In one Jewish town, the leaders of the community had developed a custom of carrying a Torah scroll with them when they went to meet the king on ceremonial visits. The Torah in its ornamented case made an impressive procession. Over time, however, the custom decayed. The men who now went to meet the king began to carry the ornamented case empty. The silver finials, the embroidered mantle, the carved wooden staves all went on parade, but the parchment inside had been left at home. A show without substance.
An apostate from the community noticed what was happening. He saw the deception as an opportunity. He went to the king in secret and told him the truth. "Your Jews carry an empty box," he said. "Inspect it yourself. You will find nothing inside." The king decided to inspect.
Word reached the community that the king intended to open the case on his next visit. Panic spread. If the king opened the empty case, the community would be shamed and worse. But the news also reached a certain beadle of the synagogue, a humble man whose job was to handle the Torah and care for the sacred vessels. A bat kol, a voice from heaven, came to him and instructed him to place the scroll itself back into the case before the procession.
The beadle obeyed. He did not tell the community leaders what he had done. On the appointed day the king visited, the case was brought forward with its usual pomp, and the king commanded that it be opened. The leaders' faces drained of color. The attendants opened the case. Inside, resting on its carved wooden rollers, was the complete Torah scroll, exactly as the Jewish people claimed to carry.
The Exempla preserves this story from Codex Gaster 130. The leaders had grown careless. Heaven sent the warning not to them but to the beadle, the small unnamed servant at the bottom of the hierarchy. Sometimes the one who saves a community is the one no one notices.