Rabbi Shlomo Yosef Zevin

Reb Yisrael of Vizhnitz was in the habit of strolling with his attendant for half an hour every evening. On one such occasion they reached the house of a certain bank manager who was a maskil, a follower of the “Enlightenment” movement—in a word, ...

"What can I do?" replied the innkeeper. "This is my livelihood. There is nothing for me to do in the city." "How many Jewish households are there in the city?" I asked

One year, someone in Likova came up with a novel idea: what if they all refused to buy the Jew's vodka before Passover? In that case he would have to get rid of it... and they could have it all!

The young prodigy overheard the exchange between the rabbi and the wagon driver. He could scarcely believe his ears. A pound of candles to atone for violating the holy Shabbat?

"Go back to your shop," advised Rabbi Yerachmiel. "Remove all the stitches in this garment, sew them anew exactly how you sewed them before, and bring it to the prince." "But then I'll have the same garment I have now!" protested the tailor.

Finally, the great moment arrived. It was the morning of Rosh Hashanah, and Rabbi Ze’ev stood on the reading platform in the center of the Baal Shem Tov’s synagogue amidst the Torah scrolls, surrounded by a sea of tallit-draped bodies.

The Rabbi sighed. "You don't know what a difficult time I've been having with the stubborn people here. Ever since I got back, they've been under the delusion that Shabbat is a day later, and I can't seem to convince them"