Abba Hilkiah Prayed for Rain and His Wife's Cloud Came First
When drought gripped the land, Abba Hilkiah and his wife prayed from opposite roof corners, and rain came first from her side of the sky.
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The Man Who Did Not Reply
A drought had settled on the land. The sages had exhausted their options and remembered that Abba Hilkiah, grandson of the great rainmaker Choni ha-Me'aggel, might have inherited his grandfather's gift. They sent a delegation to find him and ask for his prayers.
They found him digging in a field. They greeted him. He did not reply. He did not look up. The sages were insulted, but they had no choice but to follow him home in silence. They watched him carry his bundle of wood on one shoulder while he carried his mantle on the other, refusing to let the cloth drag in the dust. When he came to a river, he put on his sandals. When he walked through thorns, he lifted his clothes above them. His wife came out of the house to meet him, dressed in her finest clothes. He went inside without inviting the sages to eat. He gave his older son one piece of bread. He gave his younger son two pieces. He said something to his wife that the sages could not hear.
After the meal, he finally spoke to the sages and asked them why they had come. They told him. He turned to his wife and said: "let us go up to the roof and pray."
Two Corners of One Roof
They went up. He stood at one corner of the roof. She stood at the other corner. They prayed separately. The clouds came. Not from his corner. From hers. The rain began from her side of the roof and spread across the sky from there.
He came down and addressed the delegation with a question before they could ask theirs: "Why did you come?" He knew they were going to ask about the rain and about his wife's cloud coming before his. He gave the explanations himself. Her charity was more direct than his. When a poor man came to her door, she gave him food immediately, something he could use right then. When a poor man came to Abba Hilkiah himself, he gave money, which required the poor man to go elsewhere before eating. The immediacy of her gift moved heaven faster.
The Explanations He Offered Unprompted
The sages had watched him all day and accumulated a list of things they did not understand. He answered each question before they could ask it. He had not replied to their greeting in the field because he was hired labor that day and his time was not his own to spend on social courtesy. He had carried the wood on one shoulder and the mantle on the other to avoid using the cloth as a carrying vessel, which would have been an informal disrespect to a garment. He had put on sandals at the river because riverbanks hide things he could not see. He had lifted his clothes through the thorns for the obvious reason that cloth, once torn, requires a craftsman to repair and a craftsman costs money. His wife had dressed beautifully to greet him so he would not look at other women on the way home. He had not invited the sages to eat because he had not had enough food prepared to offer them properly, and an insufficient invitation would have created a false obligation.
He had given the younger son more bread than the older. The older son stayed home. The younger was at school all day and came back hungry. He fed need, not birth order.
The Soot on the Walls
One more thing the sages had noticed: the upper parts of the walls of his house were blackened with soot, while the lower parts were clean. He explained: he had neighbors who were not observant of the Shabbat laws regarding fire. Out of respect, he did not want his house to look different from theirs, so he built his fires low, near the ground, where the soot would not show from the street. His private practice of poverty and precision extended to protecting the dignity of his neighbors.
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