The Frog Outside Gan Eden and the Dead Man Inside It
The robbers crossed the plank first. The Baal Shem Tov saw a flaming sword turning above the far bank and stepped back. A frog was standing in the mud.
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The Flame Turned Him Back on the Robbers' Road
The robbers knew a shorter way to the Land of Israel, through caves and tunnels, and offered to guide him. The Baal Shem Tov went. The road narrowed to one board over a ravine of mud, with a single stake in the marsh to lean on. The robbers crossed. He set his foot on the plank, saw the flame of the revolving sword turning above the far bank, and stepped back.
He watched them go. "Surely I did not come this far for nothing," he said.
Five Hundred Years Inside a Frog
It was a frog, so enormous he could not tell at first what animal stood before him.
"Who are you?"
"A Torah scholar," it said.
"You are a Torah scholar?" With those four words he raised it high enough to speak plainly, and it told him it had sat in that body five hundred years. The holy Ari had repaired every soul of his generation, but this one they drove past the last village into country where Jews do not travel, because one blessing from a passing Jew would have brought the precious out of the vile.
"I treated the washing of the hands lightly," the frog said. "Once."
Ha-Satan (the Accuser) brought the charge. The court answered that no man is thrown away for one transgression, but one pulls the next behind it, and a second fall would put the first on his account too. He fell a second time. He fell a third. He kept falling until he had worked through nearly the whole Torah, and the ruling came down to refuse his repentance.
Ha-Satan made him a drunkard after that, and a drunkard has no quiet hour in which to count what he has become. When he died, that first careless sin sent him into water. Into a body that is never dry, where nobody passes.
The Baal Shem Tov made the repair and lifted the soul out. The frog fell over dead in the mud. Its jailer had no further use for it.
A Taler a Day in Rabbi Isaac's Tefillin Pouch
In Mezritch a man with money and nothing else felt old age coming up the road toward him. Vanity and emptiness, no Torah in it. He could think of nothing to do with the fear except give where nobody would see. Every morning, one taler into the tefillin (prayer boxes bound on arm and head) pouch (the bag holding the small scripture boxes worn at prayer) of Rabbi Isaac.
Rabbi Isaac found the coin twice and set the study house attendant to watch the pouch during prayers. The attendant caught the hands on the tallit. Rabbi Isaac drilled him through the six orders of Mishnah, chapter by chapter, each one repeated until it ran off his tongue. Then Ein Yaakov. He bought a place in the Mishnah society, worked through the Zohar, and learned until the day he died.
The Dead Man Came Back Teaching Zohar
At the sickbed Rabbi Isaac would not leave without a handclasp on it. The man pledged to appear to him at any time, and died. For thirty days the Mishnah society finished all of Mishnah for his soul. On the thirtieth day he was standing in the room.
"Where is your resting place?"
"Among the righteous in Gan Eden (the Garden of Eden). I repaired everything in life except one matter. The society finished that one for me with their learning."
He came and went freely after that. Rabbi Isaac would put a knotted passage of Zohar to him and hear how it is learned in Gan Eden (the paradise of the righteous dead). Then he repeated one of those teachings outside the room, and the visits stopped.
The handclasp dragged him back anyway. "They have raised me into very high worlds," he said, "and it is bitter to come down out of them into this one. Your hand is still on mine. Release me." Rabbi Isaac released him.
The Litvak Who Came to Kaminka Anyway
Rabbi Abraham Abba was a Litvak and hard as a nail about it, and the Baal Shem Tov meant nothing to him. When Rabbi Pinchas of Koretz asked his father where he meant to spend Shabbat, the answer came back flat. "What need do I have of the Baal Shem Tov? I will teach here."
At the first words of Hodu, Rabbi Abraham walked into the Kaminka study house and planted himself at the holy ark, praying loud enough to fill the room while the Baal Shem Tov prayed before it. Shabbat Rosh Chodesh, so they took out two scrolls. Rabbi Abraham picked up the second and walked behind him toward the table. "Take the Torah scroll from his hand," the Baal Shem Tov said to a man beside him. The scroll came out of the old man's arms. He said nothing, and his son could not account for the silence.
It Is He and No Other
At the third meal the people of Kaminka steered him to a side table with bottles of mead, because they knew what he was. When the Baal Shem Tov began to say Torah, Rabbi Abraham left the mead, walked into the middle of the house, and stared into his face until the teaching ended.
They lit candles and ate meat. The Baal Shem Tov started again. "We need to say one more matter. It was not in my mind to say this. I heard it said in Gan Eden in my name." His father was on his feet before the sentence finished.
After the evening prayer the old man took his son by the arm. "It is he and no other. It is he and no other."
"What did you see in him?"
"You thought I was silent when he pulled the scroll out of my hands. I was waiting for the end. Last night I stood in Gan Eden, and the Prince of Torah said words of Torah in the name of the Baal Shem Tov. What I heard there, I heard tonight from his own lips."
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