The story of Choni Hame’agel, who stepped up on behalf of a desperate nation to plead for the waters they needed

Bright rays of sunlight flooded the darkened room, stirring the dust mites into a swirling dance.

Uriah opened his eyes. “Oh, no,” he groaned, his eyes blinded by the light shining through the window. “When will we finally wake up to a gray, cloudy morning?”

He stood up and scanned the clear sky.

“Not a single cloud?” he cried out, raising his eyes to the heavens. “The cisterns are empty, and the people are thirsty. How much longer will we have to wait for rainfall?”

Uriah dressed quickly and stood at the entrance to his house. He waved to his neighbor Shimon, who was shouldering his hoe.

“Are you heading out to the fields?” asked Shimon, wiping the sweat from his brow. “If we don’t hurry, we’ll have to work under the blazing sun.”

“No, I’m staying home today,” Uriah replied, the words catching in his dry throat. “For three years now, I’ve worked my fields, plowed, sowed, and waited for the rain to come…. Three years of drought and famine, and I continue walking over the rocky soil, my tears watering the hard clods of earth. Why should I work when the skies remain sealed?”

“You’re right,” Shimon replied. “It’s already the 20th of Adar, and winter is nowhere on the horizon. If rain doesn’t come, the water in the cisterns will run out, and we’ll all die of thirst.”

He spurred his donkey and began walking away.

“Stop, Shimon!” Uriah cried. “You said that we’ll all die of thirst, sealing our people’s fate with a wave of your hand. You kill men, women, and children with your words, condemning us all to a death worse than by the sword, and that’s it? You just continue with your day?”

Shimon froze. After a long pause, he turned around and fixed Uriah with a penetrating stare. “And what are you doing? Is choosing to stay home and despair not also admitting defeat? Is that not how droughts wear down the living?”

“So, what do you suggest we do?” Uriah retorted, his cheeks reddening from the sharp reproach. “We are Jews, believers and sons of believers. We know that drought comes from the sin of failing in shemiras einayim. We must have fallen to this sin, and the time for forgiveness has not arrived.”

Shimon thought a minute. “We must turn to Choni,” he decided. “Choni is humble and G-d-fearing, and his spiritual level is so high that whenever he approaches the Azarah of the Beis Hamikdash, it fills with light. He is wise, and his words are received pleasantly. Let’s go to him. Maybe he can daven that Am Yisrael be saved.”

“Good idea,” Uriah said. Together, they headed out to the home of Choni, the gadol hador.

“It seems we aren’t the only ones turning to Choni in our distress,” Shimon remarked, gesturing at the crowd clustered around the entrance to the house. “The people are thirsty and long for a trusty envoy to revoke G-d’s doom.”