Late on a Friday afternoon, as the sun dipped low over the rooftops of Berditchev, a wagon driver hurried into the synagogue.

He was breathless. Dust still clung to his coat. It was clear he had been driving hard—racing against the falling sun as the shadows lengthened.

A few heads turned. Shabbat had already begun. This was not the manner in which one was meant to approach a house of prayer.

Before anyone could object, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak looked up from his place and smiled.

“Tell me,” the Rabbi said gently, “what has brought you here in such haste?”

The man steadied himself and answered simply.

“All week, the road decides for me.The horses pull forward.The miles never stop.I am always moving—always behind—always on my way somewhere else.”

“But Shabbat is the only day I can finally stand still, breathe life in, and be who I........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)