If Mr. Shpeiter was going on a trip, why couldn’t he have called, or even told Baruch about it in advance? Why write a letter? And a letter with a story of Reb Menachem Mendel of Vitebsk on the back… strange.
Baruch snuck around to the back of Mr. Shpeter’s house. It was late, dark and quite cold. He needed to find a way into the basement, without waking Mrs. Shpeiter. He felt slightly guilty about doing what he was doing, but if his hunch was correct, this was what Mr. Shpeiter wanted him to do. He tried his luck at the back door that led to the basement. Locked. But now, he would see if his hunch was correct. He quietly tiptoed towards the garbage cans at the top of the driveway. He remembered what the Toldos Yaakov Yitzchok had said in the story on the back of the letter, “Sometimes the king needs a good hiding spot for a jewel. Where should he hide it? The safe is where all crooks look for jewels. The best place is in the garbage! This tzadik dressed in a strange way but it’s only to hide his real middos, and to fool the yetzer hora!” He slipped the garbage bag out of the can, and would you look at that! An envelope floated to the floor.
Baruch’s heart was pounding as he picked up the envelope. It beat even faster when he made out the word, “Baruch” written on it. He opened the envelope. Inside was a piece of paper. His fingers trembled as he unfolded it and read… nothing. The paper was blank!
Baruch was shocked and disappointed. But he saw in the corner of the paper it said, “Rav Levi Yitzchok ben Sara Sasha.” Underneath that it said “Reb Chaim Elazar, Minchas Elazar.” Baruch scratched his head. He turned the paper over, and in small letters, he made out the word “passport” scrawled neatly on top of the paper. Now things were starting to make sense. Baruch recalled the story well.
A chassid came to the Minchas Elazar (The Muncaczer Rebbe, Reb Chaim Elazer Spira) towards the beginning of WWII. “Please Rebbe! I must leave tonight! But I have no passport!” The Rebbe sadly said he couldn’t help. “But maybe, maybe Rebbe could make me a Barditchever passport?” The Rebbe sighed, and tried to refuse, but to no avail. “Very well. It will take a lot of effort but I will try.” The Rebbe disappeared into the back room, and for two hours the sound of uncontrollable weeping and davening was heard. After two hours, the Minchas Elazar emerged with a soaking, blank paper in his hand. “Here,” he said. “It should be with hatzlacha. But you may tell no one.” The man could barely look at the Rebbe; his face was shining so brightly. He thanked the Rebbe profusely, took his blank paper “passport,” and left.
The man was traveling for three days when he approached a checkpoint. He had simple emunah, and showed the soldiers his “passport”. The soldiers began scrambling to help him back on his horse – “What an important guest! Let us help you!“, and they escorted him until he was out of harm’s way. Every time he was in danger, the passport “worked.” The man used his “passport” to reach America, and told no one of it until after the Rebbe was niftar.
Blank paper. A Muncaczer passport. Bittul to Hashem. Simple strong emunah. Baruch took a deep breath. Ein Od Milvado. Baruch’s eyes caught something gleaming in the moonlight.
A key! Thank You Hashem! He was in! But, it seemed, so was someone else…
To be continued…
This article was found in Nekuda Tova Issue 25.