Ben Azzai used to say: “Do not regard anyone with contempt, and do not reject anything; for there is no man who does not have his hour, and nothing which does not have its place.” (Avot 4:3)

The poor man stood in the doorway, smelling the sweet, freshly baked bread, and held out his hand for something to eat. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, for he had not eaten in days. He had tried to find work, but no one wanted to hire him. At last, hearing that Rabbi Yitzchak of Kalush had an open heart and an open door, he came to his house late one Friday afternoon.

Even before they opened the door, he could smell the fresh baked bread . . .

The cook looked at her challahs, golden baked and twisted, and sprinkled with poppy seeds. The cook did not want to give him a slice from the challahs. They were for Shabbat. She looked in the kitchen cabinets and drawers for an old, stale piece of bread, the kind that is usually given to beggars, but she found none.

“Slice up a loaf,” a man’s voice said, “no blood will be lost because of it.”

And so she cut into the loaf, soft and white, and gave the poor man a thick slice to eat. Unless a person has truly been hungry, he cannot know the meaning of bread. The poor man ate greedily. As he left, a man with kind eyes nodded. He was the one who had told her to cut the bread. The poor man knew that this man had saved his life.

Time passed. The poor man was not a very successful beggar. He did better as a thief. In time, he even became the leader of a band of highwaymen, a whole gang of robbers. With their hideout in the mountains, they would watch the highway for passersby and travelers carrying a fat purse. And after robbing them, as often as not, they would silence their victims for good.

Until, one day, they stopped a certain Jew. With rough shouts they tied him and his driver up, and took his money. Then suddenly, the chief took a second look. Instead of seeing the usual terror in his victim’s eyes, there was a glance of absolute calm, as if some unseen shield was protecting him. And in his eyes was a look a profound kindness.

Suddenly the chief realized he had seen that look before. “Take this!” he said, throwing the purse back into his lap. “Unbind his driver! Let the two of them go!” he commanded his startled men. “I owe this man a debt!”

“Do you remember?” he said to the Jew. “Once a poor beggar came to your door just before your holy day. ‘Give him some bread,’ you said. ‘No blood will be lost because of it.’

“I’ll wager you never dreamed that the blood not lost would be your own! Go in peace, Rabbi Yitzchak of Kalush!”