Hillel was a Sephardic Jew who lived in Tunisia, home to a tremendous Jewish community at that time. One day, he was walking in the street when he saw a short, thin Arab child crying bitterly. The boy appeared no older than twelve years old, with dark hair and sorrowful eyes, and despite the fact that he wasn’t a Jewish child, Hillel’s compassion was aroused.

“What’s the matter?” he asked the boy kindly. “Is everything okay?”

The boy’s entire body was shaking along with his sobs, and he had trouble getting the words of out his throat. Eventually, however, he managed to tell Hillel that his parents had been killed just a few days previously. He was all alone in the world, with no one to look after him and nowhere to go. He was hungry and lonely and terribly afraid.

Hillel felt his heart go out to the pitiful boy. “What is your name, child?” he asked gently.

“Achmed,” the boy responded, hiccupping. “Please, sir, you look like a kind man. I know that the Jewish people are so generous. Would you please do me a favor and give me something to eat?”

“Of course,” Hillel agreed, and he led the boy to his house. Soon, Achmed was sitting at the table alongside Hillel’s children, eating a warm and filling lunch.

One meal led to two, and soon Achmed became a permanent fixture in Hillel’s home. He moved in and adapted naturally to their busy family lifestyle. From the outset, it was clear that Achmed was different – he was a Muslim, he wasn’t Jewish – but he was accepted easily by Hillel’s children and was part and parcel of the family. He reciprocated by making himself useful and acting as the family’s Shabbos goy.

Life at Hillel’s home was good for Achmed, where he was treated with kindness and respect. Hillel sent him to school, an Arab school, so that he could learn to read and write just like his Jewish ‘siblings’. This was an opportunity that many poor Arab children never had, and Achmed was incredibly grateful for it. He was blessed with a sharp mind, and he excelled in his studies.

The years passed quickly, and soon Achmed was all grown up. At eighteen years old, he was no longer the timid orphan he’d been when Hillel found him, and he was itching to finally establish a life of his own.

“I owe you a tremendous thank you for the many years that you’ve cared for me,” he told Hillel and his wife one evening. “However, it was always clear that one day our paths would separate. You’re Jewish and I’m not, and now that I’m old enough to manage on my own, there’s no reason for me to continue living in an environment so foreign from my own native culture. I’m ready to move on.”

Hillel and his wife immediately understood. While they had come to regard Achmed fondly, they knew that he was right. They had given Achmed a home when he had none, but now that he was capable of fending for himself, it was time for them to part.

“I received a scholarship to the university,” Achmed confided in them as he stood by the door with his luggage a few days later. “I will be heading directly there to continue my studies. I have no words to thank you for providing me with food and shelter for the past six years, and for sending me to school. It’s thanks to you that I can now further my education even more.”

Hillel and his family waved as Achmed loaded up his wagon and rode out of their lives.

Achmed was very successful in university, where he was well liked by teachers and students alike. After graduation, he snagged a great job and was promoted rapidly. After a few years, he was appointed mayor of the city of1 Kairouan.

Kairouan had once been home to a thriving Jewish community. Famous tzaddikim, such as Rabbeinu Chananel and Reb Nissin Gaon lived and were buried there. However, eventually the Jews were driven from Kairouan by anti-Semites, and by the time Achmed became mayor of the city, it had only Muslim inhabitants.

Many years passed. As Achmed continued to reside and mingle within his own people, Achmed’s native hatred of Jews began to come back to him. His parents, when they’d been alive, had drilled into him that all Jews were to be despised, but during his time in Hillel’s home, he’d learned to respect and even love the Jewish people.

Now, however, the years he’d spent as part of Hillel’s household were but a distant dream, and with sinas Yisroel so widespread around him, his inborn loathing of Jews was reignited. He became an outspoken anti-Semite who spewed hatred of Jews at every possible occasion. In the city he ruled, however, there were no Jews, so there wasn’t much practical action he could take against the nation he detested so badly.

One day, sitting in his office and going about his usual business, he suddenly recalled Hillel, the kind Jew who had given him a home for six years. Instead of the feelings of gratitude and warmth that he might have expected to feel for the man who had taken in him in during his most desperate moments, Achmed only felt boiling rage.

“For six years, I lived in a Jewish house and ate Jewish food,” he said aloud through clenched teeth. “For six years, I was like a slave to a Jewish family, lighting their fires on their Sabbath. This is an unforgivable sin! A Jew took a pure Muslim child and raised him in his filthy household! What a disgrace!”

From that moment on, all his thoughts were focused around one topic exclusively: revenge. He wanted to take revenge on Hillel, the dirty Jew who had dared to care for a holy Muslim orphan. It took a few days for him to concoct a plan, but soon, he hit upon the perfect idea.

He took out a paper and ink and began to pen a missive to his long-ago benefactor.

Dear Hillel,

Greetings! It’s Achmed, writing from the city of Kairouan. I hope you and your family are well. We haven’t been in touch for many years, and I wanted to bring you up to date on the events in my life. You will probably not believe it, but the lonely orphan you took in many years ago is now the mayor of the city of Kairouan!  I know you always hoped for the best for me, and I succeeded in surpassing your wildest dreams. I am a very wealthy man today, with a large estate and a huge staff of servants.

Of course, all of this is only thanks to your wonderful hospitality. You were the one who paid for my early schooling and made sure I got top marks. It was only due to this that I received a scholarship to a top university and got a great job, eventually becoming the mayor of Kairouan. Everything I am today and everything I have is all in your merit.

I would very much appreciate if you could come visit me here, to see the fruits of your labor with your own eyes. I would love to host you and provide you with a gift to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Please be aware, however, that Jews are forbidden to enter the city, and those who don’t obey are executed. Therefore, come dressed as a Muslim so that you are not recognized.

Please write back and let me know when to expect you so that I can come greet you.

Fondly,

Achmed

Achmed reread the letter and tucked it into an envelope with a satisfied air. Calling in one of his aides, he instructed him to bring the envelope to Hillel’s home in a nearby city. Then he sat back in his seat, an evil smile playing on his lips.

Hillel received the letter a few days later and could not decide what to do. On one hand, he was happy to hear from the man who had once been his houseguest, and he wanted to see Achmed’s successes with his own eyes. At the same time, the danger of entering Kairouan was real. How could he possibly walk into the lion’s den on his own free will?

Then he remembered the great tzaddikim who were buried in Kairouan’s cemetery. For decades, no Jew had merited to pray at their gravesites. Now, he was being given the golden opportunity to visit the resting place of Reb Nissim Gaon, Reb Chushiel Gaon, Rabbeinu Chananel and many others. How could he forgo the chance to daven at such a holy cemetery?

This final thought clinched his decision, and he hastily penned a letter to return to Achmed with the messenger.

Dear Achmed,

It was so nice to hear from you after so many years! I was glad to learn that you were so successful! Thank you for your kind invitation. I would very much like to come see you. Additionally, I’d appreciate if you could take me to the Jewish cemetery when I come. I’m sure that as mayor, you have access to the key to the cemetery.

I plan to leave in a month, and I should be there on the third Monday of the month.

Sincerely,

Hillel

Two weeks later, the messenger was back with another letter from Achmed. Hillel opened the envelope and scanned its contents.

Dear Hillel,

It was with much joy that I read your letter. I can’t wait to welcome you to Kairouan. I’ll be waiting for you in the marketplace when you arrive. Don’t forget to disguise yourself as a Muslim, and don’t tell anyone that you are Jewish.

I will be glad to take you to the Jewish cemetery, and afterward we’ll go to my home, where we’ll be able to spend time together catching up. I will make sure to have fruits and vegetables, since I know you won’t eat in my home.

Looking forward to greeting you!

Achmed

Hillel left his city as planned, taking along a set of Muslim garments. Somewhere along the journey, he changed his attire so that he was completely unrecognizable as a Jew. When his wagon rolled through the checkpoint at the entrance of the city of Kairouan, the guards waved him in without incident, never dreaming that he wasn’t a full-fledged Muslim.

Hillel made his way to the marketplace, feeling a little nervous. He trusted Achmed, but being disguised in a city so hostile to Jews made him feel uneasy. Trying to still his frantically beating heart, he looked around carefully for Achmed. Would he even recognize the man after so many years?

And then he saw him. There was Achmed, a little rounder, his hair a little thinner, but still with the same dark eyes he knew so well. Hillel began walking quickly toward his former guest. “Achmed!”

Achmed’s face lit up into a brilliant smile when he saw Hillel, and he hugged him warmly. “How are you, my friend?” he asked, studying the lines that had etched themselves on Hillel’s face with the passage of time. “It’s so good to see you! Come with me, and we’ll go straight to the cemetery.”

Hillel joined Achmed on his comfortable carriage, and the horses began galloping in the direction of the cemetery. The Jewish cemetery was located on the outskirts of the city, far from the inhabited areas, and it took some time for them to get there. On the way, they made small talk, catching up a little on the events of the previous years.

“This is it,” Achmed said at last, pointing at a tremendous wall looming in front of them. “The cemetery lies beyond this gate. It’s locked for security purposes, but I have the key, so we’ll be able to get inside.”

Hillel stepped down from the carriage, his knees trembling in anticipation as Achmed unlocked the tall stone fence. The gate swung open, and the cemetery lay open before him. He walked inside, his eyes drinking in the gravestones. Here was where so many geonim and tzaddikim were buried! He could hardly believe that he wasn’t dreaming. He began walking through the cemetery, scanning the inscriptions on the grave markers for the kivrei tzaddikim.

Achmed tagged along beside him, apparently curious. He wore a strange expression on his face that Hillel couldn’t exactly interpret. Suddenly, the Muslim stopped walking. “Cursed Jew!” he snarled, spitting at Hillel’s face.

Hillel abruptly stopped walking and wiped his face, staring at Achmed in shock. It was the last thing he’d been expecting.

But Achmed wasn’t done. “Cursed Jew!” he roared again, pulling out a sharp blade. “You think I brought you here to thank you? I brought you here to kill you! You deserve nothing short of death, and even a quick, easy death with this knife is not enough for you!”

Hillel’s face turned white, realizing that the letter and Achmed’s friendliness had been nothing but a honeyed trap. He stared at the gleaming blade in horror, his legs frozen to the ground.

“I can kill you this second, but I’m not going to do that,” Achmed said, grinning wickedly. “Instead, I will lock you into this cemetery, where you will eventually starve to death. You can start digging your grave if you’d like! This is where  your life ends.”

Hillel wanted to run, but he found that he could not move. Besides, there was nowhere to run to. Achmed had already slammed the stone door shut and was turning the key in the lock, his evil laugh echoing across the empty field. He was stuck, trapped inside the cemetery.

As soon as he regained control of his limbs, he began to walk around the perimeter of the cemetery, searching the stone fence for a way out. But there was nothing. Not a tree that he could climb to reach the top of the fence, not a stone sticking out from the wall that he could use to pull himself up. There was no rope or wood to make a ladder. Nothing but a cemetery full of graves.

Suddenly, Hillel remembered just why he’d decided to take Achmed up on his invitation. It wasn’t to see the Arab he’d raised in his home, but to visit kivrei tzaddikim. He was trapped in the cemetery, but he was together with so many holy sages. This newfound thought gave him energy and optimism, and he continued searching for their resting places.

Soon, he found them. All three tzaddikim – Reb Nissim Gaon, Reb Chushiel Gaon, and Rabbeinu Chananel—were all buried near each other. Removing his shoes out of respect for the venerated Torah giants, he threw himself at their graves and began to weep. “Ribbono Shel Olam! I risked my life to come here only for the purpose of davening by the kivrei tzaddikim. Please, in the merit of these tzaddikim, save me!” For the next few hours, he prayed intensely at the three kevarim.

When it started to get dark, he decided to make a last-ditch effort to find a way out of the cemetery before he would be forced to stay there for the night. He walked to the heavy stone door and tried to push it open. To his immense surprise, the door gave. It wasn’t locked!

Hillel realized that Hashem had performed a great miracle for him. Tears pooled in his eyes as he thanked and blessed Hashem from the depths of his heart for saving his life. Then his legs began to move, on instinct, carrying him away from the cemetery as fast as they could.

He was still dressed as a Muslim, so it wasn’t dangerous for him to be seen in Kairouan by those who didn’t know him, but he was terrified of bumping into Achmed. Avoiding the main streets, he hitched the first ride he could find out of the city.

He spent the entire journey home in perpetual fear of Achmed. There was no way of knowing whether the hate-crazed mayor had realized that his victim had escaped, and Hillel worried that he was on his trail. Instead of traveling directly home, he took a winded, roundabout route, where he would be safer. Eventually, he arrived in his hometown, still shaking with fear, and recounted the entire story to his family.

Soon, the incredible story began making its rounds throughout the city. Everyone was talking about the miracle that Hillel had experienced, and the tale soon reached the ears of the city’s rav, a holy tzaddik named Rav Yehoshua Bistritz. When the rav heard the story, he called for Hillel, wanting to hear a first-hand account of the story with his own ears. He was amazed by the miracle that Hashem had performed in the merit of the tremendous tzaddikim buried in Kairouan.

One thing bothered Rav Yehoshua tremendously about the story, and that was Achmed’s complete lack of hakaras hatov. Not only did he not appreciate everything that Hillel had done for him, he had actually tried to stab his benefactor in the back. This attitude was something that he could not just let rest. He decided to take things to the next level, to teach Achmed a public lesson so that everyone who would hear about Achmed’s abominable behavior could learn how not to behave.

Rav Yehoshua Bistritz was a well-respected rav, renowned throughout Tunisia. He knew that the ruler of Tunisia, a Muslim who treated the Jews fairly, would hear him out if he came to him with the story. “Hillel, I want you to come with me to the ruler,” he said. “We will tell him the story, and hopefully he will be able to help us.”

Together, the rav and the simple Jew traveled to the capital city to meet with the ruler. As expected, the ruler was glad to meet the famed rabbi of the Jews, and he received them graciously. Hearing the story, he, too, found it difficult to digest the terrible low that Achmed had reached, to turn against his own benefactor in such a despicable way.

“And he’s the mayor of Kairouan no less,” the ruler mused angrily. “He’s supposed to be a role model for his subjects, not the epitome of evil. Thank you for this information. I will take care of it. And don’t worry; I will do it in a way that will not reflect negatively on your community. I don’t want to instigate a riot against the Jews.”

The ruler then called for two of his soldiers. “I want you to go to Kairouan, to the home of the mayor, and bring him here,” he said. “But he shouldn’t ride in a comfortable carriage. Tie his body, using iron chains, to the tail of a horse, and drag him through the streets. However, be mindful that he doesn’t die on the journey here, since I want to speak to him.”

The soldiers did as commanded and made their way to the city of Kairouan. When they reached Achmed’s home and handed him the summons, he was quite agreeable at first. “I’ll just get my slaves and my carriage ready,” he told the soldiers. “I’ll come to see him right away.”

“I’m sorry, but we are under orders to do things a different way,” one of the soldiers said apologetically. Both of the military men were extremely tall and robust, and before Achmed could protest, they lifted him off the ground and carried him to the waiting horse.

“Stop, what are you doing to me?!” Achmed yelled furiously as they  bound his body to the tail of the horse using stiff iron chains. “I’m the mayor of the city! I’ll have you killed for this!”

“These were our orders from the ruler,” the soldiers reminded him, not paying attention to his threats. They tied his head, his hands, and his feet, wrapping the cord around him and the horse multiple times to ensure they were tied together securely. Then the soldiers jumped onto the wagon and began to drive the horses.

While the capital city was not far from Kairouan, the journey took a long time, since the horse had to go slow enough to avoid killing Achmed, who was being dragged along the entire time. By the time they reached the capital, the disgraced mayor was raw and bleeding from the many stones that had scraped his body along the way.

When he was finally brought before the ruler, he could no longer stand on his own two feet and had to be carried in by the soldiers.

The ruler glanced at him briefly, not appreciating the sight of the broken and bruised man. “How are you, mayor?”

“Your Excellency,” Achmed croaked. “Is there a mistake? If this was your will, then I bear the pain gladly, but I can’t think of anything I may have done that would justify this kind of punishment.”

“Perhaps I can help you jog your memory,” the ruler offered. He whispered something to his servant, who hastily left the room. Moments later, Hillel and Rav Yehoshua Bistritz appeared in the room.

Achmed was in so much pain that he didn’t even try to identify the two Jews. “I don’t understand,” he said weakly.

“Don’t you recognize this man?” the ruler asked, placing a hand on Hillel’s shoulder.

Now the mayor’s face turned an ugly shade of red before the blood drained, rendering him completely colorless. His eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as he realized that it was none other than Hillel, his benefactor, the man who was supposed to have died months earlier. With startling clarity, he understood that not only had Hillel escaped, but he had related the story to the ruler.

Achmed closed his eyes. He was well familiar with the Muslim torture methods, and he knew that this was soon to be his fate. His body was already weakened from the considerable loss of blood, and just the thought of being tortured was too much for him to handle. From the fear alone, his heart gave and he died.

The ruler was not satisfied with Achmed’s death, however. He wanted to do more, to thank Hillel for his actions and to rectify the pain Achmed had caused. “From now on, Jews will be allowed to enter the city of Kairouan, so that they can pray at the cemetery where their holy rabbis are buried,” he declared, flicking his finger at a scribe to commit the new edict to paper.

The rav and Hillel thanked him emotionally. This was indeed a huge favor for the Jewish community.

“Not only that,” the ruler added, “but I will personally establish a new Jewish quarter in Kairouan, so that Jews can move back to the city where they used to reside for so many decades. Under my protection, you will be able to reestablish yourselves there.”

Later, when Hillel and the rav returned to their city, the rav stood up one day after davening to address the crowd. “It says, maishiv ra’ah tachas tova, lo samish ra’ah m’baiso (mishlei 17,13). If someone returns evil instead of good, evil will never leave his home. This is something in life that we can never forget. While a gentile might backstab the person who helped him when he needed help most, a Jew has an attitude of gratitude. Our hakaras hatov toward those who assist us and provide good for us is inborn, and it is this attitude of gratitude that enables us to properly thank and serve Hashem.”

Have a Wonderful Shabbos!

This story is taken from tape # TG124