A Shabbat Story: The Fire and the Rabbi: A Lesson in True Faith

In this week's parashah, the Jewish people are punished for complaining about things that weren’t truly worth complaining about. Hashem became angry and sent a fire that began consuming parts of the camp. But Moshe prayed on their behalf: “The people cried out to Moshe, and Moshe prayed to Hashem, and the fire subsided.”

Rashi explains that the fire didn’t just die out, it sank into the ground. If it had simply backed away, it might have spread and caused even more destruction.

A powerful story related to this idea took place during the Napoleonic Wars, when Napoleon and his army stormed across Europe. At one point, his battalions reached the small Polish town of Kozhnitz.

One day, a fire broke out in the town. In those times, fires could destroy entire villages. Most homes were made of wood, and the roofs were covered in straw. Every house had a stove that was used both for warmth and for cooking. The smoke was funneled out through a chimney. It didn’t take much, a few sparks escaping, to light the roof on fire, and from there, the wind could carry it to the next house, and the next, until a whole street was gone.

There were no fire hydrants. Not even indoor plumbing. Just a shared neighborhood well. People would run with half-full buckets, trying to battle towering flames. But the fire didn’t care. It kept roaring and spreading, cottage after cottage.

This time, though, Kozhnitz had soldiers stationed there, under Napoleon’s command. Their officer took his responsibility seriously. He quickly called his men and ordered them to form a chain, passing buckets of water toward the flames. It wasn’t very effective but it was an effort.

At the same time, Kozhnitz was home to a holy man, Rabbi Yisrael of Kozhnitz, known as the Kozhnitzer Maggid. He was weak in body but powerful in spirit, deeply learned in both revealed Torah and Kabbalah. Though ill much of his life, when it came to serving Hashem, he rose up with the strength of a lion.

When the fire raged and the town was in danger, the Maggid asked to be taken to the flames. He couldn’t walk, so they lifted him from his bed, placed him on a chair, and carried him to the fire. Soldiers were struggling nearby, but as soon as the tzaddik looked into the fire something miraculous happened.

The flames swirled, gathered in place, and then slowly began to die down. Within moments, they were gone.

The general, astonished, thanked the rabbi for the miracle he had just witnessed.

Some time later, the battalion was ordered deeper into Russia, where Napoleon’s army would eventually suffer major defeat. On their way back to France, they passed through Germany. In one German city, a fire broke out. The same general was asked to send his soldiers to help put it out.

But this time, the general had a different idea. “There’s no need,” he said. He went straight to the local synagogue and asked for the rabbi to be brought to him.

The rabbi came well-dressed, clean-shaven, with a silk tie and a pearl pin. The general pointed to the fire.

“You’re the rabbi here?” he asked.

“Yes, I am,” the rabbi replied.

“Then go and put out the fire!”

The rabbi blinked. “How? What do you mean?”

“Just look at the fire, like you did in Kozhnitz. It will go out!”

The rabbi was caught off guard. “I can’t do that!”

“Then you’re not a rabbi,” the general yelled. “You’re a fake.”

And with that, he dismissed him from his position and ordered him to receive fifty lashes.

Sometimes, real leadership, spiritual or otherwise, isn’t about appearances or titles. It’s about emunah (faith), sincerity, and the merit of true connection to Hashem.