. And so, despite the difficulty, he made himself available to hear out one heartbreaking story after another, all with his trademark warmth and kind smile. Afterward, he would spend a long time crying over his Tehillim as he pleaded with Hashem to bring those in need a speedy and complete salvation.

One day, R’ Yeshaya’s righteous wife, Shifra, was struck with an interesting thought. Neither she nor her husband were young anymore, and they still hadn’t been blessed with any children. So many people in her situation had come to her husband to request a blessing for children, and his prayers had indeed helped these childless couples realize their dream of bringing offspring into the world. Was she any different than the others whom he had helped?

Before she could change her mind, she went to stand at the end of the line of petitioners coming to speak to R’ Yeshaya. As the line inched forward, she watched as people entered the study with bent backs and wrinkled foreheads and emerged with hope in their eyes and confidence in their gait. The weight of their burdens had been removed from their own shoulders and transferred to that of her noble husband.

Soon, it was Shifra’s turn to enter the study. Her husband seemed surprised to see her, but she pressed forward breathlessly, eager to say her piece. “My dear husband,” she began. “Your door is open for anyone in the world who needs help. You daven for the pain and suffering of thousands of Jews whom you do not even know. So many people have come to you in tears, not having been blessed with children. You have not turned away a single one! But what about me? I’m your wife, and I haven’t been blessed with children either! Why can’t you daven for us that we should merit children as well?”

R’ Yeshaya’s eyes mirrored the pain in his wife’s as he responded tenderly, “You must remember that Hashem knows what He is doing. It is His desire that we not be blessed with children, and therefore we are unable to have children. This is the very best thing for us.”

Tears blurred Shifra’s vision. “I don’t understand,” she protested softly, dabbing at her eyes. “Hashem decided not to grant children to many other childless couples, and yet you had no problem praying for them anyway. Why am I any different?”

R’ Yeshaya was silent for a long moment, contemplating her words. “I hear you,” he finally said. “I will try to see what I can do.”

That night, R’ Yeshaya made a shailas chalom, inquiring from on High why he had not merited children. Being a great tzaddik, he knew the procedure for performing a shailas chalom, and he hoped he would receive an answer in his dream.

Indeed, the angels in the Heavenly Court responded to him through a dream. “According to your judgement,” they told him, “If you will have a child, he will pass away when he is thirteen years old. He will choke on a string and die. Hashem loves you so much that he wants to spare you the anguish of baring and then losing a child. He doesn’t want you to have the pain of burying your own child.”

When R’ Yeshaya awoke the following morning, he repeated the dream to his wife, but she was not satisfied. “Better that I should have a child for thirteen years than not at all,” she responded, shaking her head. “Even if Hashem wants to take him away at thirteen, I still long to have a child.”

“Are you sure?” R’ Yeshaya asked carefully. “It’s not easy to lose a child. The pain is tremendous. Who says its any less difficult than the difficulty of being childless?”

“I’m sure,” Shifra said confidently, already imagining herself cradling a child in her arms. “To be a mother for thirteen years! What a zechus!”

That night, R’ Yeshaya performed another shailas chalom. This time, he told the Bais Din Shel Maalah that his wife was ready to lose the child after thirteen years so long as she was able to mother him until then. The pain of not having children was so severe that she could not fathom anything worse, and they wanted the opportunity to parent a child.

Hashem accepted R’ Yeshaya’s plea, and a year later, Shifra gave birth to a baby boy, whom they named Yaakov.

From his first moments on earth, his parents were overwhelmed with love for their tiny son. For so many years, they had waited for this moment, watching as their friends became parents and grandparents while their own home remained silent and empty. Now, Shifra showered all her pent-up maternal feeling on little Yaakov.

As Yaakov grew older, it became clear that he was not an ordinary child. His face glowed with holiness and his mind was much sharper and quicker than any other boy his age. He learned the aleph bais before his second birthday and delved into chumash right after that. His brilliant mind eagerly absorbed everything he learned, by the time he was six or seven years old, he was well versed in all of Torah.

R’ Yeshaya and his wife were fiercely protective of their son, barely letting him out of their sight. R’ Yeshaya would stay with Yaakov when he went to learn, and at night he slept between their beds, where they could watch over him as best as they could. While they knew, in the logical part of their brains, that they were powerless to stop anything from happening if it was Hashem’s will, they loved him too much to let go.

Yaakov grew older, and his beautiful middos blossomed. He continued to grow in learning, bringing his parents much nachas. By the time he turned twelve years old, he established a solid reputation in town for his diligence, character traits, and brilliant mind.

One night, Shifra entered the room and found R’ Yeshaya sitting on his bed, sobbing. “What’s the matter?” she asked in concern.

R’ Yeshaya pointed to the sleeping form of their beloved Yaakov, slumbering in the adjacent bed. “I can’t speak now. He might hear,” he mouthed.

Shifra peeked at him. “He seems to be sleeping,” she whispered. “But let’s wait another few minutes just to be sure.”

For the next little while, the room fell silent, save for the occasional sob that escaped from R’ Yeshaya’s throat. Yaakov, oblivious to the tension in the room, continued sleeping peacefully, so after a few minutes, Shifra urged in a quiet voice, “Please tell me why you are crying.”

“In just one year, Yaakov will be taken from us,” R’ Yeshaya explained in a whisper as tears flowed from his red-ringed eyes. “I look at him, I see how special and successful he is, but then I remember that in just one year, he will die. How can I not cry?”

Shifra began to cry as well, her heart breaking in two. She did not regret bringing her precious son into the world, but she, too, could not contemplate parting from him. “What should we do?” she pleaded through her tears. “There must be a way out of this! How can I just say goodbye to Yaakov and watch him die?”

But her husband had no answers for her. “You were the one who agreed that it was worth the pain of losing him,” he reminded her gently. “Yaakov is such a diamond, and every time I think about him passing away, I can’t help but cry. I’m finding it so difficult to cope with this terrible pain. How can I lose my Yaakov? What will be?!”

They sat there together, thinking about the light and joy that filled their lives since Yaakov had been born. They wept rivers of tears as they imagined their lives without him again. Both parents could not tear their eyes off their beloved son, watching his chest rise and fall as they spoke about their impending loss.

And in the middle of all of this, Yaakov sat up.

His parents jumped. Shifra hastily wiped her face as R’ Yeshaya looked away, hoping his son wouldn’t notice his tearstained face. But Yaakov had seen it, and he’d also overheard much of their conversation. His face was very pale.

“Father, Mother,” he said quietly. “I heard what you said. You said that within a year, I will die. Please tell me the entire story.”

Shifra looked at the floor. She couldn’t bear to answer him.

R’ Yeshaya stood up and went to sit beside his son. “It’s best if you don’t know,” he said quietly.

“I must know,” Yaakov insisted. “Please tell me! This concerns me, and I’m so worried. Please tell me everything!”

And so, R’ Yeshaya told him. He held Yaakov’s hand and told him the whole story, about their long wait for children and the shailas chalom he’d performed. “They agreed to give us a son, only on condition that he would be taken from us after thirteen years,” he concluded. “Now you are twelve, and in one year, time will be up. You are destined to choke on a string and pass away.”

The room was gravely silent when he finished speaking. Yaakov’s mind churned rapidly as he digested the story. “What if I go into exile?” he suddenly asked. “The Gemara says that galus serves as atonement. I want to go into exile, with all the suffering that this entails, and hopefully I’ll merit atonement and be allowed to live.”

His parents exchanged glances, but R’ Yeshaya had to admit that the idea was a good one. As much as he loathed parting from his only son, he knew that this was the only chance for Yaakov to have a chance of survival. “In the morning, we’ll pack you up,” he said quietly, and each word was difficult for him.

The following day, Shifra spent a long time packing up Yaakov’s belongings. Then the small family gathered for a final meal together. They were all crying, but they knew that it was the best chance they had.

“You are too young to go into exile all by yourself,” R’ Yeshaya told his son. “I want you to go to my brother, who lives very far from here. It’s a three legged journey, and for each leg of the trip, you should make sure to find someone going in the same direction that can accompany you. Under no circumstances should you travel alone.”

He reached for a small sack containing three apples and handed them to his son. “Before starting each leg of your journey, you’ll go to the local inn with one of your apples. Look for someone who is going in your direction and is willing to peel the apple for you in exchange for sharing it. If he gives you the good, juicy part of the apple and keeps the pits and peels for himself, then you’ll know he is not the correct person to go with. If he keeps the flesh of the fruit for himself and gives you the peels and pits, then you’ll know he is the one who can guide you and accompany you, because the point of exile is in the pain.”

Yaakov took the apples, his eyes welling up with tears. After one final round of hugs and kisses, he hitched his pack over his shoulder and parted from his parents.

He went directly to the local inn and inquired about travelers headed in a certain direction. He was pointed to a group of merchants, and he approached one of them. “Excuse me, sir, but would you mind peeling this apple for me, and then we’ll share it?”

“Sure,” the man responded. He carefully peeled the apple, sliced it, and handed Yaakov the juicy fruit, keeping the peels and pits for himself.

“Thank you so much,” Yaakov told him, accepting the peeled apple. He began the first leg of his journey with this group of merchants, taking care to keep his distance from the kindly one who had peeled him the apple, as his father had instructed. It was a long and difficult trip, and he was very lonely, but he followed his father’s instructions carefully.

When the first leg of the trip was completed, he entered the nearest inn and repeated the same procedure he had done at the first inn. He very much hoped that this time he would manage to find a companion to share not just his apple with, but also the difficult journey. He was only twelve years old, and traveling alone was a little too overwhelming for him.

At the second inn, he easily found someone who agreed to peel his apple in exchange for sharing it. The man gave him the good part of the fruit and kept the peels and pits to himself. Yaakov understood that this man, too, was not one he could count on during his journey, and he kept as far away from the man as he could during the second leg of his difficult, turbulent, and lonely journey.

After much traveling, the wagon finally stopped off in front of an inn, and the passengers all disembarked. Many of them had reached their destination, but Yaakov still had a way to travel until he reached his uncle’s home. Clutching his third and final apple, he went inside the inn to find someone to peel it for him.

In the third inn, he didn’t have any problem finding someone to peel his apple. This time, however, he noted with relief that the man who peeled the apple helped himself to the juicy flesh and gave him only the peels and pits. Yaakov’s face lit up. Finally, he wouldn’t have to be alone!

“Thank you for peeling my apple,” he told the man. “Would you mind if we traveled together? I’m going to my uncle’s house.”

“No problem,” the man agreed. “My name is Yechiel; what’s yours?”

“Yaakov,” the boy responded. They began speaking in learning, and Yechiel was impressed with the depth and breadth of Yaakov’s knowledge. The last leg of Yaakov’s trip was a very lengthy one, but it was easier for him since he had Yechiel’s company.

The two spent many hours engrossed in discussion, and they soon became very close. As they neared the city where Yaakov’s uncle lived, he decided to confide in his older friend. In a hushed voice, he told Yechiel about the circumstances that had led up to him leaving home. “I am destined to die in less than a year, although I’m hoping this exile will be atonement enough,” he explained, and then he started to cry.

Yechiel placed a comforting hand around his shoulders. “Shh, Yaakov,” he whispered warmly. “Shh. It will be good. Everything will be fine. I’m willing to help you get to your uncle’s house. I’ll go first, just to let him know that you’re coming. When you get there, I want you to tell him the entire story. Then, ask him to build you a bunker under the ground, where you’ll be able to reside. Living underground in a bunker, it will be as though you are already buried, fulfilling that part of your sentence.”

Yaakov’s eyes grew wide as he heard the man’s suggestion. Suddenly, Yechiel didn’t seem like an ordinary merchant, but like a tzaddik with tremendous wisdom and the ability to help him retain his life passed his next birthday. He listened carefully.

“Your uncle should set you up with four chavrusahs for the next year,” Yechiel continued. “You will learn with one of them from midnight until noon, and with the next one from noon until midnight. Then you will learn with the third one from midnight until noon, and the fourth one from noon until midnight, before resuming with the first one from midnight to noon. You’ll keep up this cycle for a full year, never stopping to learn until you literally fall asleep from tiredness. But as soon as you manage to regain some strength, you’ll open your eyes and get right back to learning.”

Yaakov nodded. It sounded incredibly difficult, but he was determined to do it. He remained on the wagon as Yechiel rode ahead by horse to inform Yaakov’s uncle of his impending arrival. Soon, Yaakov arrived, and his uncle embraced him warmly. Both could not contain their tears.

His uncle immediately built the underground bunker and arranged for chavrusahs for Yaakov. For the next year, Yaakov learned all day and all night – quite literally. Having a cycle of four chavrusahs around the clock ensured that they were always fresh and ready to learn, and they kept him energized as well. He did nothing else but sit in the underground bunker and learn nonstop.

As the night of Yaakov’s thirteenth birthday approached, Yaakov’s uncle knew that the time of reckoning was about to come. They had tried their best, and now Hashem would decide what would happen.

However, the uncle understood that as long as Yaakov was engrossed in learning, there was no way that the Angel of Death would be able to claim him. In order to ensure that Yaakov would not be distracted for even a millisecond, his uncle arranged for twenty chavrusahs to sit with him in the bunker that night. All twenty of them would be tasked with ensuring that Yaakov’s mind did not veer away from learning for any length of time.

The night of his birthday came. Yaakov sat in the bunker, surrounded by the twenty chavrusahs who were all speaking to him in learning. When one fell silent, the next one jumped in, as they tried to make sure that he remained focused on learning.

But then someone strange began to happen. All twenty of the chavrusahs began to feel extremely drowsy. Yaakov suddenly realized that all of them had fallen asleep. He was now on his own. It was up to him to continue learning without distractions. There was no one else to help him.

He bent over his Gemara and began to learn with a renewed sense of energy, singing the words with zest. The clock ticked closer to chatzos, and as he contemplated a difficulty in the Gemara, he noticed a crack opening up in the ceiling of the bunker. His mind still trained on the Gemara, he watched as a rope was lowered through the crack. It wrapped itself around his neck and began to lift him into the air.

Hanging from the string, Yaakov couldn’t breathe anymore, and he lost consciousness. However, while his body had begun to shut down, his mind was still able to see everything that was going on. He realized that if Hashem wanted him to die, he was completely powerless to stop the decree from being carried out.

Suddnely, he saw his friend Yechiel enter the bunker. With a single snap, he tore the rope and caught the choking boy in his arms. Yaakov opened his yes and realized that he’d experienced a complete miracle. He realized that Yechiel was no ordinary man, but Eliyahu Hanavi himself disguised as a merchant.

“Your father is a tremendous tzaddik, and it was in his merit that you were born,” Eliyahu told him. “But you were destined to die, and that was a decree from Shamayim. It is impossible to outsmart the Malach Hamaves. However, there was one thing you did have working for you, and that was your extraordinary hasmadah. Because you reached the highest levels of diligence, you merited to be saved from death.”

Yaakov was too overcome to respond, but Eliyahu Hanavi was not finished. “Tomorrow morning, you will leave the bunker and tell your uncle that you survived the decree,” he instructed. “You will marry his daughter, and a few months later, Hashem will bless you with a son. Don’t make the bris until you see me outside in the sun.”

With those final words, he disappeared.

Thirty minutes passed, and the group of slumbering chavrusahs began to awaken. They saw the rope hanging through the ceiling, and they panicked, realizing that they had been derelict in their duty to learn with Yaakov  the entire night. To their great relief, however, they found Yaakov alive and well, and he told them the entire story.

In the morning, Yaakov emerged from the bunker for the first time since he’d arrived. He told his uncle what Eliyahu Hanavi had told him, that he’d survived only because of his hasmadah.

True to Eliyahu’s directive, Yaakov married his uncle’s daughter, and they were blessed with a son nine months later. The bris was a packed affair. The entire town had come to join in Yaakov’s simcha, and they waited eagerly for the bris to begin.

Yaakov, now all of fourteen years old, however, was not ready to start. “I’m waiting for a guest,” he kept saying. No one could figure out who was missing, since the entire town was present, but they tried to be patient as they waited for the father of the newborn to be ready.

After three hours of waiting, Eliyahu Hanavi entered the room. No one saw him other than Yaakov, who finally allowed the bris to begin. Eliyahu sat down at the baby’s chair and blessed both father and son. For Yaakov, it was a tremendous moment, cementing the atonement he’d merited to achieve through his astounding hasmadah.

Have a Wonderful Shabbos!

This story is taken from tape #A231