Episode 91: The Splendor of a Jewish Soul

00:01 We continue with the story of the two partners who forgot to sell their chametz. Right now we’re talking about Betzalel Chaim. His grandfather, Moshe Binyamin, was the one who settled in the village of Komri. Moshe Binyamin, who had settled in Komri and made it his business to bring joy to brides and grooms with Russian-style dancing, expected nothing in return. He did it for the sake of Heaven, but Heaven rewarded him. It happened when Yosef, the landowner of Komri, came to a Jewish wedding and saw Moshe Binyamin for the first time, dressed in Russian clothes, dancing and singing like a true Russian. The landowner took a liking to him. After speaking with him, he invited Moshe Binyamin to move onto his estate and appointed him manager of all his affairs and his right-hand man. He called him Moishke Moskver—Moishke the Muscovite. From then on, Moshe Binyamin prospered. At the same time, his fear of Heaven and his care in observing every mitzvah, great or small, grew stronger. For example, he made an eruv techumin so that he could walk into town on Shabbos and Yom Tov, and so that others could come to him as well. There, on the landowner’s estate, his son Yasha was born. Moshe Binyamin tried very hard to make Yasha a Torah scholar, but did not succeed. He brought him into business, and though Yasha was not a scholar, he was G-d-fearing. Every day he went to Dobromysl to daven with a minyan and listen to lessons in Ein Yaakov and similar subjects. On that same estate belonging to Yosef the landowner, Betzalel Chaim was born. Like his father and grandfather, he was a very simple man, but outstanding in his fear of Heaven. Betzalel Chaim later moved to the village of Komri and then to Dobromysl. He entered into a partnership with Aharon Shmuel, distilling liquor and selling it in the nearby villages. Given his sincerity and care in observing mitzvos, it was no wonder that he and his partner felt so crushed when they learned that they had forgotten to sell their chametz. Despite what the rabbi said, and despite the dayan’s reassurances that the transgression was not

02:52 so serious, Betzalel Chaim was still not comforted and returned home bitter at heart. The Seder became a time of mourning for him. He had already made a vow never again to benefit from anything in the distillery. He did not want to stop at the rabbi’s ruling that he must pour out the liquor that was ready. Betzalel Chaim wanted to go even further, to be certain he had done his duty before Heaven. Only then did he calm down somewhat. After they finished the Seder, he lay down to sleep, but before he could fall asleep, he looked out the window and saw that the sky was red. He immediately understood that a fire had broken out somewhere. He dressed and went outside. Meanwhile, the sky grew redder. People gathered in the street, and cries rang out: “Fire! Fire!” People ran back and forth, but no one knew where the fire had started. A short while later, they learned that it was outside the town, where Betzalel Chaim and Aharon Shmuel’s distillery stood. Several houses, as well as the distillery itself, were burning. When Betzalel Chaim arrived, he saw Jews and non-Jews fighting the fire. They brought bucket after bucket of water, but the flames were so great that they could not be brought under control. Before long, the nearby houses and the distillery itself had been consumed by fire. All that could still be done was to keep the fire from spreading farther and reaching Dobromysl. People watching Betzalel Chaim as all his property went up in flames shook their heads in sympathy. But to everyone’s astonishment, he was filled with joy and practically danced with delight. Only when he was certain that nothing at all remained of the distillery did he run joyfully into town, wake his partner Aharon Shmuel, and give him the good news that their distillery had burned down. “Praise Hakadosh Boruch Hu,” he said. “Now we can be sure

05:25 that we will no longer benefit from the chametz in it. In any case, I made a vow never again to benefit from anything in the distillery.” At first, Aharon Shmuel did not want to agree, but when he understood that the distillery was lost anyway, he nodded his assent and said that this could only have come from G-d, and that it should be an atonement for their failure to sell their chametz that Erev Pesach. Betzalel Chaim was so joyful that he did not go back to sleep that night. He went to the beis midrash before dawn. Because the fire had also kept others awake, several people were already there. Everyone was talking about the fire. Some suggested that it had come as a punishment for the partners’ failure to sell their chametz. But when Betzalel Chaim arrived at the beis midrash, he said it was no punishment at all. It was a deliverance. His heart was light now, and he was not overly worried about having lost his property and livelihood. “If Hashem only grants us life and health,” he said, “a livelihood will be found too.” Everyone was talking about the fire and how it had come after the two partners felt guilty for forgetting to sell their chametz. In the meantime, they forgot to ask what had caused the blaze, which had actually started in the home of one of their non-Jewish neighbors. Only the next day did the people of Dobromysl learn what had really happened, and it was indeed an extraordinary event. Several non-Jews lived near the distillery, and they were constantly quarreling. That Erev Pesach, one attacked another, striking him with an iron bar and breaking his ribs. The injured man was brought home while he was still alive. He had a son who wanted to avenge him. In the dead of night, after the Jews of the town had finished their Sedarim and gone to sleep, the son set fire to the neighbor’s house while everyone inside slept. To make sure no one in the house could escape, he locked the door from the outside. The fire quickly spread

07:47 through the house, trapping the sleeping family. Three family members saved themselves by jumping through a window. Four others burned alive, as did the horses and livestock in the barn. Well, there was much to talk and think about in Dobromysl. On the one hand, people shuddered at the cruelty of the non-Jews. On the other, they saw the full splendor of a Jewish soul. Yitzchak Shaul and Boruch were especially struck by it when they came to the beis midrash that morning to learn more about the fire. They found the entire Tehillim group assembled, reciting Tehillim aloud with intense concentration. Betzalel Chaim stood at the bimah, leading the congregation in Tehillim. It seemed that he specifically wanted to lead that morning. He did not say Tehillim like someone heartbroken over a great loss, but like someone offering praise and thanks to Hakadosh Boruch Hu. It was clear that Betzalel Chaim felt he had cause to rejoice. “Here is an example of a simple Jew,” Yitzchak Shaul said to Boruch. “And yet the scholars look down on him, as though he were one of those ignorant people who have no share in the World to Come.” Boruch agreed with him. Yitzchak Shaul wanted to draw a lesson from all this. “I heard from my father in the name of the Baal Shem Tov,” he said, “that a simple person is like a sown field that drinks the rain of heaven and yields its produce. A Torah scholar is like an irrigated field, whose owner waters it, and it yields its produce accordingly. Think of a painter who is wonderfully skilled at painting: his skill is evident when he paints the field and its crops as they truly are, with all the natural beauty that Hakadosh Boruch Hu placed in that field. The closer an artist’s painting is to nature, the greater his skill. So it is with the simple person and the difference between him and a Torah scholar. The Torah scholar is like an irrigated field, and it may be that its yield

10:13 It is better than the yield of an ordinary field, but the beauty of the nature that Hakadosh Boruch Hu, Who is truth, has established is found more in a field that “drinks water from the rain of heaven” than in an irrigated field. What struck Baruch as an even greater revelation was that he could learn from Shmuel Nachum, the blacksmith’s son, too. He heard Shmuel Nachum describe the tremendous effort he had put into his studies at the yeshiva in Dubrovna. He also heard about his encounters with people from whom he had learned. Shmuel Nachum, too, had already been influenced by the teachings of Chassidus. He was always critical of the way scholars kept apart from ordinary people and looked down on them, as though they belonged to another world. In Dubrovna, Shmuel Nachum helped out for a few hours each day at a flour mill. He did so to earn a living by the work of his hands. The mill belonged to a Jew named Yechezkel Hirsch, an outstanding scholar who feared Heaven. He was well known for the Gemara class he taught in one of the batei midrash. Yechezkel Hirsch looked on ordinary people with contempt, even hostility. Shmuel Nachum saw this in his treatment of one of his workers, Baruch Shimon. Baruch Shimon loaded and unloaded the wagons that brought grain to the mill. Yechezkel Hirsch had two assistants: the first was Baruch Shimon, whom we have already mentioned; the second was Ephraim Kalman. Ephraim Kalman was a great scholar, unlike Baruch Shimon, who was an am haaretz and did not know how to learn. Ephraim Kalman would recite his studies from memory whenever he stood beside the millstones. By the way he treated these two men, their employer, Yechezkel Hirsch, showed just how great he considered the difference between a scholar and an ordinary person. He held Ephraim Kalman in high regard and often discussed Torah with him. Toward Baruch Shimon, he showed contempt and disgust. Ephraim Kalman, by contrast, was friendly toward ordinary people and often spoke to his employer about his treatment of

12:52 his other worker. He reminded Yechezkel Hirsch of our Sages’ teaching: “If you have learned much Torah, do not take credit for yourself.” Yechezkel Hirsch listened quietly, as though he did not dare argue with the learned Ephraim Kalman, but it did not change his attitude toward Baruch Shimon. Especially when Ephraim Kalman was absent, he mistreated Baruch Shimon, insulting and belittling him. Once, Shmuel Nachum witnessed the following scene. It was a day when there was nothing to grind. That morning Yechezkel Hirsch had taught his class on the passage about “placing it in a tree”—that is, an eiruv—a dispute between Rebbi and the Sages in Tractate Eruvin, page 43. He had offered a sharp pilpul on the subject and was feeling elated as a result. When the mill owner repeated his pilpul to Ephraim Kalman, a debate developed between them. The two scholars were absorbed in their Torah discussion. There was nothing to do at the mill, so Baruch Shimon began saying verses of Tehillim. Perhaps he was distressed that he could not understand their Torah discussion, for tears began to run down his face. Meanwhile, the two scholars finished their discussion. Yechezkel Hirsch noticed Baruch Shimon saying Tehillim and dissolving into tears. Baruch Shimon had reached the chapters of Hallel in Tehillim and was saying them fervently, but he rushed through them without pronouncing the words in full. Many words came out garbled. Yechezkel Hirsch went over to Baruch Shimon, interrupted his Tehillim, and said in a mocking, contemptuous tone, “Baruch Shimon, isn’t it enough that you’re slaughtering Hallel and burying it? Do you have to cry over it too?” Having delivered his clever remark, he burst out laughing. Baruch Shimon was stunned and sat there ashamed and humiliated. Ephraim Kalman was furious. Our Sages say that every word of praise for Hakadosh Boruch Hu that comes from a Jew’s mouth creates an angel, whether that Jew is a scholar or an ordinary person.

15:22 The angels become advocates for those through whom they were called into being. There was a sharp note of rebuke in his words. Yerachmiel Hirsch was still laughing and said in response to Ephraim Kalman’s remark, “I imagine the angels created from words like Baruch Shimon’s are deformed and crippled.” “And what do you think the angels created from our Torah insights look like?” Ephraim Kalman asked critically. “The angels we create,” Ephraim Kalman replied, “are healthy and strong, forged of iron and flint. They shine like the sun and soar with song and melody straight to the Throne of Glory.” “No, Yerachmiel Hirsch. Don’t you think the angels you call deformed are dearer to Hakadosh Boruch Hu than the angels you believe are healthy and forged of iron?” Yerachmiel Hirsch had no answer. From then on, he took care not to hurt Baruch Shimon in Ephraim Kalman’s presence. At the same time, his hatred of Baruch Shimon’s modest ways grew, especially his insistence on going to shul twice a day to daven with a minyan. He also began reproaching him for not doing his work faithfully and for wasting time going to shul. Baruch Shimon stood up for his right to go to shul and daven with a minyan. “You have no right to have a say in this,” he told him, “just as I am exempt from work on Shabbos and Yom Tov.” “But Hakadosh Boruch Hu doesn’t need your prayers,” Yerachmiel Hirsch said, intending to hurt him. “For an am haaretz like you, davening at home is enough.” The words cut Baruch Shimon deeply, and tears filled his eyes. “What can I do?” he said. “Hakadosh Boruch Hu didn’t give me the ability to become a scholar. And on top of that, I have to spend my time carrying sacks, with no time left to listen to a class.” Yerachmiel Hirsch had a nephew named Shalom Yechiel Meharki[?], a friend of Yitzchak Shaul. He had taken this nephew into his home because he was

17:35 childless. Shalom Yechiel had long since been drawn to the teachings of the Baal Shem Tov. When he heard his uncle insulting the innocent, simple Baruch Shimon, he said to him, “Uncle, the Baal Shem Tov said that simple Jews with sincere, pure hearts are dearer in his eyes than scholars who pride themselves on their learning.” He told his uncle at length about the Baal Shem Tov and his disciples. His words affected the miller, who began treating Baruch Shimon better.