The Rambam was once under serious suspicion. Among the great seforim that he had written, were certain seforim that were considered dangerous to talmidim who were not yet mature thinkers and scholars.
All the talmidei chachomim of the Rambam's period—and later—recognized his seforim as truly outstanding. The Rambam was also a great doctor and scientist. He wrote the “Moreh Nevuchim—The Guide for the Perplexed,” which he hoped would also be favorably received.
Indeed, those who were perplexed about the true beliefs of yiddishkeit, found in this book a guide to the true way of Jewish life. On the other hand, some people were afraid that if the book would be read by students who were not confused, it would cause them to be confused, and lead them off the right path. Some even doubted whether the same person wrote both the Mishneh Torah and the Moreh Nevuchim!
So, the Rabbonim in Germany decided to send someone to Cordova, Spain—where the Rambam was born and lived—to find out for themselves what sort of person was this great Rambam.
The Rabbonim sent Rabbi Meir. Rabbi Meir was accompanied by one of his older talmidim and made the long and difficult journey to Spain. Coming to the outskirts of Cordova, Rabbi Meir and his talmid decided to take a rest on the banks of the river and refresh themselves with the river’s clear water. Having satisfied his thirst, Rabbi Meir took out a sefer from his bundle, and began to study. After a while, the travelers continued on their journey. Neither of them noticed that Rabbi Meir had left the sefer on the bank of the river.
Arriving at the home of the Rambam, Rabbi Meir knocked on the door. A servant opened the door and let him in.
“The Rambam is having lunch. Who, should I say, wants to see him?” the servant asked.
“Just tell Rambam that the visitor sends his compliments, and wishes him to enjoy the eggs he is eating,” Rabbi Meir replied.
A few minutes later the servant returned, bringing the message: “The Rambam bids you welcome. He also wants to remind you that you left a book on the bank of the river.”
Rabbi Meir checked his bag. Indeed, the book was missing. He sent his talmid to retrieve it.
Soon, the Rambam came into the front room and heartily welcomed the Rabbi from Germany. He invited the visitor to eat with him. A strange dish was served. It looked like a human hand. Rabbi Meir thought: “Can it be that the Rambam is a cannibal, eating human flesh?” He declined the dish, saying that he was not very hungry.
“Well, then maybe you will have some good wine to drink?” the Rambam suggested, and he called out: “Petrus, get us some wine from the cellar.”
Again, Rabbi Meir was surprised. Is it possible that the Rambam drinks wine that is touched by a goy, which is against Halacha? Rabbi Meir politely refused the wine, asking for water instead.
Feeling tired and somewhat upset, Rabbi Meir excused himself and accepted the suggestion of the Rambam to retire to bed. “We will postpone our meal for tomorrow,” the Rambam said. Turning to his servant, he said: “Petrus, tomorrow you will kill the calf for the meal in honor of our guest.”
For the third time, Rabbi Meir was shocked. “Why did the Rambam not call a shochet?” he thought. “Does he not believe in shechita anymore? Has he really strayed so far from the Jewish way of life?”
Rabbi Meir paced the floor of his room all night. Even though he was tired from his long journey, he could not sleep. He was greatly disturbed and upset. Who would have thought that such things were possible from such a great man? He decided that he would speak quite frankly with the Rambam in the morning. He would tell him the purpose of his visit and demand an explanation.
***
Early the following morning, the servant knocked on Rabbi Meir’s door and said that the Rambam wishes to see him.
Again the Rambam greeted him with a gracious smile, and without giving Rabbi Meir a chance to ask any questions, he said to his visitor:
“My good friend, I know why you have come all the way from Germany to visit me. You have been sent to see with your own eyes what sort of a man I am, and whether I am still a believing and practicing Jew. I also know why you refused to eat last night, and why you refused to drink my wine. I am also aware that you did not sleep a wink last night and that you were haunted by the terrible thought that I seemed to have offered you human flesh, forbidden wine, and finally treifah meat. Now, my friend, let me explain all these strange things, and you will see how easily one can fall into error and suspicion if one lets one’s imagination get out of hand; how little one can rely on one’s own eyes and ears, much less hearsay.”
“You see,” continued the Rambam, “the strange dish that looked to you like a human hand, was nothing else but a special vegetable that grows in this country, but not in yours. It is a very wholesome food. You know, I am a doctor, and I attach great importance to a balanced diet.”
Rabbi Meir now felt ashamed that he should have suspected the Rambam of such a dreadful thing. “But how come you ordered your non-Jewish servant to bring the wine from the cellar?” Rabbi Meir asked.
“G-d forbid that I should do such a thing. You see, my servant Petrus is a Jew from birth, a very observant Jew. Don’t let the name mislead you. Petrus was the name of one of our chachomim, Rabbi Yosef bar Petrus, and according to the gemora in Yerushalmi, Moed Kattan, Rabbi Yose bar Petrus was the father-in-law of the great talmud chochom, Rabbi Yoshua ben Levi.”
Again, Rabbi Meir felt ashamed that he should have suspected the Rambam of such a thing. He was now eagerly waiting for the explanation of the “killing” of the calf, instead of shechting it according to halacha.
“The explanation of that is also simple enough,” the Rambam said, as if reading his mind. “You know, of course, that when a calf is removed from its mother after the mother had been shechted, such a calf does not require shecita, having the benefit of its mother’s shechita. I have been raising such a calf for a distinguished visitor.”
Tears welled up in Rabbi Meir’s eyes. He embraced the Rambam and begged him for forgiveness. The Rambam readily forgave him, of course. The two scholars spent the next few days in study and discussion, to the great delight of both, but especially Rabbi Meir.
On his journey back home, Rabbi Meir spoke glowingly of the Rambam in every Jewish community where he stopped. “From Moshe (Rabbeinu) to Moshe (ben Maimon) there was none like Moshe ben Maimon,” was the reputation which the Rambam gained. This was also the report which Rabbi Meir brought back to the Rabbonim of Germany, who had sent him to become acquainted with the Rambam.
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