The Governor’s Demand and the Missed Opportunity for Redemption

Every Friday at noon in Ottoman-era Jerusalem, Turkish guards would lock the city gates. No one could come in or out. This was a security measure taken before Muslim prayers, as crowds of men gathered on the Temple Mount to pray at the Al-Aqsa Mosque, which stands tragically on the very site of our holy Beit HaMikdash (Temple).

From deep beneath the mosque, one could hear the soft trickling of water. It came from the Siloam Spring, connected to the Gihon Spring, which in ancient times had provided water to Jerusalem. Only a small flow remained, dripping slowly into the Pool of Siloam.

In the early 1580s, a new Ottoman governor named Pasha Abu Sifin was sent to oversee the city. While visiting the mosque, he learned about the story behind the quiet spring. He was told that during the time of King Hezekiah, when the Assyrian empire led by Sennacherib besieged Jerusalem with 185,000 soldiers, King Hezekiah sealed the spring to cut off water from the enemy. But instead of relying solely on strategy, the people turned to Hashem in heartfelt prayer. That very night, Hashem sent an angel who struck down the entire enemy army. Sennacherib survived but fled in shame to Nineveh, where he was later killed by his own sons. The Jewish people were saved and the spring remained sealed for centuries.

Hearing this story, the Pasha was intrigued. He saw an opportunity. The people of Jerusalem suffered from terrible water shortages, which led to hardship and even a decline in population. If he could open the spring and restore the flow of water, it would be a major achievement.

He turned to the city’s leaders and asked if there was anyone who could accomplish this. They pointed to a great Jewish sage living in Jerusalem: Rabbi Chaim Vital, the leading student of the holy Arizal and one of the greatest kabbalists of all time.

That Friday afternoon, Rabbi Chaim was summoned to the Pasha.

“I command you to open the spring your king once sealed,” the governor said sharply. “Bring life to this city with flowing water. You have only the time it takes me to walk to the Al-Aqsa Mosque and finish my prayers. If you fail, you will pay with your life. I was told you have the power, prove it.”

With that, the Pasha left for the Temple Mount.

Rabbi Chaim returned home, deeply shaken. He indeed had the spiritual knowledge to open the spring using holy names of Hashem, but he had always refrained from doing so unless it was absolutely necessary. Using those names is no small matter, they are sacred tools that can alter reality. Still, the gates were locked. Escape from Jerusalem seemed impossible.

As the minutes ticked by and the danger grew, Rabbi Chaim found a way to use those very holy names, not to open the spring, but to leave the city unnoticed. He managed to flee to Damascus, saving himself from the governor’s wrath.

When the Pasha returned from prayer and discovered that the spring had not been opened and Rabbi Chaim was gone, he was furious. But Rabbi Chaim was already far away, safe from harm.

That night in Damascus, Rabbi Chaim had a dream. His beloved teacher, the Arizal, appeared to him, not with comfort, but with rebuke.

“Why didn’t you open the spring?” the Arizal asked. “Do you not realize who the governor was? Abu Sifin means ‘father of swords,’ the same meaning as the name ‘Sennacherib.’ His soul was a gilgul (reincarnation) of that wicked king and you carry within you a spark of King Hezekiah. You were given a chance to correct a spiritual mistake from the past.

“The Mishnah in Masechet Pesachim (Chapter 4) tells us that Hezekiah did six things. For three of them the Sages agreed, and for three they did not. One of the ones they disagreed with was that he sealed the waters of the Upper Gihon. The prophet had already promised salvation. Cutting off the water wasn’t necessary, and it may have shown a lack of full trust in Hashem.

“Now you had the opportunity to fix that. You could have revealed Hashem’s greatness and sanctified His name before the nations and you missed it.”

Rabbi Chaim tried to explain. “I didn’t want to use the holy names,” he said.

“But you did use them,” the Arizal replied gently. “You used them to run away. If you were going to call upon those names anyway, it would have been better to use them to bring life and blessing to open the spring. That would have created a great kiddush Hashem (sanctification of G-d’s name) and brought a powerful tikkun (spiritual repair).”

“I’ll go back to Jerusalem,” Rabbi Chaim said, his heart heavy with regret. “I’ll open the spring now.”

But the Arizal bowed his head and replied, “The moment has passed. The opportunity is gone.”

This story reminds us that sometimes we are given rare moments to act, moments that connect not only to our present but to generations before us. May we merit recognizing them and having the strength to do what is right in the eyes of Hashem.