A Story for Shabbat: The Apple That Opened the Door to a Miracle

About fifty years ago, a man stood nervously in a long line in Jerusalem. All around him were Hasidim, dressed in a way he found strange, long coats, tall socks tucked into their pants. He couldn’t believe he had agreed to come here. What was he even doing in this line? Why had he listened to his neighbor?

He had traveled all the way from Tiberias to Jerusalem. In those days, that meant a full day on the road, staying overnight, and losing two days of work. The journey was expensive and exhausting. And now, standing here, he felt only regret. His frustration boiled over. All this trouble for what? To see some rabbi sitting in a small inner room, while a crowd of Hasidim waited for hours?

But then he remembered why he was here. He had six children. They were all crammed into a tiny one-and-a-half-room house. The space was suffocating. He had been waiting for years to be approved for a bigger apartment by Amidar, the national housing company.

And then came the news that crushed him. A cousin of the regional director had just applied for housing. He had only three kids. Yet right in front of everyone, the director told him, “You’re going to the top of the list. The next apartment is yours.”

The man was devastated. For a week, he walked around with a heavy heart, unable to smile. Finally, his Hasidic neighbor noticed and gently asked what was bothering him. Through tears and frustration, he shared what had happened.

The neighbor listened quietly and then said, “If you’re open to my advice, go to see the holy Rebbe, Rabbi Yisrael Alter of Gur, the ‘Beit Yisrael’ in Jerusalem. He can help in ways we can’t explain.”

The man stared at him in disbelief. “Me? Go to a Rebbe? I don’t even keep Shabbat.” But the Hasid didn’t give up. He gently encouraged him, even offering to pay for his travel.

And so, reluctantly, the man came.

Now, standing in that packed room, all he wanted was to grab his neighbor and shake him. What had he gotten him into? He imagined the Rebbe would arrange for a generous donor or someone with influence to step in and help.

But nothing prepared him for what happened next.

When he entered the Rebbe’s room, his knees trembled. The Rebbe, tall and thin, with eyes that seemed to see straight into his soul, greeted him with love and holiness. The man couldn’t stop crying.

After a few emotional moments, the Rebbe handed him something. It wasn’t a letter or a key. It was just… an apple. A simple apple, like you’d find in any market.

“Blessing and success,” the Rebbe said kindly.

The man tried to speak. “What? Who? Why?” he shouted. But before he could say more, the attendants gently guided him out. Many people were still waiting for the Rebbe’s blessing.

He was stunned. He had traveled so far, missed work, and endured frustration for an apple and a few words? What he planned to say to his Hasidic neighbor now… well, you can imagine.

But something surprising happened first.

When he got home, his children ran to him excitedly, sure he had brought back the keys to a new apartment. Instead, he showed them the apple and explained, as best he could, that it came from a holy man. He tried to share how special it was, how it might bring blessings.

The children didn’t need convincing. They crowded around, shouting, “I want a piece!” “Abba, give me some!” “I didn’t get any!”

In all the commotion, no one heard the knock at the door.

Standing there were officials from Amidar. They had come to check if the family qualified for an apartment. But when they looked inside and saw six children joyfully fighting over one apple, one of them turned to his colleagues and said, “If these children are sharing one apple, we’re going to make sure they get a more spacious apartment today.”

And that is how the blessing of a simple apple brought a miracle.

In memory of Rabbi Yisrael Alter of Gur, the “Beit Yisrael,” whose yahrzeit (anniversary of passing) is the 2nd of Adar.