When the butcher banged on his door dressed in shrouds, his wife thought she was seeing an apparition. Had her husband returned from the World of Truth, or was there some grave mistake?
W hen the butcher banged on his door dressed in shrouds his wife thought she was seeing an apparition. Had her husband returned from the World of Truth or was there some grave mistake? It was past midnight in Baghdad the capital of modern-day Iraq on the soil of ancient Babylon and the streets were empty. The Jewish district too was silent and sleeping at this hour between dark and dawn.
Yet in two homes candlelight still flickered. One was the home of the city’s rav who was sitting on the floor and reciting Tikkun Chatzos crying bitterly over the Churban and commiserating with the pain of the Shechinah in exile. The other house was that of the shochet and butcher Yechezkel Levy. He had been buried earlier in the day in a large dignified funeral with the entire community coming to pay their respects shocked and anguished by his sudden passing. Yechezkel was well liked a yerei Shamayim and honest dealer. He never argued with the Rav or his emissaries when they ruled that an animal he had slaughtered was treif. He was an impeccable baal middos and never offended or hurt anyone.
His wife the new widow couldn’t fall asleep. It had been a dreadful day. Toward evening she had returned from the cemetery with her sons and daughters all of whom were already married. They sat with her until late at night and then all went to their own homes to get some rest. She was sitting alone replaying the last few terrible hours in her mind. She paced up and down the house realizing she should get it in order for the next day. Many people would come to comfort the mourners and she needed to make sure there would be baked goods and fruits to serve them so they could make a brachah for the elevation of Yechezkel’s soul.
Suddenly she heard a loud knock at the locked door.
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