Stories, Mussar, Practical Halacha (taken from the issue of
Nedarim, Daf 74-80, learned during Aseres Yemei Teshuva)
(Vol. 71) From the Sochatchov "Beis Medrash of Teachers of
the Daf HaYomi" Bnei Brak
From the Editor
The Villager's Forgiveness
These days, each one us is looking inwards, reflecting upon
the previous year, examining what he did and how acted. We
are trying hard to find ways to improve ourselves through
good deeds, hoping that our efforts will show our Creator
that we truly want to do His Will. From the following story,
we see how when a person does a good deed, it can have
lasting positive effects many years afterwards.
The story comes to us from R. Yozel of Novardok, founder of
the Novardok network of yeshivos that graced many towns all
across Russia. In these glorious institutions, hundreds of
bochurim toiled tirelessly in Torah, absorbing the famous
"Novardok" philosophy of life, taught to them mainly by
example, by their G-d fearing master and teacher.
The old Russian train chugged along the track, heading
towards its destination, thousands of kilometers away across
the vast expanses of Mother Russia. The rhythmic noise of the
wheels mixed with the shrill howling sound of the cold
Russian wind, gusting from afar. As night came, the cold and
the dark seeped into the cars of the train, which continued
to roll on through the great silent blackness that surrounded
it. The passengers started to make preparations for the long
night, and little by little each settled into his place. The
monotonous sound of the train steadily moving forward had a
lulling effect, and most of the passengers fell into a deep,
peaceful sleep.
The train driver brought his frozen hands closer to the huge
boiler of the steam engine as he ordered his helpers to add
coal to the fire, so the train would pick up speed.
In one of the cars sat a man with piercing eyes that gazed
through the icy window out into the night, up at the stars
that twinkled in the vast Russian sky. It was R. Yozel,
founder of the Novardok yeshivos.
His thoughts were racing through his mind, for he was
thinking about his busy daily schedule. He would arise every
morning very early and learn before davening. His day would
continue with mussar talks and Torah shiurim that he would
deliver to his many talmidim. The day would end in the wee
hours of the morning, almost always with a talk with one of
the bochurim. Perhaps it was a bochur who needed some words
of encouragement because he was feeling down. Perhaps it was
a bochur who was doing well and simply wanted advice as to
how to go higher in Torah and fear of Heaven.
He thought to himself, "But what is going to be with me?" R.
Yozel agonized over this question. "When will I have the
chance to just be by myself a bit, to inspect the hidden
recesses of my own soul, as I teach my talmidim to do? After
all, I, too, need to work on perfecting my character!" He
mulled over the matter further and then said to himself, "If
only I had an isolated house in the woods somewhere, or even
a small hut in some faraway place." With that, he began to
consider how he would build such a place and set it up.
The morning came and his passenger car began to show signs of
life. People rubbed their eyes and peered out the windows to
see what sort of progress the train had made during the
night. The passenger whose place was next to R. Yozel's also
awakened, and after he refreshed himself and again settled in
his seat, he noticed that his neighbor's facial expression
today was troubled, in contrast to previous days. This
passenger, obviously a successful businessman, had realized
for quite some time that he was sitting next to an
exceptional personality - a man who almost always kept
silent, and was continually learning and thinking. Seeing his
disturbed expression, the businessman decided to start up a
conversation with him.
The two talked on, the merchant's shiny leather briefcase at
his feet. Around his neck he wore a silk scarf embroidered
silver beads, and all the while his fingers played with the
golden handle of his impressive walking stick. He listened to
every word as R. Yozel described his life and his work. "But
one thing I am lacking," said R. Yozel, looking down at the
floor dejectedly. He then spoke of his great desire to have a
place where he could get away and be by himself, to reflect
upon his ways. "Rebbe," said the merchant, "from this moment
on this shall not be a worry of yours any more. I am a very
big dealer in timber, and in one of my forests I have an
isolated cabin, just the thing your honor desires! I put it
at your disposal any time you wish!"
The journey ended. The two parted, R. Yozel thanking him from
the bottom of his heart. Indeed, R. Yozel began to use the
cabin retreat in the thick of that forest. Occasionally, when
he felt it necessary, he would go there for the sake of his
service of Hashem.
One Friday, R. Yozel had to take a carriage somewhere, but
its driver turned out to be a drunkard. This was years after
the train ride with the timber merchant, who had gone to his
last reward at a ripe old age. With bleary eyes, the goyish
driver looked at R. Yozel, who tried to urge him forward,
saying he did want to be stranded on the road when the
Shabbos came. However, the drunken wagon driver could not
manage the horses. They proceeded at a snail's pace, and the
sun began to set. R. Yozel had no choice, and had the driver
stop in a small village along the way. Descending from the
carriage, R. Yozel knocked at the door of the first house he
saw, and was elated when a Jewish face greeted him. His was
the only Jewish family in the village, and he happily invited
R. Yozel to spend the Shabbos with him.
However, R. Yozel's elation was short-lived. The villager was
a very simple man who had lived all his life amongst the
goyim, and he never stopped insulting and cursing a certain
businessman who allegedly had tricked him and had cheated him
many years before. R. Yozel tried to calm his host, and in
the process it became apparent that the businessman in
question was the very one that had been so nice to R. Yozel
and had given him the use of that isolated cabin in the
forest.
That Shabbos, R. Yozel tried to convince the villager to
forgive the businessman. The image of the timber merchant was
glued in R. Yozel's memory, and he felt tremendous gratitude
towards him. Therefore, he resolved in his heart that he
would try his best to return him a favor, by convincing the
villager to grant his benefactor forgiveness.
It was no easy task, and even by the time of the third meal,
the persuasiveness of R. Yozel had not overcome the
villager's stubborn resistance. Finally, though, after the
long Shabbos ended, the extended period of time that he had
spent with the tzaddik softened him, and the rustic
villager announced, "I hereby forgive with a full heart the
businessman so-and-so for what he did to me."
Because of the good deed that this businessman did for R.
Yozel, many years before, Hashem arranged that in a
roundabout way, the tzaddik be stranded with this
villager for a whole Shabbos. It was only so that the
villager would forgive the businessman, and give peace to his
departed soul.
When R. Yozel would finish telling this story to his
talmidim, he would say that it teaches us of the great
positive influence of every good deed, and we have no idea of
what tremendous merit we earn from each one.
