1502 (5787-03) 11 Tishrei 5787 (Sept. 22, 2026)

"An Etrog for Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur"

The Sinitieh synagogue administrators had never faced such a crisis before: Rosh Hashanah was about to begin, their hired cantor was sick, and no replacement was available.

Why This Week? The story flows from Yom Kippur to Sukkot

Story in PDF format for more convenient printng

An Etrog for Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur

Every year, without fail, as the season of Selichot arrived, the people of Sinitieh would see the same young man appear in town. He was a young Torah scholar with a small reddish beard and a handsome appearance.

Eventually, the townspeople developed a running joke:
"So, when do we start Selichot?"
"When that redhead gets here!"

The annual visitor would stay in town for nearly a month, remaining until after Sukkot. Then he would pack his belongings, say a friendly goodbye to 'Proykeh'[1] , the innkeeper with whom he always stayed-and disappear once again.

No one knew where he came from or where he was headed, who he really was or what he did. He was a private person, far more inclined to silence than speech, and he rarely engaged in conversation with the townspeople.

One thing they learned about him. His name was Yisrael ben Eliezer. This had been revealed when he was once called to the Torah during one of his visits.

One year, as usual, Yisrael arrived at Proykeh's inn, rented a room, and immersed himself in Torah study and spiritual preparation for the solemn month of Elul.

On the eve of Rosh Hashanah, the administrators of Sinitieh's main synagogue received word that their regular cantor had fallen ill. He was confined to bed with a high fever, his voice hoarse and barely audible. It was clear to everyone that there was no possibility that he would be able to lead the congregation in the prayers of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

The synagogue administrators were at a loss. They had never faced such a crisis before: Rosh Hashanah was about to begin, their cantor was sick, and there was no replacement.

As their anxiety grew, Proykeh approached them and said. "You know that young man staying at my inn? Yisraelik? I've come to know him as an upright and deeply religious person. What's more, I've heard him sing-he has a sweet and pleasant voice. I think he could lead the prayers."

The officials exchanged uneasy looks. Choosing someone to represent the community before G-d was no small matter. And this Yisraelik was perhaps too young, and practically a stranger. Nobody knew anything about him.

Proykeh, pleased with the idea he had suggested, urged them on. "Have him lead the Rosh Hashana evening service tonight," he suggested. "We'll hear his voice and gauge his seriousness. If the congregation likes him, he can lead Musaf [2] tomorrow as well."

The idea pleased the officials, and they assembled a distinguished delegation to approach Yisrael and invite him to serve as cantor. The young scholar looked them in the eyes, briefly considered the request, then quietly nodded.

That Rosh Hashanah evening, the people of Sinitieh heard a prayer unlike anything they had ever heard before. Yisrael's voice was gentle and beautiful. His melodies were filled with longing, pleading, and devotion. Within moments he had captured everyone's heart.

But it was more than his voice and melodies. There was something in the way he prayed-something difficult to describe-that stirred people deeply. His prayers awakened something within them, something powerful and personal.

By the end of the service, everyone agreed; they wanted him to lead them again the next day. When they approached him, he agreed with a gentle nod, while his face seemed to shine with a sublime light. For the first time, the people of Sinitieh began to suspect that this mysterious young visitor was no ordinary person.

The next day's Musaf was even more extraordinary. Yisrael lifted the congregation to spiritual heights they had never experienced before. For hours, they were swept up in an overwhelming inner experience. Hours after the prayers ended, the sound of his pleading, penitent voice continued to reverberate in their hearts.

During the Ten Days of Repentance, the regular cantor recovered enough to leave his bed. He was ready and eager to return to his position at the prayer stand, just as he had done for many consecutive years already.

But there was a problem. After experiencing Yisrael's prayers, the townspeople could not imagine switching back. They wanted the young scholar at the prayer stand on Yom Kippur, presenting their prayers before the Throne of Mercy on the awesome Day of Judgment.

Still, they understood they could not simply push aside their regular hired cantor. After much anxious discussion, they decided to ask Yisrael himself what they should do.

The young visitor was clearly no ordinary wandering guest. The people had come to recognize that there was something exceptional about him. Surely, they thought, he would know the right solution.

When they presented the problem to him, he answered simply. "Tell the regular cantor that you will pay him his usual salary, just as you do every year. Then ask him to invite me to take his place. He knows himself that he has not fully recovered."

That is exactly what happened. The regular cantor agreed. He went to speak to Yisrael and asked him to lead the prayers in his stead. He admitted that he still was not at full strength, and that currently the demanding singing and cantorial duties would be too difficult for him.

The people of Sinitieh never forgot that Yom Kippur.

The next day, representatives of the synagogue and the townspeople came to Proykeh's inn to thank Yisrael for his extraordinary prayers.

Yisrael welcomed them warmly and listened to their expressions of gratitude. When they finished, he smiled and asked: "And what about my payment?"

The administrators looked at one another. They had never discussed a fee, but they accepted that his request was indeed reasonable. "Name your price," they said. "Whatever you ask, we will give you."

"I don't want money," Yisrael replied. "My only request is that you acquire for me a beautiful, flawless etrog-one truly worthy of the blessing."

The officials were enormously relieved. They had expected him to ask for a considerable sum. An etrog? That sounded easy enough. "We'll do everything we can to find you a beautiful one," they promised.

They had no idea what was in store for them. That year, even regular kosher etrogs were exceptionally difficult to find; beautiful, flawless etrogs were almost impossible to obtain. In every town and village surrounding Sinitieh, there was not a single etrog to be found-not even one that would barely be acceptable for ritual use.

The other three species were easy enough to obtain. But the etrog-the most beautiful and distinctive of the Four Species-was nowhere to be found.

Determined to keep their promise, the community leaders hurriedly sent representatives to distant cities and larger population centers. They gave them large sums of money and instructed them to pay whatever price was necessary.

The representatives all returned empty-handed. Not a single etrog could be found.

The eve of Sukkot arrived. Yisrael sat alone in his room at Proykeh's inn, preparing with deep reverence for the approaching festival. But he was troubled. Despite all their efforts, no suitable etrog had been found. It seemed as though Heaven itself had decreed that he be prevented from fulfilling the mitzvah of the Four Species.

His disappointment was so great that he even refrained from attending the synagogue for the afternoon Mincha prayer before the festival.

The synagogue officials were ashamed to face him. They had promised him an etrog and had failed.

Yisrael, normally cheerful and radiant, was visibly troubled. He paced back and forth in his room, anxious and deeply saddened.

Suddenly, a heavy knock shook the door of Proykeh's inn. Before anyone could answer, the door swung open. A tall peasant stood there, wearing the traditional hat of a Russian farmer. His voice was loud and crude.

He sat down at an empty table, placed a bundle in front of him, rubbed his hands together, and asked Proykeh for a plate of steaming food. "Ah!" he sighed happily as he settled in.

A few minutes later, the peasant called cheerfully: "Proykeh, come here! Look at what a beautiful fruit I found today!"

As he spoke, he opened his bundle. Inside was a magnificent etrog! -yellow, unblemished, shapely, bumpy-- impressive to an exceptional degree. "I know," the peasant commented, "that your people use a fruit like this for one of your holidays."

Proykeh immediately understood what he was seeing and what he had to do. His heart was leaping with joy but he did his best to appear calm. Walking over to the peasant's table, he picked up the etrog and carefully examined it from every angle.

He had seen how deeply disappointed Yisrael had been. And after the manner Yisrael had led the prayers during the High Holy Days, Proykeh regarded him as a guest deserving the greatest honor. He knew exactly how much this etrog would mean to him.

"Yes," Proykeh said, still struggling to conceal his excitement. "It's a beautiful fruit. We can certainly use it for the festival. How much do you want for it?"

The peasant named his price. Proykeh immediately agreed and paid him. Then he hurried straight to Yisrael's room.

Without saying a word, he held out the beautiful etrog that had just arrived, as though from Heaven. In an instant, the atmosphere changed. It seemed as though the room itself had suddenly expanded and risen to unimaginable heights.

Yisrael's eyes sparkled with joy in anticipation of performing the precious mitzvah. It seemed that at any moment he might break into a dance. Had he not needed to hurry to the synagogue, he might have remained there staring at the etrog for hours.

The following day, all the people of the town came to Proykeh's inn. With awe and reverence they received in turn the etrog and the other Three Species from the hands of the young scholar.

Many people later speculated that perhaps it had been Eliyahu HaNavi (Elijah the Prophet), who had troubled himself to appear as a farmer to bring a beautiful and flawless etrog to the righteous Yisraelik.

Immediately after Sukkot and Shemini Atzeret/Simchat Torah, Yisrael packed his belongings bundle, and as always, he warmly took leave of his host, Proykeh and continued on his travels, this time to the village of Kashilovitz.

There, he continued to hide the extraordinary greatness within him, until the day in 1734 when his brilliant light was no longer allowed to remain concealed. From then on, he became known throughout the world as Rabbi Yisrael Baal Shem Tov-the holy Baal Shem Tov ('Master of the Good Name') of blessed and saintly memory.

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Source: Partially translated and freely adapted by Yerachmiel Tilles from an emailing of "Sipurei Tzaddikim" (with some referencing of a literal AI translation).

Why This Week? The story flows from [Rosh Hashana to] Yom Kippur to Sukkot.

Footnotes:
1] A Polish name. Tradition is that 'Ephraim' was his Jewish name.
2] The additional and central prayer on Shabbat and Festivals. On Rosh HaShana, uniquely, it is extra long

Yerachmiel Tilles is co-founder and associate director of Ascent-of-Safed, and chief editor of this website (and of KabbalaOnline.org). He has hundreds of published stories to his credit, and many have been translated into other languages. He tells them live at Ascent nearly every Saturday night.

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