The Melamed and the Barrel of Wine

The melamed sat in misery and despair. For two years he had worked and saved, and now what would he do? The picture of his family in their new clothes, eager to greet him, was quickly replaced by the faces of his creditors. How would he repay his debts? From where would his salvation come? As he sat and wept, he remembered how he had come to this.

He had once been a wine merchant. He was not rich, but he could provide for his family. Then disaster struck. That year the grapes failed to thrive across the whole crop, and his wine was poor. It was weak and tasteless, with no color, no body and no aroma, and it would ruin his good name. He was ruined.

Not wanting his family to suffer poverty and shame, he went to Hungary. He borrowed money to cover his family's needs and hired himself out as a melamed to a wealthy wine merchant.

Two hard years passed. Far from the family he missed so much, he taught the merchant's sons Torah with devotion. In his spare time he helped in the winery, using his long experience to advise the Hungarian merchant on his wine, and the business prospered. The merchant paid his melamed gladly and even gave him a bonus.

Before Pesach the man from Vizhnitz went to his employer and said, "I miss my family, and I have worked faithfully for two years. Please let me go home." The merchant agreed and added a barrel of good wine for Yom Tov. "I will hide my money in the barrel," the melamed reasoned. "Once it is sealed, no thieves can steal it on the road home."

Since it was before Pesach, another merchant from the melamed's hometown had come to do business with the Hungarian winemaker, and he bought many barrels to sell in Vizhnitz. "Can you do me a big favor and bring my barrel back with yours?" asked the melamed. "Of course," the merchant from Vizhnitz said with a smile.

They reached Vizhnitz, and the melamed collected his barrel, opened it and found it empty. Or rather, it was full of wine, but the money he had hidden was gone. "That merchant either switched the barrels or stole the money from mine," he concluded. He confronted the merchant, who denied switching anything and denied knowing anything about hidden cash. The melamed was sick with worry and dread. What would he do now?

At last he got to his feet and went outside for some air, to think. On the way he passed the Rav of Vishnitz, Rav Aryeh Leibush. "Shalom Aleichem," said the Rav. "Why so glum? I have not seen you for years, and now you come back and do not even come in to say Shalom Aleichem. What is wrong? You look so worried."

"Oh Rebbe," the melamed burst into tears. "Please help me. The local wine merchant stole all the money I worked so hard to earn these years, and he denies it. What am I to do? How will I face my family? How will I face my creditors and repay my debts?" "Tell me the whole story," said the tzaddik. After hearing it, the Rav said, "Do not worry. I have a plan."

The next day a proclamation went out from all the gabbaim to every shul, beis medrash and Jewish business. By strict order of the Rav, the wine brought back from Hungary was under suspicion of being yayin nesech (wine handled by gentiles, which is not kosher). No one was to buy it for Pesach or for the entire year, and the Rav ruled it forbidden.

The wine merchant heard the news and was stunned. "I am ruined," he cried. "I put a fortune into the finest Hungarian wine. This must have something to do with that melamed. I have to go straight to the Rav and protest."

When he reached the Rav's door, Rav Aryeh Leibush was waiting calmly for him. "Kavod HaRav, there must be a mistake," the merchant stammered. "This wine is kosher. I bought it from a Jewish merchant in Hungary known for his honesty, and here is the kosher certificate from the town's rav."

He shifted his weight from foot to foot as the Aryeh Dvei Illay slowly looked over the certificate and sighed. "I am afraid there is no mistake," he said. "The kashrus of the wine at its source is impeccable, but there is the matter of the gentile workers who transported the barrels. Their handling has made the wine unfit and forbidden. Though it was once kosher, it is no longer. And now I have other matters that need my attention today."

Pretending to end the meeting had its effect. "What? Rabbi, how can you say this? The barrels are sealed and were never opened," argued the wine merchant. "Then the gentile workers must have switched them," said Rav Aryeh Leibush. "Do you deny that the melamed gave you a barrel to bring back for him? Do you deny that he says his money was in that barrel and is now missing? Since you deny knowing anything about it, this is what must have happened. They switched all your barrels, opened them and stole his money, and now all the wine is not kosher."

Seeing that he was about to lose his entire investment, the merchant hung his head in shame and admitted his guilt. "No, Rebbe. I admit it. I switched the barrels. But I am no thief, and I took no money. I thought he was only making that part up. I assumed the melamed, who is friendly with his Hungarian employer, would be given first-rate, expensive wine, so I thought, let me give him one of my barrels, he will not know the difference anyway. I did not mean to cheat or steal. Please, Rebbe, believe me. I will find his barrel and get him back his money. Please cancel your ruling. I will be left penniless. Think of my poor family."

"It was you who would have left the melamed penniless," said the Rav. "Did you think of his family? Still, if your claim is true and you return the barrel, it will prove that the barrels are sealed and never left your supervision. Then I will make sure the town knows that your wine is kosher."

By that evening the melamed had his money back. He thanked Rav Aryeh Leibush warmly and paid his creditors. He sat smiling and rejoicing with his family while a new proclamation went out in Vishnitz. The Rav had examined new evidence and found the wine kosher, and it was safe to buy for Yom Tov.