Bedtime Stories - Monthly Gedolim Story

For this months Gadol story, I once again am sharing a story from Rabbi Yechiel Spero's latest book titled, "One For the Books." It is a heartwarming simple story, yes, but the timeless message of care, concern, and love is something that makes this story beautiful and magical.

Just a random and short disclaimer: Usually I tell you before the story begins, which Gadol features in it, however this time for the sake of the magic and beauty of the story, I ask you to read it and see for yourself who the Gadol is. Trust me, I know you won't be disappointed

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story.

All the very best,

Your friend,
Yitzy Schweitzer

Bedtime Stories - Monthly Gedolim Story

Leah was a five-year-old girl, growing hmup in a warm Chassidishe community. Like many girls her age, she had her routines and schedules. Whenever she would wake up in the middle of the night, she would always go to her parents' bedroom to feel safe, to feel and remind herself that she was loved.

One night, Leah woke up and went into her parents' room, only to find the beds empty, untouched. The lights were off, and there was no sign of her father and mother, who unbeknownst to the little girl, had just stepped out to a wedding to say Mazal Tov. They had arranged for a neighbor to check in on her, yet at this hour, the neighbor was not there.

She began wandering through the house, calling for her mother and father, her sobs getting louder and urgent with each moment. "I just need someone... someone to help me fall asleep, " she whispered to herself, with tears falling down her cheek.

Suddenly, her eyes caught sight of a note on the refrigerator, a note with a number. Leah's parents had spoken about this number, saying that this number was for the direst of emergencies. The kind of number you call, when there is no number to call.

With shaking hands, she picked up the phone and dialed.

The phone rang, once, twice, a third time, each ring seemingly lasting forever. Just as Leah was about to hang up, someone picked up. A warm voice came through the receiver. "Who is this?" The man asked gently.

The girl breathed heavily. "It's Leah. I'm home alone and I'm scared. My parents aren't here."

There was a slight pause on the other end of the line before the voice spoke again, full of reassurance. "Don't worry, Leah. Your parents will be home soon. You'll be okay."

"But I'm scared," Leah replied. "When I'm scared, my parents usually tell me stories. That's what helps me fall asleep".

The man, on the other end of the line, softly replied without missing a beat. "Than I'll tell you a story."

He did. He told a mesmerizing tale crafting eloquence and richness, while the little girl listened intently on the phone, her imagination creating worlds of comfort and love, her tears drying and her heart at ease. As the man began the second story, the line grew quiet. Leah was falling asleep. She hung up the phone and returned softly to her bed.

The next morning, Leah ran to her parents, her face bright with joy.  "Mommy, Tatty," she told them happily, "I was scared, but I called the number on the fridge and the man told me stories until I fell asleep."

Her parents, puzzled and confused, asked her what number she called. Leah pointed to the refrigerator, and when they saw the number, their faces went pale. The number served as a direct line to one and only one person: their Rebbe, the Pnei Menachem, the Admor of Ger.

They asked Leah to repeat what had transpired, hoping it was just a dream. But it was too real. Too vivid. Their precious little daughter, in her moment of need, had called the Rebbe himself.

Overcome with a mixture of awe and embarrassment, they rushed to the Rebbes house to apologize. But the Rebbe, with a smile, radiating kindness, simply said, "There is no need to apologize. Baruch Hashem, the stories worked. That's what matters."