The boys gasped in horror as the stone flew straight between the arms of two soldiers and slammed against the head of the king!

Volhynia, 1600s

Young Naftali was always a bit different than his peers. He was noticeably brighter and sharper, and he possessed a tremendous creativity that sometimes landed him in trouble. His eyes seemed to sparkle with excitement as he talked, and all who were privileged to be in his presence sensed this was someone who would one day become great. This assumption was correct. Reb Naftali would one day be the Rav of Posen, a master kabbalist and author of several works on the Torah, including several beautiful piyutim.

But kids will be kids.

And Reb Naftali was also once a young child. A child who did a terribly dangerous thing.

But let’s start from the beginning, shall we?

As most stories start, it was a nice sunny day, and the youngsters were out and about, frolicking in the sunshine and enjoying the fresh breeze.

“Naftali, did you know that the king is coming by?” Naftali’s friend, Moshe, pointed to a nearby hill. There they could see a legion of troops trotting in front of a royal carriage. The blast of trumpets reached their ears.

“Pompous kings and their ever-doting soldiers.” Naftali shrugged. “People simply don’t realize that most kings care nothing about others, only about themselves. It’s incredible, isn’t it? Those soldiers would gladly die for their king. And in return for what? For nothing… An illusion they all live with, that their king and what he represents is something worth dying for. But us? We serve the Master of the World, the King of Kings, the Creator of the Universe who rules the hearts of all rulers. To die for Hashem? Yes, that’s something great indeed.”

“But it’s harder to live for Hashem, isn’t it?” A passing old man stopped, leaning on his cane as he surveyed the boys with sharp eyes.

“Ah, Salomon the Wise, how are you?” The boys greeted the elderly man with smiles.

“Salomon is my name, yes, but who says I’m wise?” Salomon wheezed a bit before continuing. “Don’t be so clever and make light of kings and their entourages, Naftali. There’s an important lesson for us in everything we see in this world. Do I need to remind you of the gemara in Berachos, Naftali? Remember that Rav Yochanan teaches us that one should always run to witness kings and the honor they are given — even gentile kings. For one day, when Mashiach comes, a person will be able to recognize the tremendous difference between the honor given to kings nowadays, which seems like so much, and the much greater glory and honor that will be bestowed upon the kings of Klal Yisrael!

“Nu?” Salomon nodded his head at the distant hilltop. “Are you going to get a closer look, or not? Your opportunity is passing quickly…”

Naftali turned to Moshe.

“What do you say?”

“I think Salomon has a point. It’s now or perhaps never. Let’s go!”

The two friends raced down the hill, their feet pounding the tall grass, as the sun shone down on them. It was a wonderful moment; the bliss of youth and limbs filled with boundless energy and enthusiasm. Soon enough, they were standing on a ridge above the entourage.

“Here they come.” Moshe pointed at the royal carriage. “Ha! It’s literally just like you were saying. You’d imagine the man inside the carriage would at least look impressive and honorable, but all I see is a large man eating greedily as he reclines on expensive blankets.”

“Of course, what did you expect? And look at their soldiers! These are not honorable people. These soldiers love looting Jewish communities… They deserve a punishment, in This World and the Next… A boulder should come loose and crush them all right in this spot!”