June 21st, 2015
And Joseph was the ruler of the land; he was the supplier of food to all its people.
Joseph’s brothers came [to Egypt] and prostrated themselves to him … and Joseph remembered the dreams he had dreamed about them…
Genesis 42:6-9
Twenty years earlier, Joseph had dreamed two dreams which foretold the events of that day. In the first dream, “we were binding sheaves in the field, when suddenly my sheaf arose and stood upright; and behold, your sheaves stood round it and bowed down to my sheaf.”[1] In the second, Joseph saw “the sun, the moon, and eleven stars bowing down to me.”[2]
Joseph’s brothers, who were already jealous of their father’s special affection for him, “hated him even more for his dreams and his words.”[3] Jacob, however, “kept the matter in mind”[4] and “awaited and anticipated its fulfillment.”[5]
For that to happen, Jacob had to mourn the loss of his beloved son for twenty years, Joseph had to experience slavery and incarceration, and his brothers, anguished remorse, for that same period. Twenty painful years so that the sons of Jacob might prostrate themselves before the viceroy of Egypt, who, unbeknownst to them, was the very dreamer they had sold into slavery. Why was it so important that this submission take place? Why did Jacob “await and anticipate the fulfillment” of Joseph’s dreams, despite his realization[6] of the terrible animosity they provoked among his children?
The New Jew
Abraham, Isaac and Jacob were shepherds, as were the sons of Jacob.[7] They chose this vocation because they found the life of the shepherd—a life of seclusion, communion with nature, and distance from the tumult and vanities of society—most conducive to their spiritual pursuits. Tending their sheep in the valleys and on the hills of Canaan, they could turn their backs on the mundane affairs of man, contemplate the majesty of the Creator, and serve Him with a clear mind and tranquil heart.[8]
Joseph was different. He was a man of the world, a “fortuitous achiever”[9] in commerce and politics. Sold into slavery, he was soon chief manager of his master’s affairs. Thrown into jail, he was soon a high-ranking member of the prison administration. He went on to become viceroy of Egypt, second only to Pharaoh in the most powerful nation on earth, and sole supplier of food for the entire region.
Yet none of this touched him. He remained the righteous Joseph who had studied Torah at the feet of his father.[10] Slave, prisoner, ruler of millions, controller of an empire’s wealth—it made no difference: the same Joseph who had meditated in the hills and valleys of Canaan walked the streets of a depraved Egypt. His spiritual and moral self derived utterly from within and was totally unaffected by his society, environment, or the occupation that claimed his involvement twenty-four hours a day.
The conflict between Joseph and his brothers ran deeper than a multi-colored coat or a favorite son’s share of his father’s affections. It was a conflict between a spiritual tradition and a new worldliness; between a community of shepherds and a politician. The brothers could not accept that a person could lead a worldly existence without becoming worldly, that a person could remain one with G-d while inhabiting the palaces and government halls of pagan Egypt.[11]
For two hundred years, the shepherd’s credo held sway. But Jacob knew that if his descendants were to survive the Egyptian galut (exile)—and the millennia of Babylonian, Greek, Roman, Eastern, Western, economic, religious and cultural galuyot that history held in store for them—this must be subordinated to the credo of Joseph. If the children of Israel are to pass through every social convulsion of the next four thousand years and persevere as G-d’s people, they must become subjects of Joseph.
Based on an address by the Rebbe, Kislev 20, 5727 (December 3, 1966)[12].
______________________________________________________
[6] See Rashi, ibid., v. 10.
[8] Sefer HaMaamarim 5565, p. 192
[9] Ish matzliach—Genesis 39:2.
[11] This is the deeper significance of the fact that “Joseph recognized his brothers, but they did not recognize him” (Genesis 42:8). The sons of Jacob were incapable of perceiving a “brother” (one who is their spiritual equal) in one so involved in the material world.
[12] Likkutei Sichot, vol. XXXV, pp. 159-161.
Tags: Jacob, Joseph, dreams, exile, prophecy, spiritual and material
Posted in Bereishit, Biblical, Weekly Parsha, Torah Personalities, Torah, Mikeitz, Joseph | No Comments »
June 21st, 2015
Chanukah celebrates the miracle of “the single cruse of oil, sealed with the seal of the Kohen Gadol (High Priest),” that escaped contamination when the Greeks defiled the Holy Temple and its contents. The cruse contained enough oil to light the menorah for one day; miraculously, the oil burned for eight days, until new oil could be prepared under conditions of ritual purity.[13]
The purity of the oil was guaranteed because it was sealed within a “cruse” (pach, in the Hebrew)—an earthen jug.[14] The laws of ritual purity distinguish between earthenware and vessels made of other materials. On the one hand, the law regarding the earthen vessels is more stringent: once an earthen vessel is contaminated, it only becomes pure when it is broken (i.e., it loses its original form and is remade anew), while wooden and metal vessels can be purified through immersion in a mikvah.[15] On the other hand, an earthen vessel becomes impure only when the source of impurity enters into it, while other vessels are contaminated also through contact with their outside surface.[16] So if the oil had been found in a wooden or metal container, its being “sealed with the seal of the Kohen Gadol” would not have sufficed, since this could not ensure that pagan hands had not touched it on the outside, contaminating the vessel and its contents. Because it was in an earthen jug, the fact that it was sealed guaranteed that the oil it contained was pure and fit to light the menorah.[17]
Man as Vessel
The halachic definition of an earthen vessel (keli cheres) is a container or tool fashioned of earth (mud, clay, etc.) and hardened by fire.[18] Spiritually, the “earthen vessel” is one who possesses two key traits: humility (“earth,” as in “my soul should be as earth to all”[19]) and passion (“fire”).[20]
A fertile spiritual life is nourished by these two different, indeed antipodal, qualities. It is fashioned of humility—permeated with a recognition of the inferiority of mortal man and an utter submission to the divine authority. But this is no listless clod, loyal and pious but devoid of initiative and achievement; it is earth fired with passion, clay glowing with the desire to elevate itself and come close to G-d.
This synthesis of earth and fire makes for a vessel immune to contamination through its external surface: no superficial iniquity can corrupt this soul. Because he is humble, he is unsusceptible to the banalities of ego and materialism; because he is driven by a love of G-d, he escapes the snares of indolence and inertia.
However, the earthen vessel remains vulnerable to contamination from within; indeed, he is more vulnerable to “internal” impurities than his less humble and less fervent fellows.[21] Precisely because he is humble, he is receptive to elevated ideals; precisely because he is aflame, he is readily inspired by lofty passions. So he must take great care not to fall prey to the impurities that infiltrate the mind and heart in the guise of spiritual and idealistic values, but which in truth stem from the pagan usurper of the sanctuary of G-d.
He must therefore secure himself with “the seal of the Kohen Gadol”—with the unequivocal commitment to G-d that stems from the innermost core of his soul and resists every foreign influence. Thus he will safeguard his luminescent potential as oil fit to light the menorah, to disseminate the divine light to the world.
Based on an entry in the Rebbe’s journal dated “Chanukah 5696” (1935)[22].
_____________________________________________________
[19] Conclusion of Amidah prayer; Talmud, Berachot 17a.
[20] In the language of Kabbalah and Chassidism, ratzo (striving) and shov (retreat, settling down).
[21] An earthen vessel is contaminated from within even if the source of impurity merely enters into its interior space without touching its walls, while other vessels are contaminated (inside or out) only by actual contact (Talmud, Chulin 24b).
[22] Reshimot #3, pp. 15-16. This is based on a lengthy exposition on Chanukah which the Rebbe outlined in his journal, parts of which he delivered at the synagogue at 17 Radzia St. in Paris, which he frequented during the years he resided in that city (1933-1940).
Tags: Chanukah, Jewish law, Divine service, passion, humility, Torah, menorah
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Bereishit, Soul & Mystical, Months & Holidays, Chanukah, Religion, Kislev, Spiritual, Torah, Mikeitz | No Comments »
June 21st, 2015
The Torah tells us that when Jacob moved his family to Egypt, where the Jewish people were to reside for more than two centuries, “he sent Judah ahead… to show the way.”[1] The Hebrew word lehorot (“to show the way”) literally means “to teach” and “to instruct,” prompting the Midrash to say that the purpose of Judah’s mission was “to establish a house of learning from which would be disseminated the teachings of Torah.”[2]
But Joseph was already in Egypt, and Jacob had already received word that Joseph’s twenty-two years away from home had not diminished his knowledge of and commitment to Torah.[3] And Joseph certainly had the authority and the means to establish the most magnificent yeshivah in the empire. Why did Jacob desire that Judah—a penniless emigrant who barely knows the language—be the one to establish the house of learning that was to serve the Jewish people in Egypt?
Judah and Joseph
The children of Jacob were divided into two factions: on one side were ten of the twelve brothers, led by Judah; on the other, Joseph, whose differences with his brothers were the cause of much pain and strife in Jacob’s family.
The conflict between Joseph and his brothers ran deeper than a multicolored coat or a favorite son’s share of his father’s affections. It was a conflict between two world-views, between two approaches to life as a Jew in a pagan world.
Abraham, Isaac and Jacob were shepherds, as were Joseph’s brothers.[4] They chose this vocation because they found the life of the shepherd—a life of seclusion, communion with nature, and distance from the tumult and vanities of society—most conducive to their spiritual pursuits. Tending their sheep in the valleys and on the hills of Canaan, they could turn their backs on the mundane affairs of man, contemplate the majesty of the Creator, and serve Him with a clear mind and tranquil heart.[5]
Joseph was the exception. He was a man of the world, a “fortuitous achiever”[6] in business and politics. Sold into slavery, he was soon chief manager of his master’s affairs. Thrown into jail, he was soon a high-ranking member of the prison administration. He went on to become viceroy of Egypt, second only to Pharaoh in the most powerful nation on earth.
Yet none of this touched him. Slave, prisoner, ruler of millions, controller of an empire’s wealth—it made no difference: the same Joseph who had studied Torah at the feet of his father traversed the palaces and government halls of Egypt. His spiritual and moral self derived from within and was totally unaffected by his society, environment, or the occupation that claimed his involvement twenty-four hours a day.
The conflict between Joseph and his brothers was the conflict between a spiritual tradition and a new worldliness; between a community of shepherds and an entrepreneur. The brothers could not accept that a person can lead a worldly existence without becoming worldly; that a person can remain one with G-d while immersed in the affairs of the most depraved society on earth.
In this conflict, Joseph was to emerge the victor. The spiritual seclusion that characterized the first three generations of Jewish history was destined to end; Jacob and his family moved to Egypt, where the “smelting pit” of exile was to forge their descendants into the nation of Israel. As Joseph had foreseen in his dreams, his brother and his father bowed to him, prostrating their approach to his. Jacob had understood the significance of these dreams all along, and had awaited their fulfillment;[7] Joseph’s brothers, who found it more difficult to accept that the era of the shepherd was drawing to a close, fought him for twenty-two bitter years, until they, too, came to accept that the historical challenge of Israel was to be the challenge of living a spiritual life in a material environment.
Founding Fathers
Nevertheless, it was Judah, not Joseph, who was chosen by Jacob to establish the house of learning that was to serve as the source of Torah knowledge for the Israelites in Egypt.
The first three generations of Jewish life were not a “false start”: they were the foundation of all that was to follow. It was this foundation from which Joseph drew the strength to persevere in his faith and righteousness in an alien environment; it was this foundation upon which the entire edifice of Jewish history was to be constructed.
The Jew lives in a material world, but his roots are planted in the soil of unadulterated spirituality. In his daily life he must be a Joseph, but his education must be provided by a Judah.
Based on an address by the Rebbe, Tevet 2, 5722 (December 9, 1961)[8].
The Week in Review is adapted from the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe by Yanki Tauber.
[2]. Midrash Tanchuma, Vayigash 12.
[3]. See Midrash Rabbah, Bereishit 94:3.
[5]. Sefer HaMaamarim 5565, p. 192.
[6]. Ish matzliach—Genesis 39:2.
[7]. Genesis 37:11; Rashi, ibid.
[8]. Likkutei Sichot, vol. III, pp. 827-830.
Tags: Judah, strength, Life's Challenges, Joseph, spiritual and material
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Bereishit, Biblical, Torah Personalities, Torah, Joseph, Vayigash | 1 Comment »
June 21st, 2015
“Sadness is not a sin,” goes the famous Chassidic saying, “but the damage that sadness can do to a person, no sin can.”
Does this mean that a person is never to experience anything other than happiness and satisfaction? Never to experience regret and remorse, never to be grieved by the negative in oneself and one’s world? Obviously not. The important thing, however, is not to allow the sadness to pervade our souls and dominate our lives.
The Torah establishes special times (such as the month of Elul and the Ten Days of Repentance, the “Minor Yom Kippur” at the end of each month, and the nightly “Reading of the Shema” before going to sleep) when one is to search one’s soul, dwell on what requires rectification, and weep over one’s shortcomings and transgressions. However, these feelings must be confined to these specifically designated times, following which one should resume “serving G-d with joy”[9] and confidence in one’s own intrinsic goodness and the intrinsic goodness of G-d’s world.
One of the great Chassidic masters employs the following parable to explain the place that sadness should occupy in our lives: A barrel of the finest wine has a layer of sediment on its bottom. The sediment plays an important role in the wine’s preservation, but must be kept at the bottom of the barrel: if it is allowed to mix with the wine, the wine becomes undrinkable.
The pain we experience in our lives has a most constructive function: without it, we would become indifferent to all that is not as it should be in ourselves and our world. But this is the sediment to the wine of life. Life itself must be a joyous and exhilarating experience, its melancholy moments to be confined to the bottom of the barrel.[10]
The Week in Review is adapted from the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe by Yanki Tauber.
__________________________________________________________________
[10]. Based on Tanya, chs. 29 and 31.
Tags: Chassidus, tragedy, Life's Challenges, Broken Heart, sadness
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Bereishit, Personal Life, Torah, Emotions & Psychology, Pain & Suffering, Vayigash | 1 Comment »
June 21st, 2015
“If a dead body shall be found … fallen in the field, and it not be known who has slain him … And the city that is closest to the body, the elders of that city shall take a calf that has never been put to work, that has never drawn in the yoke. And the elders of that city shall take the calf down to a rough ravine, which shall not be worked nor sown; and they shall decapitate the calf there in the ravine… And they shall proclaim: “Our hands have not spilled this blood; our eyes have not seen. O G-d, absolve Your nation Israel, whom You have redeemed … may the blood be forgiven them…”
Deuteronomy 21:1-8
Our sages tell us that the law of eglah arufah (“the decapitated calf”) was the last law that Jacob and Joseph studied together[9] before Joseph went off to check up on his brothers and was lost to his father for twenty-two years.
When Joseph’s brothers returned from Egypt and told their father that Joseph was alive and is the ruler of Egypt, Jacob’s “heart rejected [the news], for he could not believe them.”[10] It was only when “they spoke to him the words that Joseph spoke to them” and showed him “the agalot that Joseph had sent,” that “the spirit of Jacob was revived” and he hurried to Egypt to see his beloved son.[11] What were “the words that Joseph spoke to them”? And what were the agalot he sent? The word agalot literally means “wagons.” But the wagons to carry Jacob and his family to Egypt were sent by Pharaoh,[12] not by Joseph; and why would the sight of some wagons revive the spirit of Jacob? The agalot, explain our sages, were an allusion to the eglah arufah: Joseph was reminding his father of the last Torah law they had studied together. Yes—said Jacob upon seeing the agalot—the viceroy of Egypt is my long-lost son, and he has not forgotten the Torah he has learned in his father’s home.[13]
Out In The Field
We all acknowledge our responsibility for things that are in our control, for whatever occurs within our “jurisdiction.” But what about those things that are outside of our domain? Things over which we have no authority and only a limited influence?
This is the lesson of eglah arufah. The elders of the city nearest the murder must clarify that “our hands have not spilled this blood.” “Would it occur to anyone,” asks the Talmud, “that the elders of the beit-din are spillers of blood? But [the elders have to affirm that]… ‘We have not sent him off without provisions … we have not sent him off without accompaniment.’”[14] The city elders are obviously responsible for everything that transpires within their jurisdiction. But the murder occurred “out in the field,” outside the domain of all the surrounding cities. Yet the city elders must proclaim their non-culpability, and then seek atonement and forgiveness for the deed.
This is the deeper significance of the message Joseph sent to Jacob. Father, he was saying, I have not forgotten the law of eglah arufah. True, I have been exiled from the sacred environment of your home to depraved Egypt. But I have not sent off my soul to this spiritual no-man’s-land without provisions and accompaniment. I have not abandoned it to a spiritual death with the justification that “this is outside of my domain. I have no way of dealing with this.” After twenty-two years of slavery, imprisonment and political power, I am the same Joseph who left your home on the day that we studied the laws of eglah arufah.
Based on an address by the Rebbe, Tevet 5, 5747 (January 6, 1987)[15].
Adapted from the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
[9]. Our forefathers studied the Torah many centuries before it was “officially” given at Sinai. See Talmud, Yoma 28b; Rashi, Genesis 37:3; et al.
[12]. See ibid., 45: 21, 46:8.
[13]. Midrash Rabbah, Bereishit 94:3; Rashi, Genesis 45:27.
[15]. Likkutei Sichot, vol. XXX, pp. 222-224.
Tags: free will, Jewish law, Torah, control, free choice, Jacob, Joseph
Posted in Biblical, Weekly Parsha, Bereishit, Beliefs & Concepts, Torah Personalities, Free Choice, Torah, Jacob, Joseph, Vayigash | No Comments »
June 21st, 2015
In one of the narrow lanes of the Jerusalem neighborhood of “Beth Israel” stands a large, handsomely built synagogue. For a hundred years, a marble plaque affixed to its north wall has borne the legend:
“For everlasting remembrance in the House of G-d. This synagogue has been erected by the generosity of a donor, whose name shall remain hidden and concealed, who contributed the sum of 110 napoleons of gold.”
For many years, it was presumed that the funds were provided by one of the wealthy citizens of Jerusalem who wished, through anonymity, to preserve his good deed from the taint of pride. Few knew the true identity of the donor and the story behind his donation.
Rabbi Shlomo Zalman Porush was a man of modest means, though large sums of money passed through his hands. He was the secretary of one of the “kollel” societies which supported the poor Jews of Jerusalem with funds collected for that purpose throughout the Diaspora. Rabbi Shlomo was responsible for the sustenance of several hundred families whose support had been pledged by the Jewish community of Minsk and its environs in White Russia.
One year, as Passover approached, the arrival of funds was delayed. Rabbi Shlomo knew that the money would be forthcoming, but in the meantime, the families for whom he was responsible had to be provided with matzot, wine and other festival needs. He therefore turned to a neighbor of his, Reb Faivish Stoller, a carpenter who worked hard all his life and had managed to put aside a considerable sum. Faivish agreed to loan him his life-savings—200 napoleons of gold—until he could be repaid with the money arriving shortly from abroad.
Soon after Passover, the long-awaited messenger arrived from Minsk. The purse he brought contained only 110 napoleons, but an accompanying letter promised that the remainder was on the way. Rabbi Shlomo lost no time in bringing the money to his neighbor.
Several weeks later, the rest of the money arrived. But when Rabbi Shlomo brought the 90 gold coins to Reb Faivish, a most unpleasant surprise awaited him. The elderly carpenter, whose memory had begun to fail him, had lost all recollection of the first payment and was adamant in his insistence that he had received nothing of the 200 napoleons owed.
No written contract recorded the loan or the payment, for the two men had had absolute trust in each other. Now they had no recourse but to present their case before the bet-din (rabbinical court) of the venerated chief rabbi of Jerusalem, Rabbi Shmuel Salant.
From a halachic standpoint, this was a textbook case: the borrower admits the loan, but claims that a partial payment has been made, which the lender denies. This is a classic example of modeh b’miktzat (“one who partially admits” an otherwise insupportable claim); in such a case, the burden of proof rests with the lender, but the borrower must take a “biblical oath” in affirmation of his argument.
Upon hearing the verdict of the bet-din, Rabbi Shlomo turned pale. Never in his life did he imagine that he would be required to take an oath in court, never mind a “biblical oath” performed upon a Torah scroll! He begged to be given several days to think over the matter.
When the bet-din reconvened, Rabbi Shlomo announced that he was prepared to pay the disputed 110 napoleons out of his own pocket rather than take an oath. He only asked that he be given a few weeks to raise the money. Faivish Stoller agreed, and it appeared that the matter had been settled. But Rabbi Shmuel Salant would not allow this arrangement. “I’m sorry,” he said to Rabbi Shlomo, “but this is not a private matter that can be settled between the litigants. It involves communal funds. As one who is entrusted with charity moneys, your honesty must be beyond reproach. Unless it is decisively established that the money was paid as you claim, people will talk. I therefore insist that you take the oath.”
Again Rabbi Shlomo requested, and was granted, a short respite. For three days he fasted, wept and recited psalms. On the fourth day he came before the bet-din and swore that he had paid 110 napoleons to Faivish Stoller.
Shortly thereafter, Rabbi Shlomo put up his modest home for sale. To his family he explained that he had intended to sell the house in order to avoid taking the oath, and now he did not want to benefit from money he had “saved” by swearing on a Torah scroll. To the proceeds of the sale he added almost all of his savings to make the sum of 110 napoleons, which he presented to a committee that was raising money to build a new synagogue. His only stipulation was that no mention be made of the source of the money.
Several months later, Faivish Stoller appeared in the small apartment to which Rabbi Shlomo had moved after the sale of his home. Without a word, he placed on Rabbi Shlomo’s table a purse containing 110 napoleons of gold, which he had uncovered in a drawer in his workshop.
Tags: love of G-d, awe of G-d, Torah, money, Jewish law
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Bereishit, Religion, Beliefs & Concepts, Miracles, Personal Life, Spiritual, Torah, Business, Work & Money, Vayigash | 1 Comment »
June 21st, 2015
Rabbi Yosef Weinberg enjoyed a close working relationship with the Lubavitcher Rebbe for more than forty years, from when the Rebbe assumed the leadership of Chabad-Lubavitch in 1951. The Rebbe devoted many hours each week to reviewing and commenting on the weekly Tanya lessons that Rabbi Weinberg broadcast over the radio, and advised Rabbi Weinberg on his multi-faceted activities on behalf of the Lubavitcher Yeshivah and his other communal work.
Rabbi Weinberg tells of one incident that, to him, expresses the Rebbe’s boundless commitment to the welfare of his people. “I once had an extremely urgent matter to convey to the Rebbe,” recalls Rabbi Weinberg, “but it was late at night, and the Rebbe’s secretariat was already closed. I noticed that the light in the Rebbe’s room was on, so I did something that I would never have dared to do had the matter not been so urgent: I slipped a letter under the Rebbe’s door.
“It was several minutes before I realized the implications of what I had done: the Rebbe would have to bend down to pick up my letter from the floor! How could I possibly have done such a thing! But the deed was done, and there was nothing I could now do to prevent its consequences.
“On the next occasion that I was received by the Rebbe in yechidut (private audience), I said to him that I had done something that I deeply regretted and I hoped that the Rebbe would forgive me. I then profusely apologized for having caused the Rebbe to bend down in order to pick up my letter.
“When I finished speaking, the Rebbe looked straight at me and said: ‘But that is my job—to bend down in order to help another Jew.’”
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
Tags: Rebbe, Chassidic stories
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Vayikra, Torah, Emor, Rebbe | No Comments »
June 21st, 2015
In a late-night fire in the town of Beshenkovitz, the home of the chassid Rabbi Shmuel Munkes burned to the ground.
Reb Shmuel was out of town at the time. The next day, as the chassid stood at the pile of ashes and smoldering embers which was all that remained of everything he owned, he lifted his eyes heavenward and began to recite: “Blessed are you G-d….”
Those who stood there with him expected to hear Reb Shmuel conclude with the words “…the True Judge,” pronouncing the blessing which a Jew recites in response to a tragedy. Instead, Reb Shmuel recited one of the daily morning blessings, “…who has not made me a gentile.”
Noticing the looks of astonishment on the faces of the bystanders, Rabbi Shmuel explained: “Were I not to have been born a Jew, my god would have gone up in smoke together with my home. But since the Almighty, in His great kindness, has chosen to make me a Jew, the G-d whom I serve is alive and well….”
Adapted from the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
Tags: divine providence, faith, fire, Chassidic stories
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Vayikra, Faith, Beliefs & Concepts, Vayikra, Torah | No Comments »
June 21st, 2015
Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov was teaching his disciples when they were disturbed by a knock on the shutter. A peasant, hauling a cart of tools, peered through the window. “Need any fixing?” he cried. “Any shaky tables, broken chairs? A loose brick in the hearth, perhaps?”
“No, no,” came the impatient reply from within, where all were eager to get on with the interrupted lesson. “Everything is in perfect condition. There’s no need for any repairs.”’
“Indeed? Nothing to repair?” called the peasant. “That simply cannot be. Look well, and you’re sure to find something that needs fixing!”
Rabbi Israel then addressed his students: “Many times have I taught you that nothing is by chance in G-d’s world; that every event and experience is purposeful, that everything one sees or hears is a lesson for one’s service of the Almighty. Think of the words we just heard from this simple peasant. How profoundly relevant they are to each and every one of us! Is everything really in perfect condition? At times it might seem so; but if one truly searches his heart and evaluates his life, is he not sure to find something that requires repair…?”
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
Tags: self-improvement, divine providence, self-discovery, Baal Shem Tov, Chassidic stories
Posted in Baal Shem Tov, Weekly Parsha, Tzav, Vayikra, Torah Personalities, Modern, Torah | No Comments »
June 21st, 2015
Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi once said to one of his grandchildren: “Let me tell you about the simple faith of the Jews of Vohlyn (Ukraine).
“Many years ago, I was traveling home from Mezeritch after a period of study under the guidance of my master, the great Maggid.[1] It was a cold winter night, and my feet had become immobilized by the cold. When we stopped at a wayside inn, the coachman had to carry me inside in his arms.
“The innkeeper, an elderly, G-d-fearing Jew, rubbed my feet with snow and spirits until the life returned to them. He asked me about the purpose of my journey, and I told him that I was a disciple of the Maggid of Mezeritch. In answer to my questions, he told me that he had been operating this inn for close to fifty years, and that, thank G-d, he has earned a comfortable living from it.
‘Is there a Jewish community here?’ I asked.
‘No,’ replied the innkeeper. ‘We are the only Jews for many miles around.’
‘So you don’t have a minyan[2]? What do you do on Shabbat and the festivals?’
‘To my sorrow,’ sighed the old man, ‘we pray without a quorum all year round. For the High Holidays, we close the inn for two weeks and travel to the city—a several days’ journey from here.’
‘But how can you live this way!’ I exclaimed. ‘How can a Jew go for months on end without a kaddish or borchu, without hearing the public reading of the Torah?’
‘What can I do? This is my livelihood. There is nothing for me to do in the city.’
‘How many Jewish households are there in the city?’ I asked.
‘About a hundred,’ he replied.
‘If G-d manages to provide a living for a hundred families,’ I said, ‘don’t you think He could find a way to provide for one more?’
“On that note, we parted company. I was given a room in which to rest, and the innkeeper went off to attend to his affairs.
An hour later, I heard a commotion outside. Looking out the window, I saw several carts and wagons piled high with bundles and crates, furniture and household items. The innkeeper and his sons were running about, tying down the bundles and settling the women and children into the wagons.
‘What’s going on?’ I asked the old man.
‘We’re moving to the city,’ he replied. ‘You’re right—this is no place for a Jew. A Jew needs a minyan, a rabbi, a community…’
‘But just like that, you’re going? Where will you stay? And what will you do for a living?’
‘We’ll find something. As you rightly pointed out to me, if G-d can take care of a hundred families in the city, He can surely provide for a few more souls…’
“Such was the faith and trust in G-d of these Jews,” concluded Rabbi Schneur Zalman. “I was but a young man at the time, but because I had told him that I was a disciple of the Great Maggid, he unquestionably acted on my advice. Without giving it another thought, he left behind an enterprise that had provided him with a comfortable living for fifty years and set out, that very night, to a place where he could better serve his Creator.”
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
[1]. Rabbi DovBer of Mezeritch (d. 1772), second leader of the Chassidic movement.
[2]. A quorum of ten adult Jewish males required for communal prayer.
Tags: divine providence, faith, Alter Rebbe, Chassidic stories
Posted in Weekly Parsha, Faith, Vayikra, Shemini, Beliefs & Concepts, Torah | No Comments »
