The Torah is made up of two components, the hidden and the revealed. Toras haNiglah, the revealed Torah, includes Gemara and Agadah, while Toras haNistar, the hidden Torah contains Kabbalah, which is concealed from the common man. Only the greatest of tzaddikim delved into the hidden Torah and the secrets it contains.

During the times of the rishonim, Rav Yehuda HaChasid was very well versed in all the secrets of Kabbalah. While he did not discuss these secrets with anyone, Rav Yehudah Hachasid chose to divulge everything he knew about Kabbalah to one of his closest disciples, Rav Eliezer of Worms, known as the Rokeach. This was to ensure that the kabbalistic teachings would not be forgotten from klal Yisrael with the passing of generations.

The Rokeach was a tremendous tzaddik and an ascetic who derived little enjoyment from physical pleasures in This World. He was so holy and pure that he fasted every single day of the week and only ate on Shabbos. His body was therefore very gaunt and unbelievably weak.

He lived in Ashkenaz, where he served as rav of a town, during a very difficult time in Jewish history, when the gentiles tried to force the Jews to convert to their faith. Thousands of Jews were murdered al kiddush Hashem when they refused to give up their Yiddishkeit and instead gave up their lives.

As rav, he had a front row seat to the tremendous suffering that the members of his community underwent. Many of the Jews in his town were burned to death when they refused to renounce their belief in Hashem. The vicious gentiles even forced him to witness as they butchered his wife, his two daughters, and his son before his very eyes. Despite the danger, he remained in town so that he could be with his community during their grimmest hour.

As the Rokeach aged, he realized that he alone bore responsibility for transmitting his knowledge of kabbalah to a new generation. In the Spanish and Moroccan communities of Sefarad, there were many tzaddikim who were versed in Kabbalah such as the Raavad and Rav Yitzchak Saginahar. However, in the Ashkenazic lands of Germany and France, where he lived, there wasn’t really anyone who knew the hidden Torah, and it was his duty to ensure that it would nevertheless endure.

When he heard about the holy Ramban, a great gaon and tzaddik who had written a commentary on Chumash and Shas, the Rokeach decided that this was the man to whom he would transfer everything he’d learned about kabbalah from his own rebbi, Reb Yehuda Hachassid. As reluctant as he was to take leave of his community, he knew that teaching the Ramban kabbalah was vital for the continuity of this teaching in Ashkenaz, and so he began to prepare for the trip to visit the Ramban.

When he told his students and his remaining family members about his plans, they were understandably devastated. “How can you leave us, like sheep without a shepherd, during this terrible time? You can’t leave now!”

He tried to explain to them how important it was, considering the fact that he did not have much time left in the world. The winter was ending, the weather was better for traveling, and he wanted to set out immediately.

This led them to try a new line of reasoning. “How can you leave before Pesach?” his students argued. “The most difficult halachic queries come to you before Pesach. You need to be here, for your community, to answer their questions.”

The Rokeach heard them out, and seemed to agree that it was unfair to leave the community during such a busy time. “I will leave after chatzos on erev Pesach,” he told his students. “I’ll be here to rule on all the halachic issues that present themselves before Pesach. By chatzos, after everyone is anyway ready, I’ll be able to leave.”

His students looked at each other. “But on erev Pesach after chatzos, one is not even allowed to travel from one city to the next,” one of them dared to say. “The Ramban lives much further than just the next city. How will Rebbi get there before yom tov?”

The Rokeach didn’t seem perturbed by this. “You worry about your things, and I’ll worry about mine,” he said mildly. “And remember that all questions can be asked until erev Pesach at chatzos.”

Immediately after Purim, the shailos began pouring in. Most of the Rokeach’s time was occupied with ruling on halachic matters pertaining to Pesach. He continued accepting and answering questions throughout the morning on erev Pesach. Then he burned his chametz and packed up his bags.

His students, who had never really accepted the fact that he would be leaving them, began to cry. “How can you leave us now, on erev Pesach?” they wailed.

The Rokeach took a few matzos and gave firm instructions that he not be followed. Then, with the sounds of his talmidim weeping accompanying the squeaking of the wagon wheels, he left town.

About thirty minutes into the journey, while the wagon rolled along a dirt path in the forest, the Rokeach instructed the wagon driver to let him off. “You continue onward, and I’ll stay here,” he explained, gesturing at the trees surrounding them.

The driver waited for him to disembark and then whipped the horses, riding off in a cloud of dust. Now the Rokeach was standing in the forest, all alone.

He walked until he found a deserted clearing, away from the road. It was a secluded and peaceful spot, untainted by the hands of man. His holy senses could feel that the air was truly pure and free of spiritual contamination. Closing his eyes, he began concentrating on kabbalah, performing a kabbalistic ritual to have kefitzas haderech, a shortened journey. Minutes later, he was in the town of the Ramban.

It was still early afternoon on erev Pesach, and so the Rokeach decided to go the local shul to wait for the Ramban. The shul was empty when he arrived, and he settled down at the back of the bais medrash to wait.

The door of the shul swung open, and a distinguished looking talmid chacham entered, escorted on both sides by students. The Rokeach immediately deduced that this was the holy Ramban. The Ramban, too, noticed the Rokeach, since there was no one else in the room. However, the Rokeach was dressed in tattered clothing like a wandering pauper, and he had no idea who he was.

Seeing a newcomer to town, the Ramban approached the Rokeach and held out his hand in greeting. “Shalom aleichem.”

“Aleichem shalom,” the Rokeach responded, shaking his hand.

“Would you like to be my guest for Pesach?” the Ramban offered with a kind smile.

“Thank you, I would like that very much,” the Rokeach responded. “I will be your guest on condition that you allow me to deliver a speech in shul.”

The Ramban was slightly taken aback by this. He sized up the Rokeach, who was dressed like a typical beggar, and tried to think of a tactful response. Before he managed to reply, however, the shul began to fill up with people and davening began.

When the tefillos were over, the gabbai gave a loud bang on the bimah. “Rabbosai!” he thundered. “Don’t forget that tomorrow, the first day of Pesach, coincides with the gentile holiday of Easter. It is dangerous to walk through the main streets during daytime. All women and children should remain at home. Men should be careful to use only the side streets when coming to shul. Too many tragedies have happened in past years. May Hashem help us that there should be no more sacrifices this year.”

In the city where the Ramban lived, the gentiles did not allow Jews to be on the streets during Easter. Any Jew caught on the streets was burned by the bloodthirsty mobs. The Jews were therefore very careful to avoid all the main roads and only use the side roads if they had to get somewhere.

The people began to stream out of the shul, worried expressions on their faces. No one knew what the next day would bring, but for now, it was leil shimurim. It was time to conduct the seder and remember the miracles that Hashem performed to ensure the continuity of His nation.

The Rokeach joined the Ramban on his way home from shul. The house was full of children and students, and they made place around the table for their new guest. The Rokeach took out his matzos and sat quietly throughout the seder, his head bent over a sefer. He did not participate in the divrei Torah and Torah battles that flew across the table. No one paid much attention to the unassuming guest.

The Ramban’s seder took the entire night, only ending when the sun came out. When everyone stood up to leave the table, the Ramban looked apologetically at his guest. “Would you like to rest now for a few hours?”

“I will sleep in the hekdesh,” the Rokeach responded, referring to the hostel that had been set up by the Jewish community for paupers.

“Please make sure to use only the side streets on your way there,” the Ramban cautioned him. “It’s dangerous to be in the main streets today.”

“I’ll be careful,” the Rokeach assured him. He thanked him for the seder and went to the hekdesh, but he did not sleep.

When it was time for Shacharis, there was a feeling of terror in the throats of every Jew. They slipped out their back doors and made their way through the alleyways to shul, taking care to remain out of sight. No one wanted to be the Easter victim of the year.

The Rokeach left the hekdesh and made his way to the main streets. A Jew, noticing from his window, called to him to come inside out of danger, but he ignored him. He walked leisurely down the main road toward the shul, seemingly oblivious to the danger awaiting him.

Within seconds, three gangsters descended upon him, locking him in their iron grip and binding his hands and feet. Their friends streamed toward them in all directions, congratulating them on their catch. They had their victim, and now it was time to have their fun.

As they dragged the Rokeach down the streets, the Jew who had witnessed the entire episode from his window hurried out his back door and burst hysterically into the shul. “The old beggar, that newcomer who ate the seder by the Ramban! They caught him!”

From outside, they could hear the jeers of the excited crowds. Then the town crier began to blare, “We’ve caught a Jew! We’ve caught a Jew! This year’s Easter celebration is ready to begin!”

The Ramban, hearing the news, felt terribly guilty. How had he allowed his guest to leave his home? He should have given him an escort at least, someone to protect him and ensure that he didn’t stumble into danger. When the time came for Hallel, he found that he couldn’t recite it. He couldn’t conjure up the feelings of joy that go part and parcel with Hallel when a Jew in his city was about to die.

The door of the shul suddenly burst open and the people shrunk back in fear. Two burly gentiles walked in, demanding to speak to the rabbi.

The Ramban stepped forward. “How can I help you?” he asked them.

“We want you to come witness the burning of the Jew,” the gentiles insisted. “You, and all the people in the shul.”

The Ramban closed his eyes momentarily. He understood that if he did not obey, the entire Jewish population of the city was in mortal danger. With no other choice, he removed his tallis and put on his coat. His students surrounded him protectively as he left the shul. Bringing up the rear was a group of Jews from the shul.

As they neared, they could hear the sounds of the priest’s fanatic yelling. When they got even closer, they could see him standing on a large platform as he shouted about the significance of their holiday and the importance of burning a Jew to bring harmony to the world. “Only if he becomes a Catholic can he escape death!” the priest thundered.

A large wooden cross was brought onto the stage, and the entire crowd of gentiles bowed. The Ramban, along with his students and the Jews from the shul, gasped in anguish as the Rokeach was tied to the cross. Tears rolled down their cheeks as they tried to avert their gaze.

“I now call upon the Jewish rabbi,” the priest suddenly declared. All eyes turned to the Ramban. “Come up here, and tell this man to become a Catholic so that he will be saved.”

The Ramban quietly made his way to the front of the square until he was face to face with his former guest.

The Rokeach opened his eyes. “Good yom tov,” he wished the Ramban.

The Ramban began to cry. “This is my fault,” he apologized. “I should never have let you leave my house. Please forgive me!” Then, instead of encouraging the condemned man the way the priest hoped, he added, “You must go to your death al kiddush Hashem. Don’t heed their calls to renounce your faith. Hashem elokeinu Hashem Echod!”

The Rokeach nodded. “Please, do me a favor,” he whispered.

The Ramban leaned forward. “What can I do for you?”

“Please don’t make kiddush until I come back,” the Rokeach replied. “And I want to say a speech in shul.”

The Ramban looked at him pityingly, sure that his former guest had lost his mind from fear. He stepped back as the priest stood up again.

“Accept this cross or else you will be burned,” the priest thundered.

“No,” the Rokeach said stubbornly.

Without another word, the priest motioned to his aides to pick up the Jew and toss him into the fire. The Jews were forced to watch as his body was burned to a crisp.

When it was finally over, the Jews returned to shul. Their heads were lowered and their eyes downcast. The Ramban went up to the amud to recite Hallel with tears pouring down his cheeks. They couldn’t sing Hallel and instead recited the words in a monotone. It was yom tov, but it could have well been Tisha B’Av.

After davening, the Ramban walked home with his students to eat the yom tov meal. They sat around the table, but all of them were broken. No one spoke. The Ramban could not even bring himself to say kiddush. He just sat in his seat, lost in his thoughts.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. To their shock, the very guest who had been with them at the seder the night before, the very man whom they had all witnessed being burned to death, was standing there, hale and hearty.

“Thank you for waiting for me for kiddush,” he said as he walked inside. “My name is Eliezer, and I come from Worms.”

The Ramban’s face paled. “Are you the Rokeach?” he asked in shock. He looked at his guest again. “This is the holy Rokeach,” he told his students. The two gedolim fell on each other’s shoulders and began to cry.

“Let me explain to you why I did this,” the Rokeach said after a while. “I did it because I wanted to teach you what Kabbalah means. They did not burn me. As soon as you stepped away, I said a certain sheim and left the bimah. Then I said a different sheim and put a gentile up there in my place. I made them think that the gentile looks like me. They burned him instead of me.”

The Ramban was amazed.

After Pesach, the two gedolim closeted themselves in a room for a few hours every day, and the Rokeach taught the Ramban the secrets of the Torah. For three weeks, they learned together every day until the Rokeach was satisfied that he’d transmitted the Toras haNistar that he’d learned from his own rebbi, to a new generation.

After the Rokeach returned home, the Ramban took out his commentary on Chumash and rewrote it. Having learned many new concepts and ideas from the Rokeach, he had much to add to make his pirush more complete.

The torch of kabbalah had been passed on.

Have a Wonderful Shabbos!

This story is taken from tape #A415