The town looked upon the apoplectic stroke as God's punishment—it was obvious. "Aha!" they had cried on hearing of it, and everyone saw in it another proof, and it also was "obvious"—of the fact that there is a God in the world, and that people cannot do just what they like. The great fanatics overflowed with eloquence, and saw in it an act of Heavenly vengeance. "Serves him right! Serves him right!" they thought. "Whose fault is it?" people replied, when some one reminded them that it was very sad—such a man as he had been, "Who told him to do it? He has himself to thank for his misfortunes."
The town had never ceased talking of him the whole time. Every one was interested in knowing how he was, and what was the matter with him. And when they heard that he was better, that he was getting well, they really were pleased; they were sure that he would give up all his foolish plans, and understand that God had punished him, and that he would be again as before.
But it soon became known that he clung to his wickedness, and people ceased to rejoice.
The Rabbi and his fanatical friends came to see him one day by way of visiting the sick. Reb Shloimeh felt inclined to ask them if they had come to stare at him as one visited by a miracle, but he refrained, and surveyed them with indifference.
"Well, how are you, Reb Shloimeh?" they asked.
"Gentiles!" answered Reb Shloimeh, almost in spite of himself, and smiled.
The Rabbi and the others became confused.
They sat a little while, couldn't think of anything to say, and got up from their seats. Then they stood a bit, wished him a speedy return to health, and went away, without hearing any answer from Reb Shloimeh to their "good night."
It was not long before the whole town knew of the visit, and it began to boil like a kettle.
To commit such sin is to play with destiny. Once you are in, there is no getting out! Give the devil a hair, and he'll snatch at the whole beard.