Time for my Soul: A Treasury of Jewish Stories For Our Holy Days

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From the day of the Revelation on Sinai, it was an accepted fact that Jews lived according to the mitzvos of the Torah. But Mendele Sokolover was not satisfied with the mere observance of mitzvos. He was searching for more than that. He was searching for what he called a “real Jew.”

Mendele Sokolover had grown up and had been educated in Kotzk, where he learned what a real Jew was capable of doing. He spent all of his formative years trying to find such a person. He traveled around the Pale of Settlement, from shtetl to shtetl. The people he met were fragmented: something was missing. True, he found Jews who were observant of every detail of halachah; he found Jews who studied day and night; he found Jews who were dedicated to mitzvos; he found Jews who devoted their lives to acts of kindness. But somehow, none of these Jews measured up to his image of a real Jew. They did not portray what he knew a real Jew was capable of doing.

One day, he found Moshele, a poor, illiterate, downtrodden water carrier. This is the story that Mendele Sokolover told about Moshele the water carrier, the real Jew:

I was passing a dilapidated hut one night. As I peered into the window, I noticed a lone man clutching a worn volume of Tehilim. He seemed to be praying fervently. I stood outside the window for a long time, watching. I did not want to intrude. He never raised his eyes from the pages: his lips never ceased moving.

I returned many nights and found the same scene each time. One night, I hesitantly knocked on the door. I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to find out if he had that special quality, that spark of holiness for which I was searching.

He opened the door. I asked him his name. He told me: “My name is Moshele the water carrier.”

I tried to draw him into conversation, but he shook his head from side to side. I asked him how he was and he answered: “Good, thank G-d.”

Many years passed, and I became the rebbe of Sokolov, the shtetl where Moshele the water carrier lived.

One night, as I walked, I saw that Moshele was not reciting Tehillim as he usually did. There was a party in his dilapidated hut. The shtetl’s shoemakers, tailors and water carriers were dancing around Moshele. It seemed to me as if the Divine Presence radiated from his face.

I wanted to know why everybody was celebrating, so I walked in. Moshele was the first one to notice me.

“Rebbe,” he asked, “what are you doing here?”

I was walking by,” I said, “and I saw that you were having a party. I wanted to find out why everybody was celebrating.” At first, Moshele refused to answer my question, but I persisted. Finally he began.

“This is my story, rebbe. I was orphaned at a very young age. I remember neither my father nor my mother. I grew up on the streets of this shtetl. I had very little education. There was an old man who took a liking to me, and he taught me how to recite Tehillim. I married a most beautiful girl, but she is not beautiful anymore. We had seven children. They were born angels, but we can’t bear to hear them crying anymore. It is impossibly difficult to eke out a living as a water carrier. Most of the time, we go to sleep hungry. Since I can’t sleep when I am hungry, I spend the night reciting Tehillim, the only prayers I know.

A week ago, I ran to the shul in the middle of the night. I could not bear to hear my wife and children crying anymore. I stood before the Holy Ark and I pleaded from the depths of my soul: “Master of the universe! I can’t stand to see my wife and children suffering so much anymore. Please help me. Give me enough money to ease their pain.”

I did not know if the Almighty heard my prayer. Nothing unusual happened.

Two days ago, before I delivered water to my usual customers. I decided to stop in the shul. I was carrying two buckets attached to a yoke across my shoulders. I placed the buckets on the ground and entered. I stood once again before the Holy Ark, and I said: “Please help me! Please help me! If You do not help me, then we are through!”

I walked out of the shul, and bent to pick up the heavy buckets. From their weight, my shoulders were stooped, and my eyes gazed at the ground.

I noticed one thousand rubles lying on the ground. I picked up the money and lifted my head in thanksgiving: “You do listen to prayers, Almighty, don’t You.” I exclaimed gratefully.

I finished my deliveries and started to run home. I dreamed that my wife would appear beautiful again, that I could buy her lovely clothing, that my children would greet me joyfully each night when I returned from work, that they had become angels again, like when they were born. I was bursting with joy.

But as I passed Channale, the widow’s house, I heard bitter crying. “Don’t stop, Moshele. Today is your day of joy. Someone else’s trouble is not your problem.” I could not quiet my conscience. I could not proceed. I knocked on Channele’s door, entered and found her sobbing uncontrollably. She had lost one thousand rubles that the water carriers, the shoemakers, and the tailors had raised to help her when her husband passed away.

I ran out of her house.

“Why did You have to give me Channele’s rubles?” I demanded. “Couldn’t You find one thousand rubles someplace else for me? What kind of compassionate G-d are You anyway? I don’t want anything to do with You anymore. No more Sh’ma, no more bentching, no more n’telat yadayim. We are finished.”

I ran home, the money still in my pocket. I hated the whole world. I was angry at G-d and at man. I lay on my bed for a whole day. I cried and I cursed. I ranted and I raged. I was heartbroken and distraught. I didn’t know much, but I did know that if a person finds money in the public domain, and it has no symbols on it, then he doesn’t have to return it. The money is not hers! I denied that the money belonged to Channele.

But a few hours later, I was in touch with my soul. “What happened to you?” my soul asked. “All your life you prayed. Why did you stop praying now? All your life you lived as a Jew. Are you going to stop living as a Jew now?”

I knew what I had to do with the money.

I stood up from my bed, left my hut and began walking toward Channele’s house. On the way, I stopped in the shul. I stood again before the Holy Ark. I proclaimed; “I stood at Sinai. I heard ‘I am the Lord your G-d.’ I raised my voice loudly and said: Thank You Almighty G-d for having given me the privilege of finding that money. Had someone else found it, they may not have returned it.”

I headed for Channele’s hut and handed her the money.

I found her, sitting at a broken down table. She was still crying, so bitterly, as if the Holy Temple had been destroyed once again. I placed the money on the table. She looked up and smiled weakly. She could not believe that I had found her money. She could not believe that anyone would return one thousand rubles. Gradually, her smile returned to her face, as if the Holy Temple were rebuilt.

I felt so good at that moment. I knew that my life would never change. I knew that my children would never look like angels, that they would wear used clothing. I knew that there would never be enough food on our table. But I knew how good it felt to be a Jew. My friends are making a party in my honor. They are celebrating how good it feels to listen to G-d’s voice.”

Rebbe Mendele Sokolover joined the shoemakers, the tailors, and the water carriers in their celebration. He knew he had found a real Jew. He told the story of Moshele the water carrier, the real Jew, each year on his yahrzeit, the anniversary of his death.