One day, while distributing prayer books, the good Rabbi encountered a man who emphatically refused to accept a Siddur. “Having witnessed the disdainful behavior of devout Jews in the concentration camp,” declared the man, “I want no part of anything religious!”
Disturbed by the man's solemn indictment of fellow Jews – ravished martyrs of the most dreadful atrocities perpetrated against humanity – Rabbi Eliezer asked if he would please explain what had so badly soured him.
The Weekly Sedra – Shemos – What You See Is What You Get
Among the volunteers who visited the thousands of World War II survivors, that were held-up in displaced-persons (DP) camps throughout Germany and Poland, was Rabbi Eliezer Silver.
One day, while distributing prayer books, the good Rabbi encountered a man who emphatically refused to accept a Siddur. “Having witnessed the disdainful behavior of devout Jews in the concentration camp,” declared the man, “I want no part of anything religious!”
Disturbed by the man’s solemn indictment of fellow Jews – ravished martyrs of the most dreadful atrocities perpetrated against humanity – Rabbi Eliezer asked if he would please explain what had so badly soured him.
“If you really want to know,” replied the man, “consider the ghastly conduct of this religious Jew: There was only one prayer book in our entire camp. Yet the man in possession was a cold-blooded opportunist. He would extort the measly bread rations of the broken souls who wished to use his Siddur to pray.”
“Imagine,” sneered the man, “A Jew selling the right to pray for blood money – the very crumbs on which the people were expected to subsist. Gevald! The thought of it still makes my blood boil!”
“Tell me,” inquired the Rabbi, “How many customers did this man have?” “Oh, too many,” snapped the man, “far too many! There was actually a long waiting list.”
Rabbi Silver put his hand on the gentleman’s shoulder and asked softly: “Why sir, do you choose to focus all your attention on the Jew who sold the right to pray and not on the multitude of holy souls who were willing to forego their rations just for the opportunity to pray? Isn’t that the true moral of the story???”
It happened in those days that Moshe grew up and went out to his brethren and he observed their burdens . . . – Exodus 2:11
“And he observed their burdens”: He focused his eyes and heart so as to feel their suffering and grieve for them – Rashi Exodus 2:11
The commentaries note that the pronouncement: “Moshe grew up,” in the above quoted verse, is redundant. After all, just one verse prior states: “The boy grew up and she brought him to the daughter of Pharaoh. . .”
The reiteration is said to contain an added message. The first statement is referring to physical development, while the second is referring to greatness in stature. Rashi interprets this to imply that Moshe was appointed as chamberlain over Pharaoh’s palace. Other commentaries interpret this greatness to relate to character and disposition.
In particular, the commentaries point to Moshe’s maturity and sensitivity towards the plight of his brethren. Moshe certainly did not have to identify with the misery of the enslaved Hebrews. After all, he was living in Pharaoh’s palace as a royal heir. He had everything to lose and nothing to gain by sticking his neck out.
If his conscience was getting the better of him, he could have found many rationalizations for the predicament of the Hebrew slaves and why they deserved their punishment. He would not even have had to look all that far. It is well known that the Jewish people sunk to the 49th level of impurity – immersed in many of the practices of their Egyptian masters, including idol worship.
According to Midrashic legend, had Jewish people been held-up in Egypt even a moment longer, they would have sunk to the point of no return.
Moshe could well have told himself: “G-d knows what He is doing. These people deserve what they’re getting. Why get involved and risk everything you have?” He could have even indulged in a stint of self-serving Mussar (rebuke), berating the downtrodden and demoralized victims for the creation of there own nightmare, as is so aptly the case with our contemporary secular leadership, who love to play the blame game.
Yet Moshe displayed true greatness in identifying their plight for what it was. In Rashi’s words: “He focused his eyes and heart so as to feel their suffering and grieve for them.” He saw their sins as a result of their unfortunate predicament, as opposed to their predicament the result of their sins.
The following story keenly portrays the lesson derived from Moshe’s conduct – the trait of recognizing the pain of others and not their faults, and then rising to the occasion.
During the month of Elul, a renowned Maggid (traveling preacher) arrived in the town of Reb Shmuel Munkes, a noted disciple of Rabbi Schnuer Zalman of Liadi. Seeing the letter of approbation lauding him as a Tzaddik who is wont to forgo his own comforts in order to wander from town to town for the sole purpose of arousing and inspiring fellow Jews, the townspeople immediately invited him to preach – to inspire them towards higher levels of spirituality.
In the course of his sermon the Maggid repeatedly berated his audience accusing them of terrible sins. His described in vivid detail the severe punishment awaiting them due to their evil behavior. The townspeople were utterly heartbroken by the Maggid’s harsh words. Anticipating the Divine retribution about to befall them, they wailed bitterly.
Upon conclusion, the Maggid, rather satisfied with his oratory talent, retired to the room that the community had arranged for him. No sooner had he made himself comfortable, then a man with a long knife and sharpening stone in hand entered his room. To his utter surprise, the armed visitor was none other than Reb Shmuel himself.
Bolting the door shut, Reb Shmuel proceeded to sharpen his knife without saying a word. After a few tense moments, the Maggid broke the silence. With an astonishing look on his face he asked what this was all about.
Without glancing up from his rigorous knife sharpening activity, Reb Shmuel answered in mock sincerity: “As the honorable Maggid knows, we are very simple people in this town. Perhaps, it is because of our wanton sins that we have never merited having a great, righteous, G-d fearing scholar in our midst.”
Not knowing what to make of this answer, the Maggid replied, “Yes, that is true. Still, what does that have to do with the knife?”
Reb Shmuel retorted, “We were taught by our parents that before Rosh Hashanah one should pray at the grave sites of the righteous.” Still unsure of Reb Shmuel’s point, the Maggid continued, “That is correct. But why are you sharpening that knife?”
“Oh that, it’s rather simple,” explained Reb Shmuel in a calm tone. “The nearest grave site of a Tzaddik is very far from our town. It is extremely cumbersome for most of us to make such a long journey.”
By now the Maggid was beginning to feel uneasy. As beads of sweat started to drip down his temples he ventured: “But you still have not explained the purpose of the knife!” Reb Shmuel answered, “What don’t you understand? It’s very plain; I am sharpening my knife because the townspeople want a righteous person buried in this town.”
By now, Reb Shmuel’s sinister intentions were more than obvious. “But I am not completely righteous stammered the Maggid. Come to think of it, I have committed some small sins here and there; of course they were inadvertent. . .”
Reb Shmuel dismissed the Maggid’s confession: “Honored Maggid, you are still a very righteous and learned person. As for the sins that you mentioned, I did not even know that these were transgressions. You’re probably just being very humble.”
The Maggid continued in a stutter: “Come to think of it, some of my transgressions were a bit more serious, such as…” These too, Reb Shmuel shrugged off: “To us you are still a great Tzaddik; you are more than adequate. Besides, you’re the best we have.”
This strange dialogue continued for some time with the Maggid admitting to more and more severe transgressions and Reb Shmuel telling him that he was still acceptable, as he was far better than them.
Finally the Maggid confessed to some rather hefty and embarrassing transgressions. He revealed that in truth he was not at all the great Tzaddik that he portrayed himself to be.
Now Reb Shmuel no longer played the simpleton. After putting away the knife, he began chastising the Maggid for causing the Jews of the town so much anguish and sorrow.
After making sure the Maggid fully understood how one is to treat another Jew, Reb Shmuel unbolted the door and sent the Maggid on his way; a much wiser and more modest man than the one that had arrived a day earlier.
