A Shocking Tale of a Viceroy

This story took place in Amsterdam a long, long time ago. That city belonged to an emperor who lived far away. It was ruled by a viceroy, in the same way that a district governor rules in Russia.

Nowadays taxes are paid by each person directly to the state. But long ago, things were different. A tax collector “farmed” the taxes and paid the king a certain amount. Later the collector got a commission from the state.

Now, this viceroy, one of the wickedest of the wicked and a big spender as well, was always in need of money.

Where to get it?

Where else but from the Jews of Amsterdam? So they endured a great deal from him.

There was a rabbi in that city, one of the great rabbis of the kingdom. He was as cherished and treasured as a precious stone. He lived to a ripe old age, then became ill and took to his bed. People, knowing that his end was near, mourned greatly. For who could possibly take his place? “Rabbi,” they asked him, “who will lead the congregation when—may you live to a hundred and twenty—you pass on?”

The rabbi said, “I’ve taken care of everything.” Then he died and was buried.

When they read his will, this is what they found: “Let messengers be sent to such-and-such a town, where a rabbi by the name of Kashmen lives. Let him be made rabbi of the Jews of Amsterdam.”

So two messengers were chosen to find Reb Kashmen and bring him back to Amsterdam. They rode and rode, visiting towns and villages until, by the help of God, they arrived at their destination and put up at an inn.

When they had eaten and rested, they approached the innkeeper. “Tell us, sir, where does the rabbi, Reb Kashmen, live?”

The innkeeper said, “I’ve lived here for I don’t know how many years, and there’s never been a rabbi with that name.”

So the messengers asked the same question of other people, who all said the same thing.

Concluding that their rabbi must have been mistaken, they returned home. Back in Amsterdam a special assembly was called, and the people decided that their rabbi would not have made a mistake about something in his will. So two new messengers were dispatched to that town to examine the matter thoroughly. There they went from house to house and searched the village from one end to the other, but no one had ever heard the name of Reb Kashmen. They were on the point of returning home when one messenger said, “Maybe we ought to go to that settlement over there—those few houses in the open fields.”

They went there and came to a small hut. An old woman and a girl sat there plucking feathers. The messengers said, “Good evening.”

“Good evening and a good year,” came the reply. “What do you want?”

One of the messengers asked whether Rabbi Kashmen lived there. The old woman nodded and the messengers were delighted.

“He’ll be here soon, most likely,” she said. They decided to wait. As they waited, the door opened and an old man came in. The woman went to the oven, from which she took out a dish of food. The old man washed his hands, recited a blessing and sat down to eat. He paid no attention to the messengers—as if they were not there.

When he had finished, they approached him. “Our rabbi of blessed memory,” they said, “enjoined us in his will to bring to Amsterdam a certain Reb Kashmen so that he may take our rabbi’s place.”

Reb Kashmen said not a word, nor did he look at them. It was as if they were invisible, as if no one were speaking at all. He rose, walked into his room, and went to sleep.

The messengers, seeing that they would accomplish nothing, said good night and went away. They returned the next morning, but no matter what they said, he kept silent. Even when they nagged at him, he remained mute as a wall. Then they begged for his pity and said they would not leave without him.

He replied, “Why are you burdening me? I don’t understand any of this. You want me to come? Very well, I’ll come. Just stop tormenting me.”

That was what they were waiting to hear. They put the old man and his wife and daughter into their wagon and drove off.

When they arrived in Amsterdam, how happy everyone was! Reb Kashmen was welcomed with a parade. He was given a fine house with large rooms. Joy reigned, but the rabbi was silent even though people were dying to hear him say a few holy words. Finally, after much coaxing, he said, “Dear friends, I don’t know anything.” This offended everyone. “What kind of a rabbi is this?” cried the synagogue officers. “He must be crazy.”

So the people began to put distance between themselves and Reb Kashmen. And finally they moved him out of the fine house and installed him with his wife and daughter in a small room at the city’s edge. And the community chose another rabbi.

Now, the viceroy was a great carouser and gambler, a man who danced all night at balls, who poured out money like sand. And now, on top of everything, he had acquired a mistress, so he needed even more money.

Where to get it?

He went to the tax collector, Reb Azriel, and said, “Because of this and that, and such-and-such, I need a few rubles.”

Reb Azriel handed him some money, and the viceroy went away. Not an hour later he came back again, and then again, and again. Finally, Reb Azriel said, “I can’t give you any more.”

The viceroy banged furiously at the collector’s door, calling, “I’ll rise against you the way Haman* rose against you.” And he stormed off to the chief priest. Together they plotted to take a dreadful vengeance on Reb Azriel and all the Jews. Just before Passover, they killed a Gentile boy and put his body, along with several bottles of blood, into Reb Azriel’s house. Then they shouted, “The Jews have killed a boy!” So they ordered a search of Jewish houses, and when the murdered child was found, the old tax collector was taken in chains to prison. Meanwhile the wicked viceroy wrote to the emperor: “The Jews have risen against the state; they are slaughtering our children.”

The emperor replied, “Do what you like,” which was all the viceroy wanted to hear. So he issued a decree that on Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement, the inhabitants of all the towns and villages must gather to see Reb Azriel hanged. The decree also said that anyone could do what he liked with the Jews.

As the day of the hanging approached, the cries and lamentations pouring from the Jewish homes would have restored hearing to the deaf. Feverish prayers to our Father in heaven rose from the synagogues. Finally it occurred to someone to consult Reb Kashmen. A delegation was sent to his room, where they found him wearing his talis and kitl, his prayer shawl and robe, and intoning his prayers with so much grief that the group was afraid to move. Seeing them, he said, “Go quickly and command everyone to eat the meal that precedes our fast, as if tomorrow were Yom Kippur.”

The Jews did as he commanded, and that evening everyone gathered in the synagogue. And when Reb Kashmen, standing at the podium, recited the kolnidre prayer, it is said that the walls quivered and the heavens shook. And each time he spoke, thunder roared, after which came the sounds of the congregation’s weeping and lamentations.

When the musef prayers were finished, Reb Kashmen addressed the people. “My brothers, an evil decree hangs over us, but God’s compassion is great. I am going to the emperor. Wait for my return.” With that, he vanished.

Far away, the emperor had just eaten and was strolling in his garden. Growing weary, he sat down on a bench and fell asleep. He dreamed that he was drowning in a river of blood, and each time he struggled to the bank, the viceroy thrust him back. At last he was saved from drowning by a little old man, a Jew, who ran up and drove the viceroy off.

Now, the journey from Amsterdam to the emperor’s palace ordinarily required some days, but Reb Kashmen accomplished it in an instant. The emperor was just waking. Seeing that Reb Kashmen looked like the Jew who had rescued him in the dream, the emperor said, “Holy man, I feel evil around me. Can you explain it?”

Reb Kashmen answered, “Great Emperor, it is clear that someone wishes you ill, and you know who it is: your viceroy. He and your generals have plotted your death. Command that his house be searched; papers that are in a drawer there will prove his guilt.

“And, Great Emperor, you should also know that the viceroy is tormenting the Jews of your kingdom. He has exacted tribute from us and has not given you a groshn. He squanders it all even as he skins us Jews alive.

“Now he has killed a Gentile boy and thrown the corpse into Reb Azriel’s house, creating a blood libel. Great Emperor, stand by us. Issue a proclamation to delay the execution while you determine whether I am telling the truth.”

The emperor called in his general. “Take a regiment of soldiers,” he said, “and go to Amsterdam. Delay the decree. Search the viceroy’s house. If you find proof of wickedness, carry out whatever sentence he deserves.”

Reb Kashmen returned miraculously to the synagogue. It was time for nile, the concluding Yom Kippur prayers. When the late-evening service was done, he said, “Brothers, go and break your fast. Let those of you who have food give it to those who have none. Things will be well. Reb Azriel will be saved.”

In the morning after daybreak, crowds of Gentiles began to gather on all the roads from all corners of the land. Whole villages arrived bringing ladder-wagons to carry away Jewish property. They were armed with scythes and rakes and axes. But no Jews appeared anywhere. They had shut themselves up in cellars and attics.

The gallows had been erected in the market square, and there the Gentiles massed. At the time decreed, Reb Azriel was led in. The chains on his feet made it hard for him to walk, so he was driven along with blows from gun butts. He went quietly. So much goodness glowed in his face that the Gentiles fell silent and did not touch him.

As the guards were setting Reb Azriel under the gallows to throw the noose over his neck, the viceroy—that Haman—said, “Do you want to live? Then become a convert.”

Reb Azriel raised his eyes to heaven and cried, “Shma Yisroel, Hear, O Israel.” Then he was silent. As the executioners were about to begin, shots were heard and the crowd saw riders approaching. The general arrived and handed the emperor’s orders to the viceroy. The noose was removed from Reb Azriel’s neck. The general quietly signaled his men to watch the viceroy, and his riders surrounded the viceroy’s palace. When the soldiers began to search, they found papers describing a plot to kill the emperor and usurp his kingdom. So the viceroy was hanged on the gallows that had been prepared for Reb Azriel.

The Gentiles scattered like mice, while the Jews left their hiding places and crowded into the streets, kissing and embracing each other for joy.

It was clear that the instrument of their happiness was Reb Kashmen, yet he was nowhere to be seen. They went to his room, but it was empty. Riders were sent out on all the roads, and they found him at last in a forest. Throwing themselves at his feet, they said, “Holy Rabbi, don’t leave us.”

Reb Kashmen said, “There is no further need for me here. I must go wherever Jews are troubled, wherever a Haman has risen.”

Then he and his wife and daughter disappeared.

When the emperor returned to Amsterdam, he was sorry to hear that Reb Kashmen was gone. “I didn’t even get to thank him,” he said.

From that time on, the emperor bestowed many favors on the Jews. He excused them from taxes, and there was prosperity and abundance on all sides. And they all thanked the Creator and lived happily.

This shocking tale has been told so that later generations may know and remember what once came to pass.

* Haman is the anti-Semitic viceroy at the court of King Ahasuerus in the Book of Esther, which is read every Purim.

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"I’ll rise against you the way Haman rose against you" is a truly incredible self-own