וזכרת את ה' אלקיך כי הוא הנתן לך כח לעשות חיל למען הקים את בריתו אשר נשבע לאבתיך כיום הזה וגו' (ח-יח)
Every Friday afternoon, before sunset, many Jewish mystics of the holy city of Tzefas, would dress in white festive garments and form a procession through the streets. When they reached the end of town, they would march into an open field facing east to welcome the äìë úáù - Shabbos Bride. For all Jews, Shabbos is the holiest day of the week, but for these Kabbalists, each Shabbos was so much more; it was a holy wedding day between the Jews and their precious queen. According to mystical tradition, they sang six Psalms, representing the Six Days of Creation that preceded the holy day of Shabbos.
From his vantage point next to an olive tree, an Arab farmer stood watching the procession with bitterness in his blood. Why do these Jews have to pass his field as if they mocked his very existence? Why did they have to sing? Hotheaded and a poor businessman, the Arab witnessed his farm land become fallow. Rarely now did his fig tree bear healthy fruit, even in season. It must be the Jews, he told himself, they were to blame for his misfortunes. This was his land, ancient, holy land that was deeded to him by his father and his father's father. He was there long before these Jews and he would be there long after they left. As far as he was concerned there was no such thing as a permanent Jewish neighbor.
Slowly he plotted his revenge and chose his victim; R' Shlomo Halevi Alkabetz ZT"L. Why? Because he was the author of the song called "äìë úàø÷ì éãåã äëì" - "Let us go forth, my beloved, to meet the bride" - which was the song that the Jews sung as they walked through his fields late Friday afternoon, and it was this song, fumed the Arab farmer, that gave the Jews their spiritual energy on their holy day. Thinking this made the Arab more angry, and one day his plan came together. He hid out in the field until he saw a lone Jew - none other then the celebrated R' Alkabetz - walking along the road, absorbed in his prayer book. No one was around and without a moment's hesitation, he seized the opportunity. Somebody had to pay for the rejection of his prophet Mohammed and his beloved Koran. Somebody had to pay for the loss of his income. With an inspired hostility, the Arab farmer manhandled the lone Jew alongside the road and brutally murdered him. Quickly, he dragged the Jew's body to his own field and hastily buried him under the dried-out fig tree. The year was approximately 1580.
The following day, his fig tree, the one that barely ever bore ripe and healthy fruit, blossomed magnificently and bore exceptionally large and delicious figs. As unusual as this was in itself, what caught the attention of many villagers was that it was out of season! Soon, news of the miraculous occurrence reached the ears of the provincial governor and he summoned the Arab farmer. "Tell me, my good man, what is your secret?" he asked. "I've never heard of a tree bearing such fruit before its time."
The farmer remained silent. He knew deep down that this had something to do with the rabbi that he had murdered and he was afraid of the consequences should he confess. The governor asked again, more firmly this time but the farmer remained mute. The governor became angry and ordered that he be tortured, whereby the Arab finally confessed to killing the great rabbi, and admitted that from the day he had buried him, the fig tree had begun to bear fruit. Startled by this revelation, the governor commanded that the farmer be hung from that very fig tree as punishment for slaying a holy man of Israel!
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