Pesach (Passover) is a time when we are filled with gratitude to God for taking us out of Egypt and choosing us to be His people. Part of this gratitude is expressed during the morning prayer service, when we recite a special set of prayers of praise called Hallel.

Hallel is comprised of Psalms 113-118. Psalm 117, which is quoted above in its entirety, is the shortest chapter in all of Tanach (the Torah, Prophets and Writings) - and one of the most enigmatic.

We can understand why the Jews would want to praise God, because we were the ones He redeemed. But why should the nations praise God because of His kindness to us?

The Radak (Rabbi David Kimchi, a 12^th century Torah commentator) explains that the psalm refers to the time of Mashiach, and its brevity symbolizes the simplicity of the new world order that will then prevail.

Rabbi Yaakov Yitzchak of Lublin, an 18^th century Chassidic rebbe better known as the Seer of Lublin, gave a more "this-worldly" reason for the nations' praises, as the following story shows.

One of the followers of the Seer of Lublin was exceptionally pious. This chassid, who lived on the outskirts of a small village that was owned by a particularly anti-Semitic nobleman, would rise every day before dawn and walk to the village's synagogue to pray the morning service with the earliest minyan. And every day before dawn the nobleman would also wake up, because the knowledge that this chassid was freely passing by his property gave the nobleman no rest.

Although the nobleman hated the Jews with all his heart, he still possessed a snippet of conscience that whispered to him to at least find a pretext for his hatred - and for his revenge.

He therefore instructed his night watchmen to keep a careful eye on the chassid. Should the Jew so much as deviate from the public path by a hairsbreadth and set a toe on the nobleman's property, the watchmen were to set loose their ferocious dogs - an act that would mean certain death for the unfortunate man.

The chassid, garbed in his long, white tallit that glowed in the eerie, early morning light, was an easy target to spot. But even though every morning his attention was totally engaged in an intense meditation, in preparation for his prayers, the chassid never once strayed from the public path.

Since the chassid remained in synagogue all day studying Talmud and went straight home immediately after the Evening Service - an hour when the nobleman was already seated at his dinner table with a large goblet of strong wine - the nobleman had few other opportunities to catch the chassid in a "crime." He therefore became fixated on the chassid's early morning treks, and it even came to a point where the vision of the otherworldly figure began to haunt his dreams.

The nobleman was getting no rest - and when a nobleman is tired and cranky, everybody suffers. Day and night the angry squire barked out his orders to his servants, and woe to the servant who did not fulfill his master's command precisely as he wished.

As the days passed, the snap of the nobleman's whip was heard with increasing frequency in the stables and even the dining hall. Everyone's nerves were on edge. The situation on the estate was becoming intolerable.

And everyone knew who was to blame for all these troubles - the chassid who passed by the estate every night.

The servants decided to put their heads together to come up with a solution to their predicament. After much deliberation they came up with what they were sure was an excellent plan, and the overseer of the estate lost no time in presenting the plan to his master.

"Your Excellency," the overseer began, "now that the winter is over, I would like to make some repairs to the drainage pipes joining the estate grounds and your neighboring fields. We will need to dig up a section of the public path, but if we do the work late at night I am sure that it will not unduly inconvenience the villagers."

The nobleman understood immediately the overseer's devious intent. In the dark, it would be difficult to see the gaping hole in the road. And if a certain unsuspecting chassid should fall into that hole and break his neck …

The nobleman began to grin. He wholeheartedly gave his assent to the overseer's plan and requested that the work be done that very night.

The nobleman's workers set to work with especial energy. They dug a deep ditch across the entire width of the path, and then they dug even deeper, just for good measure. When they had completed their task and returned to their quarters, they were greeted by the sight of a big cask of vodka. The workers didn't have to be asked twice to partake of the liquor, and soon the nobleman's estate was filled with the sounds of drunken song and laughter.

Meanwhile, back at his simple home, the chassid was also indulging himself in a drop of vodka. A fellow chassid from another part of the country had unexpectedly shown up at the man's door and asked if he might spend the night. The chassid, of course, was delighted at this opportunity to perform the mitzvah of accommodating guests and so he readily agreed.

After supper, the two men lingered at the table well into the night, exchanging words of Torah and drinking an occasional l'chaim. It was only when the candle was about to give off its final sputter that the two men reluctantly ended their discussion and retired to their beds for a few hours of sleep.

When the night was at its darkest - those last few moments before the dawn begins to break through - the nobleman took up his usual place at the upper window of his mansion. He waited in happy anticipation for that moment when the white cloaked figure of the chassid would appear on the road - and disappear into the ditch.

But the chassid did not appear.

The sky grew lighter and lighter and the nobleman grew angrier and angrier, and still the chassid did not appear. What had happened?

Because the chassid had gone to bed so late, he slept past his usual hour. The sky was already quite light when he left his home and began his walk to the synagogue. When he came to the point in the road where the nobleman's workers had dug the deep ditch, the chassid simply found a place that was narrow enough to jump over and continued on his way.

The nobleman, who was still waiting at the window, was so astounded by this sight that he dashed out of his mansion and ran down the path after the chassid.

"You, there," the nobleman called out. "Stop at once!"

The chassid was in a hurry to get to synagogue, but he knew had no choice except to obey.

"Why are you so late this morning?" the nobleman demanded of the chassid.

The chassid, of course, had no idea why the nobleman cared about his tardiness, but he respectfully explained the reason why he was so late.

When the nobleman heard the reason, he immediately understood what had happened. God had sent the chassid his unexpected visitor so that no harm would come to the Jew.

Much to the chassid's surprise, the nobleman began to praise God and the way He saves His people from the devious plots of others. Even more surprising was that from that day on the nobleman experienced a change of heart and did his best to look after the Jews of his village.

However, when the chassid repeated these wondrous events to his rebbe, the Seer of Lublin was not at all surprised.

"Many people wonder," the Seer explained, "why the Psalmist says in Psalm 117, 'Praise God, all you nations, … For His kindness to us has overwhelmed us.' Why should the nations praise God for the kindness He does to us?

"The answer," continued the Seer, "is that the nations are well aware of all the devious plots they make against us - and how God saves us from their snares. They know even better than the Jews how great God's kindness to us really is, and that is why they should praise Him."