Posted by Yitz Grossman.

Rabbi Elimelech was a great talmid chacham who lived in a small town in Eastern Europe. His life was dedicated to learning Torah, and he let nothing interfere with his learning. Despite his great diligence, he lacked a source of income and was extremely poor.

The time came for his daughter to marry. His wife and relatives approached him and said, “It is wonderful that you learn so much Torah, but it is your duty to marry off your daughter. You must find some way to obtain the money for her to marry!”

After much persuasion, he finally agreed to travel to a wealthy relative and ask him for financial help for his daughter. He ordered a wagon and packed his bags for the long journey. When everything was ready, he said goodbye to his family and kissed the mezuzah; yet he continued to linger there.

Fifteen minutes went by, and he was still standing by the mezuzah. His family and the wagon driver watched him, unable to understand what he was doing Finally, he went back into the house, took off his coat, and sat down with his gemara, opening it to the page he had been learning.

His wife began to cry and said to him, “What are you doing? How much time have I spent convincing you to go to your relative, and now you kiss the mezuzah and return to your learning! What happened to you?”

“I will tell you what happened,” answered Rabbi Elimelech. “The gemara says, ‘When you are about to travel, ask the advice of G-d and go.’(1) So I kissed the mezuzah, which has G-d’s name on it, and I asked G-d for His advice.

Then I suddenly thought, ‘Here I am, about to travel to my relative, who may help me or he may not. How can I close the gemara and stop learning for something which is doubtful? But right here is my Father in Heaven, who will certainly help me. All I have to do is ask Him.’

“So I said to Him, ‘G-d, You can help me without my having to travel.’ I received the answer, ‘Go back to your learning, and I will help you.’”

After a short while the minister of the town came to visit Rabbi Elimelech and said to him, “I have to make a long journey. In my possession are very valuable boots and other valuable articles that I received as an inheritance from my father. While I am away, I am afraid that my house will be robbed, so I have put all my valuables inside these boots and have brought them to you for safekeeping, since I know that you are completely trustworthy. Not only that, but if, G-d forbid, something happens to me and I do not return, I would like to give you all these articles as a gift, since I have no children, and I do not want anyone else to have these things.”

The minister went on his way, and on the road he was attacked by armed robbers and killed. Thus all the valuables belonged to Rabbi Elimelech. He was now able to marry off his daughter, without having to travel, and he was also able to help many other poor families.

The nature of Hashem’s miracle varied according to the quality of bitachon (faith in Hashem) shown by the Jewish people. If their bitachon was great, the miracle was that a year’s quantity sufficed for three years. If not, they received three years quantity of grain in the sixth year. The first was a hidden miracle; the second obvious to everyone. 

Why, we might wonder, did the lower level of bitachon evoke the more obvious miracle, i.e., the threefold quantity of grain? 

The traditional sources explain that Hashem avoids doing open miracles. Such miracles seem to imply that the natural order Hashem created, and which He described as “very good,” is not complete and needs adjustment from time to time. 

In reality, there is no difference between nature and miracles both are expressions of the Divine will. The splitting of the Sea, 

Chazal say, was already decreed from the creation of the world. It and other miracles are merely natural events which occur infrequently; nature is miraculous events which occur regularly. 

From our vantage point, however, miracles appear as exceptions to the natural order. As such, they can diminish God’s honour in our eyes by implying an imperfection in His creation. Therefore, we do not pray for miracles or derive benefit from the products produced by miracles. 

The hidden miracle of being satiated with smaller portions, so that one year’s yield would last for three years, however, did not serve the needs of those whose bitachon was weak. Seeing a normal yield in the sixth year, such a person would grow worried that his crops were insufficient for the coming years. He needed to see the grain for three years in front of him to feel secure. 

And now for the amazing point: Hashem responded to that need to see the grain in front of him, and provided a threefold quantity of grain, even though the need to do so was engendered by a lack of faith and trust in Hashem. How astounding is Hashem’s kindness. 

On the eve of our conquest of Eretz Yisrael, Hashem told Moshe (Devarim 7:22) that He would destroy the Canaanite inhabitants of Eretz Yisrael slowly, lest the land be left desolate and wild animals multiply. Rashi adds that if Bnei Yisrael had performed Cod’s will they would have had nothing to fear from wild animals. Yet Hashem knew they would sin and accordingly extended the conquest over a number of years. Again Hashem acted in the manner that would make it easiest for us in light of our sins. 

Rabbi Chaim’of Volozhin once asked the Vilna Gaon what the beraisa means when it says that one of the attributes of Hashem is the fact that He is somayach bechelko, content with His portion. By definition, Hashem is complete unto Himself an’ d needs nothing. The Gaon explained that the Jewish people are referred to as Hashem’s portion. Although He would like us to be on a higher level, nevertheless He is content with us at whatever level He finds us. 

We are enjoined to imitate God in all His ways, and the manner in which He relates to us contains many valuable lessons in how we should relate to one another. Many times our friends, spouses, or children are not on the level we would like them to be. We must learn from our Creator that despite our hopes for their growth, we must accept the reality of the present situation and deal with them at their present level. With ourselves, too, we must not confuse our aspiration for higher levels with our present level. We must accommodate our present level and that of others, whilw always striving for greater and greater perfection. 

Rav Meir would say, “Nurture yourself, so that you may nurture others.” Horav Shlomo Wolbe, zl, commented, “When Rav Meir spoke with his students, every word was a result of his work on himself. This idea goes to the very core of the Mashigach’s principles and the method of education he imbibed from his great Rebbe, Horav Nosson Tzvi Finkel, zl, reverently known as the Alter m’Slabodka. 

The Mashgiach was once queried concerning what he was preparing for his upcoming Mussar shmuess, ethical discourse. His response is classic and bespeaks his Mussar personality. He replied, “I am not preparing a specific lecture. I am going to speak from what is in my heart.” In his shmuessen, the Mashgiach did not transmit ideas and statements from Chazal in a vacuum. When he spoke, he transmitted himself. He shared with his listeners whatever it was that he was engaged in at that specific moment, the subject in which he was presently absorbed, in which he desired to plumb its depths in order to grasp its concepts and internalize them. When these topics penetrated his mind, when they pervaded his heart and animated his spirit, he would share them with his students. Whatever it was; a chiddush, novel idea; a new perspective; an emotion which he now felt. It was as though an inner light illuminated the depths of these ideas, compelling him to share it with his students. 

In order for a rebbe/mentor to succeed with the overflow effect, the material he studies must become a part of himself – his essence. His learning and middos are not external, but an intrinsic part of his being. The traits that one values do not float somewhere in the upper reaches of his intellect or in profound depths of philosophy. One’s middos are not simply a “good vort,” a nice thought. They become life itself. One becomes a living, breathing Mussar sefer, volume of ethical refinement. Only then can he successfully impart “himself” to his students.

And they shall not marry a woman who has been divorced by her husband; for each one is holy to his G-d. (21:7)

The circle of permitted marriages diminishes as one rises higher in the social/spiritual hierarchy. The Torah places restrictions upon the Levi and Yisrael concerning certain marriages. The Kohen has even greater limitations, while the Kohen Gadol, High Priest, is in a very tight circle with regard to marriage. These provisions concerning marriage are governed primarily by the principle of yichus, pedigree, and the nobility of untainted family descent. The preservation of the blood lines is one of the principles of Jewish family life. In its purest form, yichus is conveyed through the male line from generation to generation by marriages to woman who are halachically suitable for this union. Why certain women are considered unsuitable may be rationalized, but when all is said and done, it his Hashem, Who, for reasons known only to him, determines suitability. We can only obey. 

A Kohen may not marry a divorcee, regardless of who her former spouse was, the catalyst for the divorce, or the circumstances leading up to the ultimate separation. The Torah is clear in its prohibition. We must accept its edicts. I recently came across a poignant story, quoted by Horav Yitzchak Zilberstein, Shlita, which should inspire our emunas chachamim, faith in our sages. 

A couple had a wonderful, loving marriage for fifteen years. One thing, however, kept gnawing at this relationship: they had no children. After much deliberation and despite the harmony that reigned in their home, they decided to divorce. Perhaps they would each be blessed the second time around. They said their “goodbyes,” and the get, divorce, was processed. Shortly after the get had been completed, the woman discovered that, lo and behold, she was pregnant. This was wonderful news and should have generated much joy. Indeed, it would have – had the husband not been a Kohen. His ex-wife was pregnant, but he could not remarry her, since she was a divorcee. Talk about misfortune. Their pain and heartbreak were off the charts. 

The husband turned to Horav Chaim Kanievsky, Shlita, who told him that there was no way to override the halachah. He could not remarry his former wife He suggested that he should consult with his father-in-law, Horav Yosef Shalom Elyashiv, Shlita. The man listened and turned to Rav Elyashiv and poured out his heart. The Rav shared his pain, but, regrettably, the halachah is very clear: as a Kohen, he may not marry his former wife. “The only thing I can tell you,” he said, “is to go to the Kosel Maaravi and daven, pray to Hashem to save you.” 

One day in the old city of Jerusalem, a Jew was walking down the street with an umbrella in his hand. An Arab who happened to be walking at his side tripped on the umbrella, slipped on the slippery stones, and ended up falling in such a way that he died instantly from the accident.

Knowing that when the Arabs found out about this they would seek revenge, the unfortunate Jew ran to the house of the Chief Rabbi of Jerusalem, Rabbi Yoseph Chaim Sonnenfeld. To his astonishment, the Rabbi refused to give him shelter, and demanded that he leave his home immediately. The poor Jew began pleading for his life, but with no success. The Rabbi was adamant that he leave his house, saying, “You must leave immediately! My house is not a shelter for those who kill accidentally.” Hopeless, the Jew left the Rabbi’s house, and found himself shelter in one of the basements of the neighborhood. Meanwhile, there was a great tumult on the Arab street when they found the body. Several Arabs denounced the Jews and especially their Rabbi who, so they claimed, was known to give protection to murderers. A few hours later, a group of soldiers accompanied by some Arab dignitaries barged into Rabbi Sonnenfeld’s house and began searching for the murderer. Outside an Arab mob waited, planning to lynch the Jew when he was found.

The soldiers searched every corner of the Rabbi’s house, but found nothing, and finally had to leave empty-handed. Only then did Rabbi Yoseph Chaim Sonnenfeld’s associates realize why he was so adamant in refusing to give shelter to the Jew: in order to save the Jew’s life. 

Rabbi Shlomo Kluger, the Rabbi of Broide, was known for his struggle against the maskilim, those who had given up religious practices.

The maskilim in his town had decided that if someone died he should be brought to burial in a wagon and not be carried on foot. In order that their ideas should not have influence, the rabbi made a decree that no one could be carried by wagon, and if they were, that person would not have the right to be buried in the Jewish cemetery.

This decree caused a tremendous controversy in town. The maskilim were furious and sued the rabbi in civil court. The judge gave a temporary ruling that every person who died must be carried in a wagon while he looked into the case. The leaders of the community came to Rabbi Kluger in despair. They claimed that they were left without a viable solution, since the judge would not allow them to carry their dead on foot, and the rabbi would not allow them to carry them in a wagon. If someone were to die, what should they do?

“I promise you,” answered Rabbi Kluger, “that until the judge legally allows carrying the dead by foot, not one single person of the community will die in Broide.”

Three months went by before the judge gave his final verdict, in which he permitted the Jews to carry their dead by foot to burial. During that entire period not a single Jew died in the entire community of Broide, neither an old person, nor an infant.

At the trial, the judge asked Rabbi Kluger, “Bring me proof from the Bible that a body must be carried by foot to burial.”

Rabbi Shlomo answered, “It is written in Vayechi, ‘And they carried their father Yaakov,’ which refers to carrying by foot.”

The judge accepted this proof, and allowed the carrying of the deceased by foot to burial.

“You shall count for yourselves . . . seven complete weeks” (Vayikra 23:15) This is the mitzvah of counting the Omer. During these seven weeks, we work on perfecting ourselves in preparation for receiving the Torah. In the days of the Beis HaMikdash, the first day’s Omer offering was brought from barley, an unrefined grain fit for animal food. That symbolizes the person in his rough form, before he begins working on himself. The offering brought on Shavuos, at the end of the counting, was made of refined wheat, symbolic of the refined personality, capable of understanding and acquiring Torah. Each day, we count another portion of Omer, and move up another rung in the latter of spiritual growth. 

Rav Dessler zt”l explains that an elevation in one’s spiritual level is actually a new world. An elevated person finds himself in entirely different spiritual environment. Yesterday, he was working on getting to school early. Today he has succeeded. This is no longer his test. However, he now has the test of not listening to loshon hora while waiting for the school bell to ring. 

Rav Dessler points out that the idea goes much deeper. Every choice that Hashem places before you every moment of your life is something entirely new. No other person in history ever had the opportunity to do what you are about to do. When you exercise your free will and perform the mitzvah, you are creating a new world for yourself. This is the meaning of the mincha chadasha (new grain offering), that refined wheat offering brought on Shavuos. The “new” grain offering represents the “new” world that he has created.