Suffering and Forgiveness By Rabbi Yissocher Frand There was once a man who, during his preparations for Yom Kippur, decided that he needed very much to do or see something that would inspire him to do teshuvah. He thought and thought and finally settled on the idea that seeing the great Rebbe Reb Elimelech of Lizhensk, the author of Noam Elimelech, perform the kapparos ritual would be a transcendent experience. In his mind, he conjured up an image of the holy sage, tears streaming from his eyes as he brandished a white rooster over his head. It stirred him to his very soul. The man gathered up his courage and asked the rebbe for permission to be present for the kapparos. “You’re looking to be inspired, aren’t you?” said the rebbe. “Then don’t watch my kapparos. Go to the Jewish innkeeper in such-and-such a village. Watch what he does for kapparos.” Somewhat reluctantly, the man took the rebbe’s advice and set off for that village. Along the way, he was consumed by curiosity. Who could this Jew be? Could he be one of the lamed vav tzaddikim, the 36 hidden righteous people who are the pillars of the world? When he arrived in the village and met the Jewish innkeeper, he was sorely disappointed. The innkeeper was a vulgar fellow. He didn’t seem to be a scholar, nor did he appear to be particularly pious. At best, he was just an ordinary Jew. What in the world could the rebbe have wanted him to learn from this Jew? “I’ve come to watch you do kapparos,” the man told the innkeeper. “Do you mind?” The innkeeper gave him a strange look and shrugged his shoulders indifferently. The night before Yom Kippur, the innkeeper told his wife, “Bring me my ledgers.” A minute later, he was holding two worn account books in his callused hands. As the visitor watched in amazement, the innkeeper opened them and began to take stock of his life. One ledger contained a meticulous accounting of all his failures and shortcomings during the year gone by. Every time he failed to say Krias Shema in its proper time, every time he missed Minchah, every time he spoke lashon hara, every aveirah he had committed throughout the year, large and small, all of it was recorded in the book. The second ledger recorded all the suffering he had endured throughout the year. All his business setbacks, all his disappointments, all the indignities that he had suffered at the hands of other people, all the insults and hurtful remarks he had endured, all the grief and sorrow he had witnessed in the community, the widows and orphans, the sick children, the unemployed, the starving, all of these were recorded in the second ledger. “Ribono Shel Olam,” he had cried out after he had finished reviewing the accounts. “We made a deal last year. I promised to improve, and You were supposed to give me a good year. But look at these ledgers. Neither of us has kept to the deal. So I’ll make You another deal right now. I will forgive You for what You’ve done, and You forgive me for what I’ve done.” The next morning, when it came time to say kapparos, the innkeeper took the two ledgers and brandished them over his head as he said, “Zeh chalifasi… This is my replacement…” I’m reluctant to repeat this story, because it almost borders on the blasphemous. The Ribono Shel Olam certainly doesn’t need our forgiveness. I believe, though, that it conveys important lessons, that it delves into the human mind and addresses some very real issues. First, we immediately see the absolute conviction of this simple Jew that Hashem controls and guides the world, from the greatest things to the most minute. This, after all, is the underlying theme of this time of the year. Where does it all lead to? After the 30 days of Elul, after Rosh Hashanah, after the Aseres Yemei Teshuvah, after the whole day of Yom Kippur has passed, after we reach the very end of Ne’ilah, what is the climax? What words do we shout out when we stand at the very pinnacle of repentance? “Hashem Hu Ha’Elokim. Hashem Hu Ha’Elokim.” That’s what it all comes down to. Hashem Hu Ha’Elokim. Hashem is the Lord. This is His world, all of it and everything and everyone it contains. Rav Chaim Volozhiner offers an interesting insight into the words Hashem Hu Ha’Elokim. Hashem is the Name which connotes His mastery over the vast cosmic issues of the world: famine, war, peace, floods. It relates to His macromanagement, if you will. Elokim, on the other hand, connotes His mastery over the little things in life that people sometimes tend to attribute to happenstance. It relates to His micromanagement of the world, to hashgachah pratis in the fullest meaning of the word. This is what Hashem Hu Ha’Elokim conveys to us, that both are one and the same. Everything comes from one Source. But there is a much deeper lesson in this curious little Chassidic story. We see that there is a preliminary step that must be taken before we can do teshuvah. Before a person can do teshuvah he must first make peace with the Ribono Shel Olam. He must first settle his grievances and come to terms with Hashem, because an alienated person cannot to teshuvah. A person who is angry at Hashem cannot do teshuvah.
Posted on: Sun, 21 Sep 2014 15:03:48 +0000
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