A Shabbat Story: The Day the Maharsha"l Brought a Man Back to Life

Azriel sat with his hands trembling, helpless. He was a young Torah scholar, newly married, and already facing an unbearable tragedy. His beloved wife, Esther, lay on her deathbed. The doctors had given up. There was nothing more they could do.

As her final moments approached, Esther suddenly opened her eyes and asked her husband to come closer. Her voice was weak, but her words were firm: “Promise me,” she whispered, “that after I pass away, you will never marry anyone else. There is no one who can replace the wife of your youth.”

Azriel, heartbroken and confused, didn’t fully understand. But he knew that it’s a mitzvah to honor the wishes of someone who is about to leave this world, to bring them peace. So he nodded, tears falling silently into his beard.

But Esther didn’t stop there. “Give me your hand,” she insisted. “Give me your solemn oath, your serious vow, that you will never remarry.” And so, moved by love and sadness, Azriel gave his word.

A few hours later, Esther was laid to rest.

After the seven days of mourning, Azriel returned to his studies, still filled with grief. His teacher, Rabbi Shlomo Luria known as the Maharsha"l, the great rabbi of Lublin, noticed the pain on his student’s face and tried to comfort him. “This is the way of the world,” he told him gently. “May Hashem help you find a new partner to build a home once again.”

But Azriel shook his head. He told his teacher about the vow he had made to Esther, and how he now felt stuck, bound by his promise, yet lonely and broken.

The Maharsha"l listened carefully, then responded with clarity and kindness. “You are commanded by the Torah to marry and have children. It’s a mitzvah from Mount Sinai. And you didn’t make that oath with full intent. You only did it to ease her pain. We will arrange a hatarat nedarim, a proper nullification of the vow, and you will be free to remarry.”

Azriel's face lit up for the first time in weeks. With the rabbi’s guidance, he accepted the process, and eventually he married a young widow who had also suffered great loss. Their wedding was a beautiful celebration. The whole town rejoiced that joy had returned after so much sorrow.

But then, only a week later, something unimaginable happened.

Just after the seven days of celebration, Azriel suddenly passed away.

The people of Lublin were stunned. Some whispered that he had been punished from Heaven for breaking his vow. Others said no one could know Hashem’s mysterious ways. But everyone agreed it was strange, heartbreaking, and frightening.

When the Maharsha"l heard what had happened, he sent a clear instruction to the Chevra Kadisha, the sacred burial society: “Prepare his body for burial as usual, but don’t place any dirt on the grave until I arrive.”

When everything was ready, the Maharsha"l came to the cemetery. He gently placed a handwritten note in Azriel’s hand. It read: “I decree upon you, Heavenly Court, to return this young man to me.” He signed his name at the bottom: Shlomo Luria.

Then he commanded the burial team not to close the grave.

At midnight, something beyond belief occurred.

Azriel awoke, lying in the grave, dressed in shrouds. He had no memory of what had happened. He rose, confused, and made his way home. When he reached his house, he knocked on the window, calling softly to his wife.

But when she saw him, she screamed in terror. She believed she was seeing a ghost. She refused to open the door, and he was left alone in the cold night.

Azriel, filled with pain, went to the synagogue. But even there, people ran from him. No one dared come close. He was like a living soul among the dead.

When the Maharsha"l saw his student’s deep suffering, he made another bold move. He prayed that the Angel of Forgetfulness, an angel mentioned in Jewish teachings would erase the memory of the event from Azriel, from his wife, and from the entire town of Lublin.

And so it was. The memories faded. Life returned to normal. And Azriel lived on.

For generations afterward, people would speak about the greatness of that miracle. They would say, “Bringing someone back to life was one thing. But to cause an entire city to forget it happened? That was a far greater wonder.”

The Maharsha"l’s deep wisdom and compassion left behind more than a miracle. He left a lesson in hope, in healing, and in the power of a true tzaddik, a righteous person whose prayers can touch the heavens and change the world below.