One day, Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov instructed several of his disciples to
embark on a journey. The Baal Shem Tov did not tell them where to go, nor did
they ask; they allowed divine providence to direct their wagon where it may,
confident that the destination and purpose of their trip would be revealed in
due time.
After traveling for several hours, they stopped at a wayside inn to eat and
rest. Now the Baal Shem Tov’s disciples were pious Jews who insisted on the
highest standards of kashrut; when they learned that their host planned
to serve them meat in their meal, they asked to see the shochet1 of the house, interrogated him as to his knowledge and piety and examined
his knife for any possible blemishes. Their discussion of the kashrut
standard of the food continued throughout the meal, as they inquired after the
source of every ingredient in each dish set before them.
As they spoke and ate, a voice emerged from behind the oven, where an old
beggar was resting amidst his bundles. “Dear Jews,” it called out, “are you as
careful with what comes out of your mouth as you are with what enters into it?”
The party of chassidim concluded their meal in silence, climbed onto their
wagon and turned it back toward Mezhibuzh. They now understood the purpose for
which their master had dispatched them on their journey that morning.
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