“The prince is in mortal danger. He was grievously wounded earlier and his life now hangs in the balance. I know that Prince Radzivil has been very good to you Jews over the years. Other Russian rulers oppress your community for no reason, out of spite and hatred. But the prince is not like that. He has been fair and kind to you all, a beacon of hope and dignity in a political system that is bent against the Jews. Will you pray for the prince’s recovery? He needs a miracle and he needs it now. If he succumbs to his wounds, another ruler will take his place. And who knows what that ruler will be like? I highly doubt he will be as good to you as the prince has been.”

Immediately, everyone began davening for the prince’s health. They fully understood how serious this was. If the prince passed away, the next ruler would likely be another cruel, merciless ruler, like the ones before the prince.

Pierre turned and left the shtibel. The sound of the davening moved through the shtibel windows, accompanying Pierre as he moved toward the prince’s castle.

“Excuse me!”

A shout in the darkness stopped Pierre in his tracks. He turned and saw a man on horseback approaching. What now?

“Yes?”

“I am looking for the castle of Prince Radzivil. Can you point me in the right direction?”

“I’m heading there right now. But it’s not a good time.”

“I have traveled far to deliver a special envelope. Please tell me where he lives.”

“Haven’t you heard the news? The prince has been shot! He’s fighting for his life at the moment and no one is allowed to see him except his doctors and myself.”

“But I was tasked with a very important mission from m—”

“Even if you were granted access to the prince it still would not help you. He’s not conscious, and is possibly not even alive any longer. I saw his wound, I can testify to this….”

“Wait… you said only the doctors and yourself are granted access to the prince. Who are you?”

“My name is Pierre. Why?”

“So it is actually you that I seek. May I please come with you? I have a very important message.”

Pierre shrugged but did not protest as the man followed him back to the prince’s castle.

Once indoors, the bearded stranger wiped the snow from his eyelids and then withdrew an envelope from his coat.

“My name is Reb Nissan and I come bearing a special letter from my rebbe, the holy Baal Shem Tov Hakadosh.” Reb Nissan opened the letter together with Pierre. “He instructed me to bring this here…”

Both men gasped at the letter’s contents, written before the prince had even been wounded. The Baal Shem Tov had written exact instructions on how to deal with a gunshot wound to the chest. Pierre hurriedly called for the doctors, and they followed the instructions carefully, creating a medicine that they administered to the prince. Within a few hours, the prince opened his eyes and even began to talk.

But there was still one more thing the Baal Shem had revealed to Reb Nissan.

“Pierre…” Reb Nissan placed his hand on Pierre’s shoulder as Pierre sat with a dazed expression of joy and relief by the prince’s bedside. “There is still another part of this mission for me to fulfill. Can I speak with you privately?”

When they were alone, Reb Nissan revealed to Pierre that he was actually a Jew. Pierre held his head in his hands, not understanding why tears were pouring from his eyes. It was as if someone had suddenly solved the mystery regarding the emptiness he had always carried within his heart. He sobbed for a long time as Reb Nissan embraced him and tried to encourage him.

“It’s never too late. You can come back to your people, you can learn what it means to be a Jew,” Reb Nissan said softly. “You have been wandering for a very long time, my friend. But now, tayra neshamalah, holy lost soul… come home.”

And Pierre did.

THE END

(Originally featured in Mishpacha Jr., Issue 897)