The Power Of Thought

It was Rosh Hashana in the shul of the Baal Shem Tov. In the middle of the prayers, a snuffbox accidentally dropped from the pocket of one of the Chasidim. He bent down to pick it up, and unthinking, he took a pinch of snuff and inhaled it. The man who was sitting next to him saw the little episode and an accusatory thought passed through his mind: "How could he have done such a mundane thing here in the Baal Shem Tov's shul and on this, such a holy day!?"

Through his holy intuition, the Baal Shem Tov perceived this thought, and he understood the repercussions this thought would have Above for the man who had taken the snuff. Throughout the remainder of Rosh Hashana the Baal Shem Tov tried his best to annul the effects of the thought, but to no avail. The man stood accused before the Heavenly Court all through the holy month of Tishrei.

Finally, during the evening prayers of the last day of Sukkot - Hoshana Raba - the Baal Shem Tov managed to strike a deal for the accused. If the accuser would himself, find some merit in the snuff-taker, the snuff-taker would be forgiven. The only catch was this was not to be disclosed to either man.

When the Baal Shem Tov entered the shul that night he noticed that the Chasid who had had the critical thought was preparing to pray, but he seemed unable to concentrate his thoughts and he paced back and forth. He was thinking, "I wonder why tobacco, which is something people like to smoke and inhale, was introduced to the world. I suppose it is because there is some benefit to be had from it." As soon as that rationale entered his mind, he felt a rush of guilt and sadness at having judged his friend's actions so critically on Rosh Hashana.

On Hoshana Rabba it was customary for the Baal Shem Tov to make himself available to answer the questions of his Chasidim, which they would prepare in advance. That night, the accusing Chasid came to him with the question, "Is there any benefit to be had from tobacco and snuff?"

The Baal Shem Tov responded with his own question: "What are your thoughts on the matter?" The Chasid proceeded to tell the Rebbe his thoughts of the previous night, that there must be some benefit in these substances.

"I have a feeling there is more than you are telling me," replied the Baal Shem Tov. "Tell me what else you are thinking."

At the Baal Shem Tov's prompting the Chasid related the entire incident of the snuff which had occurred on Rosh Hashana. "When I saw my friend take so much enjoyment from the pinch of snuff on such a holy day, I immediately condemned him, thinking he must be a very coarse individual. But then, last night, I started thinking there was probably some redeeming quality about snuff, and I began to regret my negative thoughts."

The Baal Shem Tov was then free to tell him what reaction his judgmental thoughts had caused in the Heavens. "Your thoughts aroused quite a stir Above, and a serious charge was lodged against your companion. Fortunately, your change of heart has reversed that ruling, but you must resolve to guard your thoughts carefully in the future."

Reb Mordechai Dov of Hornsteipl Melts A Frozen Jewish Heart

The Jews of the tiny village near the town of Ushamir suffered terribly under the heavy hands of the dictatorial manager of the lands they leased. He worked them to the bone, though nothing they did ever pleased him. Things were bad enough in normal times, but when he decided to vent his rage, life became completely unlivable, for the manager would cut their salaries without a second thought. This manager was, sad to say, actually a Jew.

No one knew where he had come from or what his past was, but as far as the present was concerned, it was a known fact that his tie to Jewishness was in his origin only, and even that was a burden to him.

It was the week before Rosh Hashana and the tzadik (righteous person), Rabbi Mordechai Dov of Hornistopol arrived in the town of Ushamir for Shabbat. It was his custom during the month of Elul to travel through all the nearby towns and villages to arouse the hearts of the people to the worship of the Creator and urge them to return to Him in full repentance.

Hundreds of Jews from all the neighboring settlements streamed to Ushamir to spend Shabbat together with the rebbe. Among those who came were many Jews from the nearby village. After Shabbat, the people were given an opportunity to speak to the tzadik to receive his blessings.

The residents of the next village decided amongst themselves that this would be a chance to tell Reb Mordechai Dov about the manager. With great sorrow the rebbe listened to their heartbreaking story. He was particularly distressed when he heard that the man was a Jew. "Wait till tomorrow, and we'll see what is possible to do," the rebbe told them.

The next day, right after the morning service, Reb Mordechai Dov asked his attendant to get the carriage ready. He then told the carriage driver to travel to the neighboring village. The inhabitants of the village who were at that very time preparing to return home, were very surprised.

In great haste, they, too, jumped into their wagons and followed the tzadik. A veritable caravan of wagons set out, the carriage of Reb Mordechai Dov leading the way. When the caravan reached the shtetl the tzadik inquired where the manager lived, and instructed his driver to proceed there.

When the villagers saw the caravan with the tzadik in the lead, they emerged from their homes and stood outside in anticipation. All the while, the tzadik was very withdrawn, saying nothing. When they saw from afar the large and beautiful mansion which was the residence of the land manager, all the people drew to a halt. "What is the tzadik going to do?" they wondered. "What will he say to that wicked one?" they asked one another. "Perhaps with the gaze of his holy eyes, he will turn the manager into a pile of bones," they thought, hopefully.

Standing on the porch, watching the scene, in all his glory, pipe in mouth, stood the land manager, his entire appearance reeking of arrogance. Yet, as the caravan approached his house, one could see the questioning look of wonder cross his face: What was the meaning of this procession?

Reb Mordechai Dov asked that his carriage halt just in front of the house. Behind him stretched a long line of wagons as far as the eye could see. The tzadik lifted his eyes and beheld the beautiful mansion. He noticed that the manager was studying him intently. The tzadik looked in his direction with a steady and unwavering glare. Reb Mordechai Dov got down from the carriage and walked toward the mansion. The others, eyes focused on the tzadik, didn't budge. Reb Mordechai Dov reached the door and after a few seconds, the door opened up from inside.

The tzadik and his attendant entered the house. Only a few minutes passed and the tzadik and his attendant left the house, climbed up on the wagon and departed. What happened inside, the people heard later from the attendant who reported that from the moment the manager had opened the door and until they departed, not one single word was spoken!

With a small nod of his head the manager motioned for them to enter and pointed to a chair for the tzadik to sit on. He, then sat opposite them. The tzadik put both hands on the table, straightened his back and lifted his pure eyes, to look directly into eyes of the evil dictator.

At first, the manager returned his gaze with a hard, defiant look. But gradually as the seconds turned into minutes, his glance began to soften. The gaze of the tzadik, however, which had started off soft and merciful, gradually became deeper and harsher.

Then, the eyes of the manager grew moist; a large tear rolled down his cheek. At that moment the tzadik rose from his seat, and without a word walked to the door. The manager remained motionless in his seat, as if nailed to his place, unable to even accompany his guest to the door.

That day the tzadik remained in the village. Everyone who had not been in Ushamir that Shabbat now was able to receive the tzadik's blessing. Towards evening, when the house in which the tzadik was staying had emptied of all the people, a bowed figure was seen approaching the house. It was the manager. He entered the house in an agitated state, as if pursued by demons. For the next two hours he was closeted with the tzadik.

That Rosh Hashana a new and unexpected worshipper appeared in shul. It was of course, the manager. For the holiday, he stood practically motionless, wrapped in talit and praying, and weeping copious tears.

From that day on, the estranged and despotic manager changed into a true repentant and a friend of his fellow Jews.

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The Boy Who Didn't Know How To Pray - A Rosh Hashana Story

I have heard from my father the Holy Komarna. One time a Jewish peasant boy came to the big town to celebrate Rosh Hashanah. He didn't know how to pray. He could not even read the letter Alef. He only saw that everyone was traveling to the synagogues to participate in the holy prayers. He thought, "If everybody is going to town I must go too!"

He arrived at the town synagogue with his father and watched the congregants crying and singing together swaying to and fro. He turned to his father and asked, "Father, what is this all about?"

His father turned to him and said, "The Holy One blessed be sits enthroned in the heavens and we pray all year long to Him. We especially pray during these two days of Rosh Hashanah when the whole world is being judged and each person is being judged for the rest of the year."

The son responded, "Father, what am I to do since I do not know how to pray?"

His father quickly said to him condescendingly, "All you have to do is be quiet and listen to the other Jews praying. That is enough for you."

"But Father, if I don't know what these people are saying how is that going to effect God's decision? How is being silent going to help me?"

His father became unnerved and blurted out, "Listen, you should be quiet so no one will know you're an ignorant peasant!"

The son stood still for a couple of minutes as his father and the rest of the congregation continued praying and then - the young boy stood up and spoke loudly.

"I am going to pray to God in the way I know best. I will whistle to God as I whistle to my flock of sheep."

He began whistling the sweet calling as most shepherds know. His father was enraged. The boy continued whistling with all his might not caring what other people thought.

Now, it happened to be, that this particular Rosh Hashanah, all the heavenly gates were shut and suddenly because of this pure whistling of the heart, all the gates burst open. The prayers of Israel were finally heard.

Nachlei Binah P. 317 #632 Tehillim Ben Beiti, Rabbi Eliezer of Komarno

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A Rosh Hashana Miracle

“Shlomo?”

“Abba (father), is that you?”

“Yes, Shlomo. Did I wake you? Were you sleeping?”

“Abba, I had the strangest dream . . . Something about one of our relatives . . . His life was saved by a bunch of baked goods… What a strange dream . . .”

“You know, Shlomo, there was such a story. I wouldn’t have thought to tell you, but now that you mention it, I’m remembering. Funny, it also took place close to Rosh Hashanah, about this time of year.”

“It’s probably not what you called for, but do you have time to tell me the story?”

Suddenly Papa YosefChayim heard a sharp knock on the door“Sure. Are you awake enough to hear it?”

“I’m listening.”

“So, like I said, it was Thursday night, the week before Rosh Hashanah. The weather had turned early in Galicia that year, and already snow had dusted the ground. My grandfather, Yosef Chayim, the father of my father Shlomo, for whom you are named, was up late learningTorah. His candle was burning low, and the house was filled with the sweet smells of his wife Devorah’s hard work. Challahs and yeast cakes, stew, chicken and fish, and of course the aroma of her potato kugel filled the home, and apparently wafted out the windows as well.

“Suddenly Papa Yosef Chayim heard a sharp knock on the door. Curious who would be visiting at such an hour, he got up and opened the door. To his shock, he found a burly robber pointing a pistol directly in his face. Over and over he repeated in a shrill, startled voice the words of the foundational prayer of theShema, ‘Shema Yisroel, Hashem Elokeinu, Hashem Echad! Shema Yisroel, Hashem Elokeinu, Hashem Echad!’ (‘Hear O Israel, the L‑rd is our G‑d, the L‑rd is One!’)

“Finally the robber screamed at him, ‘Silence! Enough of your babbling! Bring me food!’ Reb Yosef Chaim was brought back from the intensity of his devotions.

“‘Food?’ he asked? ‘Yes, and quickly!’ the robber replied.

“You know, Shlomo, it’s a shame that you never met my grandfather. Besides being learned and well respected, he was a kind and discerning man. He looked into the robber’s eyes, and saw that the man was not inherently violent, but was filled with fear and desperation. Like our Creator, my zeide (grandfather) fulfilled the verse v’rachamav al kol ma’asav, “His mercies are on all that is created”—for his mercy was for all of G‑d’s creations. He quickly got a basket and packed into it all of his wife’s delicacies. He then looked up at the man and went to the closet, where he retrieved a warm winter coat, a pair of boots and a blanket. He wrapped them up in a bundle, adding in a few pieces of firewood from next to the oven. By this time the robber’s face had softened, and he arranged under his arms the various packages that Reb Yosef Chayim handed to him, and ran off into the night.

Zeide was grateful that his life had been spared“Zeide was grateful that his life had been spared, and that he had been given the opportunity to sanctify G‑d’s name and provide help to a man who sorely needed it. While I can’t say for sure, I’d like to think that their neighbors pitched in and helped them with all that they needed for Shabbat that week. As is the nature of time, the incident was soon forgotten, as routine continued in their home.

“Many years later, in the same season, Zeide was preparing to travel to RebYehoshua, son of the Sar Shalom of Belz, for Rosh Hashanah. While there were other Belzer chassidim traveling from Krakovitz, where they lived and where my father was born, those who for various reasons could not travel brought their letters and requests to Zeide to carry to the rebbe. While there were still a couple of days until Yom Tov, Reb Yosef Chayim was excited to see the rebbe, and it was with joy and animation that he finished packing up the carriage and taking leave of his family.

“Normally it was a bit more than a day’s travel, but Zeide thought he could shorten it a bit by taking a side road through the forest. He was absorbed in his mental and spiritual preparations for Rosh Hashanah, and by the time he realized that he was surrounded by a band of robbers, he had no chance of escape. He was pulled off the carriage at gunpoint, and tied with harsh ropes to a nearby tree. His horse was also tethered, and the robbers assured him, laughing, that they would be back, as they headed off into the woods with his money and belongings.

“Those hours, Zeide told me, were the most powerful accounting of his soul that he ever experienced. When the robbers returned a few hours later with their leader and his son, he was prepared to meet his Maker. The head robber turned to his son and told him, ‘Today is your birthday; you are thirteen years old. It’s time for you to kill your first Jew,’ and handed him the pistol. Reb Yosef Chayim cried out in his piercing voice, ‘Shema Yisroel, Hashem Elokeinu, Hashem Echad! Shema Yisroel, Hashem Elokeinu, Hashem Echad!’ again and again.

“Sudddenly the robber stepped up close to him and asked him, ‘Do you know who I am?’ Zeide opened his eyes, and looked deeply into the eyes of the man standing before him. Without allowing Zeide to answer, the man turned to his son and told him, ‘Thirteen years ago, you were born on a snowy, dark night. Our home was empty. Without heat and food, we feared for your life. This man gave us enough tasty food for a week, as well as a blanket, coat and other supplies. This man saved your life.’

This man saved your life“Within minutes, Zeide had been untied, and all of his property was returned to him. The head robber even insisted on sending two escorts to accompany him, to see to it that he would arrive safely in Belz.”

“Wow, Abba, what a story!”

“Yeah, I don’t know why I never thought to tell it to you before . . .”

“But Abba, what did you call for?”

“Oh, that’s a good question . . . I’m not remembering at the moment.”

“Okay, so you’ll call back when you do. But if you hadn’t called right now, I might never have heard this story.”

“Then I guess that’s what I called you for, my dear son. Sleep well.”

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A Novel Audit - A Rosh Hashanah Story

With the approach of Rosh Hashanah as we close the past year and welcome the new, what better time for auditing our experiences in the past year so that we can better them in the year to come. Each one of us does so in our own personal way. Yet, there is something we can all learn from Moshe the innkeeper who employed a unique method of accounting.

The Baal Shem Tov's students once asked how to prepare for the High Holidays. He sent them to observe the simple innkeeper, Moshe. The students took a room in his inn, and waited to discover the answer to their question. At midnight before Rosh Hashanah they heard Moshe rustling about in the front room. They peeked out and saw Moshe taking down two large notebooks from the shelf. He sat down on a small stool, lit a candle, and began reading from one notebook.

The notebook was a diary of all the misdeeds and transgressions the innkeeper had committed in the course of the year-the date, time and circumstance of each scrupulously noted. His "sins" were quite benign -- a word of gossip one day, oversleeping the time for prayer on another, neglecting to give his daily coin to charity on a third -- but by the time Moshe had read through the first few pages, his face was bathed in tears. For more than an hour Moshe read and wept, until the last page had been turned.

He then opened up the second notebook. This, too, was a diary -- of all the troubles and misfortunes that had befallen him in the course of the year. On this day Moshe was beaten by a gang of peasants, on that day his child fell ill; once, in the dead of winter, the family had frozen for several nights for lack of firewood; another time their cow had died, and there was no milk until enough pennies had been saved to buy another.

When he had finished reading the second notebook, the tavernkeeper lifted his eyes heavenward and said: "So you see, dear Father in Heaven, I have sinned against You. Last year I repented and promised to fulfill Your commandments, but I repeatedly succumbed to my evil inclination. But last year I also prayed and begged You for a year of health and prosperity, and I trusted in You that it would indeed be this way.

"Dear Father, today is the eve of Rosh Hashanah, when everyone forgives and is forgiven. Let us put the past behind us. I didn't always do what was asked of me and You didn't always do what was asked of You. I forgive you and you forgive me, and we'll call it even."

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The Cry Of The SHofar - 2 Rosh Hashana Parables

A parable from Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov:

A King had an only son, the apple of his eye. The King wanted his son to master different fields of knowledge and to experience various cultures, so he sent him to a far-off country, supplied with a generous quantity of silver and gold. Far away from home, the son squandered all the money until he was left completely destitute. In his distress he resolved to return to his father's house and after much difficulty, he managed to arrive at the gate of the courtyard to his father's palace.

In the passage of time, he had actually forgotten the language of his native country, and he was unable to identify himself to the guards. In utter despair he began to cry out in a loud voice, and the King, who recognized the voice of his son, went out to him and brought him into the house, kissing him and hugging him.

The meaning of the parable: The King is G-d. The prince is the Jewish people, who are called "Children of G-d" (Deuteronomy 14:1). The King sends a soul down to this world in order to fulfill the Torah and mitzvot. However, the soul becomes very distant and forgets everything to which it was accustomed to above, and in the long exile it forgets even its own "language." So it utters a simple cry to its Father in Heaven. This is the blowing of the shofar, a cry from deep within, expressing regret for the past and determination for the future. This cry elicits G-d’s mercies, and He demonstrates His abiding affection for His child and forgives him.

A parable from Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev:

A king was once traveling in the forest and lost his way, until he met a man who recognized that he was the king and escorted his master out of the forest and back to his palace. The king later rewarded him with many presents, and elevated him to a powerful minister's post.

After a while, however, the man committed an act which was considered rebellious against the king, and he was sentenced to death. Before he was taken out to be executed, the king granted him one last request.

The man said: “I request to wear the clothes I wore when I escorted His Majesty when he was lost in the forest, and that His Majesty should also wear the clothes he wore then.”

The king complied, and when they were both dressed in the garments they wore at the time of their meeting, he said, “By your life, you have saved yourself,” and called off the execution.

The meaning of the parable is that when G-d gave the Torah to Israel, he offered it first to all the nations of the world. They all refused, except the people of Israel, who willingly accepted the yoke of Heaven and fulfilled the commandments of the Creator.

But now we have transgressed and rebelled, like the man in the parable, and with the arrival of the Day of Judgment we are fearful indeed. So we blow the shofar to recall the shofar blowing that accompanied our original acceptance of the Torah and coronation of G-d. This merit stands by us, and G-d forgives us all our sins and inscribes us immediately for a year of goodness and life.

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The Fireman - A Rosh Hashana Parable

Many, many years ago, before there were any fire engines and fire brigades and electric fire alarms, and most houses were built of wood, a fire was a terrible thing. A whole town, or a good part of it, could go up in flames and smoke. And so, when fire broke out, everyone left his business or work, and rushed to help put out the fire. There used to be a watchtower that was taller than the other buildings, where a watchman kept a lookout all the time. As soon as he saw smoke or fire, he would sound the alarm. The townspeople would then form a human chain between the fire and the nearest well, and pass on to each other pails of water with which to put out the fire.

Once it happened that a lad from a small village came to town for the first time. He stopped at an inn on the outskirts of the town. Suddenly he heard the sound of a bugle. He asked the innkeeper what it meant.

“Whenever we have a fire,” the innkeeper explained to the lad, “we sound the bugle, and the fire is quickly put out.”

“How wonderful!” thought the village lad. “What a surprise and sensation I will bring to my village!”

Thereupon, the village lad went and bought himself a bugle. When he returned to his village, he was full of excitement. He called all the villagers together. “Listen, good people,” he exclaimed. “No need to be afraid of fire any more. Just watch me, and see how quickly I will put out a fire!”

Saying this, he ran to the nearest hut and set fire to its straw roof. The fire began to spread very quickly.

“Don’t be alarmed!” cried the lad. “Now watch me.”

The lad began to blow the bugle with all his might, interrupting it only to catch his breath, and to say, “Wait, this will put out the fire in no time!” But the fire did not seem to care much for the music, and merely hopped from one roof to another, until the entire village was in flames.

The villagers now began to scold and curse the lad. “You fool,” they cried. “Did you think that the mere blowing of the trumpet will put the fire out? It is only the call of an alarm, to wake up the people, if they are asleep, or to break them away from their business and work, and send them to the well to draw water and put out the fire!”

---

We are reminded of this story when we think of the shofar that is sounded many times on Rosh Hashanah. While sounding the shofar has intrinsic value as one of G-d's commandments, there is another element to the mitzvah. Some people think like that village lad, that the sound of the shofar itself will do everything for them. They think that they may continue to “sleep,” or go about their business, there being no need to change their way of life and daily conduct; the shofarsounded in the synagogue will surely bring them a happy new year.

But, like the bugle in the story, the shofar is the sound of an “alarm.” It has a message: “Wake up, you sleepers, think about your ways, return to G‑d, put out the ‘fire’ that is threatening to destroy your Jewish homes. Go to the well, the well of living waters, the Torah and mitzvot. Hurry, before it is too late!”

That is why, immediately after the shofar is sounded, we exclaim: “Happy are the people who understand the meaning of the sound of the shofar; they walk in Your light, O G‑d.”

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Just one blast! - A Rosh Hashana Story

This heartwarming yet chilling story was told by Rabbi Baruch Rabinovitch of Munkacs, father of the present Munkacser Rebbe, about his late father-in-law, Rabbi Chaim Elazar Spira (1871-1937), known as the "Minchas Elazar."

For a period of time, Reb Baruch and his wife lived in Warsaw. Later, when the Minchas Elazar became ill, he begged them to come back to Munkacs, in Czechoslovakia, which they did.

Rabbi Baruch had a son named Tzvi Nosson Dovid. Baruch would often recall that his father-in-law loved this boy—the Minchas Elazar's dear grandchild—in an "exaggerated way," in part due to the fact that they had waited a long time to have that first child. He would play with and "spoil" the child, and Tzvi would sit on his grandfather's lap at the Shabbat gatherings.

In the final year of his life, the Minchas Elazar took the shofar on the first day of the month of Elul and tested it to see whether it was in good condition. Tzvi was in the room and was visibly excited by the shofar and its sounds.

He asked his zeide (grandfather) for one more blast, and his zeide gladly obliged. From then on, for the remainder of the month, this became a ritual; the Rebbe blowing the shofar once each day for little Tzvi. On the day before Rosh Hashanah, Tzvi was there, awaiting his daily blast, but he was disappointed.

"Today is the day before Rosh Hashanah," his grandfather explained. "Today we do not blow the shofar. Tomorrow morning, we will blow the shofar in the synagogue."

The child did not comprehend the reasons. He knew no reason. He kicked and screamed, "Just one blast! Just one blast!"

After a while, the grandfather softened at the sound of his favorite grandchild crying, and he took the shofar and blew one blast.

On Rosh Hashanah, the custom in Munkach was that the Rebbe spoke before blowing the shofar. That year, the Rebbe went up before the ark, opened it and said: "Master of the Universe, I have to repent. It's written that on the day before Rosh Hashanah one mustn't blow shofar, yet I did."

He began to sob uncontrollably and called out: "Master of the Universe, do you know why I transgressed this custom? It was because my young grandchild lay on the floor begging and crying that I should only blow one blast of the shofar for him. My heart melted, I couldn't bear to watch him cry like that, so I blew once for him, though I shouldn't have.

"Tatte (Father), how can you stand by and see how millions of Your children are down on the floor, and crying out to You, 'Tatte, just one blast! Sound the blast of the great shofar which will herald the final Redemption!'? Even if the time is not right for it yet, even if the time for Moshiach has yet to arrive, Your children cry out to You: how can You stand by idly?!"

Rabbi Baruch cried as he recounted the story, and recalled how at that time the entire crowd cried along with the Rebbe. The sounding of the shofar was delayed, and for a long time. "They could not regain their composure... loud wailing was heard throughout the synagogue..."

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Who Acquires His Servants Through Judgment - A Rosh Hashana Story

It happened in Berditchev. On the first day of Rosh Hashanah, during the repetition of the Shacharitprayer. In the shul of the greattzaddik, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak.

The rebbe himself was leading the service. His sweet yet powerful voice permeated the shul, stirring the soul-strings of all present and churning their emotions. Each person felt as if he was standing at that moment before the Throne of GloryTears streamed down many faces. Everyone was inspired to pray with much more greatly focused intensity than usual, from the depths of their hearts.

Just before Kedushah, when he started to intone the prayer that begins with the words “L’E-l orech din”—“To G‑d who conducts judgment,” the tzaddik’s voice quivered. A current pulsed through the room. Every heart pounded as the holiness and seriousness of the occasion seemed to be climaxing. Each person felt as if he was standing at that moment before the Throne of Glory, and the Judge of the World was measuring and weighing his deeds of the past year as His gaze penetrated every heart and secret thought. The Rosh Hashanah judgment was about to emerge!

When he came to the words of one of the final couplets, “l’koneh avadav badin”—“Who acquires his servants through judgment,” R. Levi Yitzchak’s voice cut off. He stood as if frozen in his place. His face turned white as a sheet. His eyes bulged. As his tallit began to slip off his head, it seemed as if his soul had flown off to higher realms.

All eyes riveted upon the rebbe. Everyone shook in fear. What will be, what will be?

The veteran chassidim, however, realized that something special must be happening, even if they couldn’t perceive it. With great joy he called out confidently, “Who acquires his servants through judgment!”They concentrated on thoughts ofteshuvah, of regret for the past and good resolve for the future.

A few more seconds went by. Then, the color returned to the tzaddik’s face. It was as if he had been restored to life. His face shone. With great joy he called out confidently, “L’koneh avadav badin”—“Who acquires his servants through judgment.”

After the prayers, at the holiday meal, one of the elder chassidim mustered his courage and directly queried the rebbe, “What happened during Shacharit? Did you see something in the upper worlds?”

Not one present ever forgot the rebbe’s extraordinary reply.

“I saw the Accuser carrying a huge sack on his back. Right away I felt uneasy. I realized that it was full of the sins of the Jews that he had managed to accumulate over the course of the year.

“I went over and peeked in to see what he had. Let me tell you, there was a full assortment: some nasty lashon hara talk, stinginess, baseless hatred, wasted time that could have been used for Torah study, and so forth and so on ad nauseam. Big ones, little ones—the sack was bulging, and the Accuser was gleefully galloping toward the Throne.As I took each particular sin and considered it in the light of these thoughts, it melted in my hand and disappeared as if it had never been!

“‘Oy!’ I thought to myself. ‘What can I possibly do?’ I couldn’t come up with any plan. My spirits sank.

“Suddenly the Accuser stopped short. His sharp eyes had detected a Jew committing a sin on Rosh Hashanah itself. He dropped the sack and jumped off to pick up this juicy new item to top off his collection.

“As he disappeared from sight, I decided to look in his sack again to get a closer look at what he had. I went over and started examining the different transgressions. I quickly saw that the Jews who had done these things weren’t really so guilty. The bitter harshness of the exile, their bleak poverty, the oppressive negative influence of the dominant cultures in which they lived, and other extenuating circumstances, all combined to coarsen the Children of Israeland seriously weaken their Jewish identity and commitment, until finally they were mired in the filth and unable to resist temptation. Those poor Jews! What could be expected of them? And anyway, what could these puny errors weigh against the callous murder, immorality and theft in which the host nations were sunk?

“As I took each particular sin and considered it in the light of these thoughts, it melted in my hand and disappeared as if it had never been! The pile shriveled and shrank, and soon was all gone.

“Just then, the Accuser returned. When his glance took in the empty sack, he shrieked grievously, ‘Thieves! Ganavim! They stole all my Jewish sins that I worked so hard to amass.’

“Then he spotted me. He recognized right away that it must be me that would do something like this to him. He flew over and grabbed me by my beard!

“Now, you should realize that when it comes to knowing Torah, the Accuser is no slouch! He demanded that I pay him back for what I stole, and not only that, but that I was obligated to pay him double. When I answered him that I didn't have anything to pay him with, he quoted the verse, ‘If the thief can’t pay back, he is sold into slavery.’. . . only by serving Him can we escape the clutches of the Accuser

“With that, the Accuser seized me firmly and dragged me off to sell me. The first angel we encountered, though, adamantly refused to buy me. A Jewish slave? No way! It is too much responsibility. He’d be obligated to feed me and provide for my other needs, and at the same time have to worry about getting caught in false accusations and other problems. ‘He who acquires a Jewish slave acquires a master for himself,’ he quoted. ‘Even if he were free, I wouldn’t take him,’ he finished.

“So the Accuser offered me to the next angel we came upon, and to a third and to a fourth. No one wanted to buy me. No one was interested at all.

“Deciding it was hopeless, the Accuser took hold of me again and pulled me right up to the Throne of Glory, and set forth his case before the Almighty Himself! When he finished, a voice was heard. ‘“I have made you and I shall carry; I shall sustain and I shall deliver.” I will buy him from you, O Accuser.’

“The Accuser stood slack-jawed. All his complaints were silenced.

“At this point I revived, as you saw for yourselves. And now you know the explanation of ‘Who acquires His servants through judgment’: we are all servants of the Almighty, and only by serving Him can we escape the clutches of the Accuser. So let’s do it!” concluded the tzaddik dramatically. “And in the merit of doing so, surely we will be inscribed and sealed for good.”

Copied from Chabad.org

Rosh Hashana Wishes

It was the custom of Reb Menachem Mendel of Lubavitch on the first night of Rosh Hashana to deliver a discourse on the philosophy of Chasidism, followed by fiery words of inspiration to his Chasidim.
One year, when he had completed his discourse on the eve of Rosh Hashana, he turned to his Chasidim and said, "Today we have to make ourselves ready to greet Him Whom we address in our prayers as "our Father, our King." A father likes to see a pure heart; a king likes a clean garment."
Then Reb Menachem Mendel went on to explain that the Divine mission appropriate to the New Year season was for every person to purify his heart, and cleanse his "garments," for this word in Chasidic usage signifies the soul's three means of self-expression -- thought, word and deed.
"Every man is accompanied by two angels," he continued. "When, after the evening prayers of Rosh Hashana, the angels hear each person sincerely wishing his neighbor, 'May you be inscribed and sealed for a good year,' they soar aloft and appear as defense attorneys in the heavenly Court. There, they plead that the well-wishers be granted a good and a sweet year."
Reb Menachem Mendel concluded his own words with the blessing, "May you all be inscribed and sealed for a good year."

Broken Vessels - An Inspirational Parable For Rosh Hashana

Reb Zvi of Portziva used to lead the Musaf prayer on Rosh Hashana in the synagogue of Reb Yosele of Torchin, the Chozeh of Lublin's son.
He was once asked by Reb Yitzchak Meir of Ger: "Perhaps you could repeat for me a teaching which you heard from Reb Yosele?"
"I do not recall any words of Torah," said Reb Zvi, "but I do remember a story. One Rosh Hashana, just before the blowing of the shofar, Reb Yosele entered the shul and told his Chasidim, some of whom were undoubtedly thinking at that moment of their own requests to the Almighty for the coming year, "I am not going to rebuke you, nor am I going to teach you Torah. I am only going tell you a story.
"In a certain city a learned and wealthy wine-merchant lived who was honored one day by a visit from the local rabbi. The host went out of his way to show the rabbi great respect. The merchant quickly sent his servant down to the cellar, where he was to fill a bottle of wine from the middle barrel of the third row -- for this was the best wine he owned. All the while, he engaged in a scholarly conversation with his distinguished guest.
"When the merchant had waited quite a while for his servant to return, he excused himself and quickly descended to the cellar to find out what had happened. He was shocked at what he saw there. Some of the barrels were uncovered; others were being drained as their taps had been left open; broken bottle were lying in the puddles of wine on the floor; and the servant was nowhere to be seen.
The merchant returned upstairs, very upset at the serious damage which his servant had caused him. He began to look for the servant, calling him by name. The servant finally answered, from a comfortable place over the fireplace, where he was sprawled at his leisure. From up there, the servant called out to his master, 'Listen here! I want you to increase my salary by so and so much. It isn't nearly high enough...'"
Reb Yitzchak Meir of Ger thanked Reb Zvi warmly.
"Now that is what I call a fine parable!" he exclaimed.

Reb Yissachar Dov of Radoshitz' Preperations For Blowing The Shofar

Reb Yissachar Dov of Radoshitz took longer than usual on Rosh Hashana to join the congregants for the blowing of the shofar. When he finally came out of his room, he told his Chasidim the following:
"Let me tell you a story about my Rebbe, the Chozeh (Seer) of Lublin.
"One Rosh Hashana the Chozeh remained an extra long time in his study. He felt unable to leave and join his Chasidim for the blowing of the shofar; he was heartbroken at the thought that he had to his credit no single merit which would give him the strength to go ahead this special mitzva. Finally he remembered that he had, in fact, one merit in his favor: in the course of the previous year he had not spoken one angry word.
"On one occasion, it almost happened that he lost his temper. His attendant had forgotten to prepare water next to his bed so that he would be able to wash his hands in the prescribed manner in the morning. He had decided to reprimand the attendant for his negligence -- until the Chozeh recalled the warning of the Sages, "He who is angry, it is as if he worshipped idols."
The Chozeh thought to himself, "For the sake of the mitzva of washing my hands in the morning I am going to allow myself, G-d forbid, to become an idolator?" He had therefore said nothing.
"When the Chozeh reminded himself that he had this one merit to his credit, he went ahead with the blowing of the shofar."
Upon completing the telling of this story, Reb Yissachar Dov proceeded to lead his own congregation in reading Psalm 47 which speaks of the majesty of the Creator and which serves as the introduction to the blasts of the shofar.

The Most Worthy Man To Blow The Shofar For Reb Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev

One year Reb Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev spent a long time in search of a man who would be worthy of blowing the shofar in his shul. Rosh Hashana was fast approaching and though many righteous folk sought the privilege, vying with each other in demonstrating their expertise in the abstruse Kabalistic secrets associated with the shofar, none of them were to his taste.

One day a new applicant came along, and Reb Levi Yitzchak asked him on what mysteries he meditated while he was performing the awesome mitzva.

"Rebbe," said the newcomer, "I'm only a simple fellow; I don't understand too much about the hidden things in the Torah. But I have four daughters of marriageable age, and when I blow the shofar, this is what I have in mind: 'Master of the Universe! Right now I am carrying out Your will. I'm doing Your mitzva and blowing the shofar. Now supposing You too do what I want, and help me marry off my daughters?' "

"My friend," said Reb Levi Yitzchak, "you will blow the shofar!"

The Shpoler Zeide's Prayer Before Blowing The Shofar

It was the custom of the Shpoler Zeide to closet himself in his study for some time before the blowing of the shofar. What he did there, no one knew. Once, a chasid decided to find out. He crept up to a nook near the Rebbe's private room with out being noticed and peered through a crack.

There he saw the Shpoler Zeide lying on the floor, weeping bitterly, "Master of the Universe! What do you want of Your People Israel. If I did not see with my own eyes how many mitzvot and good deeds they perform, I would not believe it possible in this dark and bitter exile to fulfill even one mitzva! Especially in this benighted world, where Satan himself prances among them, where all things that provoke fleshly desires are before their eyes, while the warnings of retribution You have hidden in some moralistic tome. You can be certain that if You had arranged things the other way around -- with the place of retribution in front of their eyes, and all fleshly desires hidden away in some learned book -- then not a single Jew would ever do anything wrong!"

The Shpoler Zeide then rose from the floor and walked to the synagogue, where he sighed repeatedly, and proceeded with the blowing of the shofar.

The Key That Opens Heavenly Gates - A Rosh Hashana Story

One year, Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov said to Rabbi Ze’ev Kitzes, one of his senior disciples: “You will blow theshofar for us this Rosh Hashanah. I want you to study all the kavanot (Kabbalistic meditations) that pertain to theshofar, so that you should meditate upon them when you do the blowing.”

Rabbi Ze’ev applied himself to the task with joy and trepidation: joy over the great privilege that had been accorded him, and trepidation over the immensity of the responsibility. He studied the Kabbalistic writings that discuss the multifaceted significance of the shofar and what its sounds achieve on the various levels of reality and in the various chambers of the soul. He also prepared a sheet of paper on which he noted the main points of each kavanah, so that he could refer to them when he blew the shofar.

Finally, the great moment arrived. It was the morning of Rosh Hashanah, and Rabbi Ze’ev stood on the reading platform in the center of the Baal Shem Tov’s synagogue amidst the Torah scrolls, surrounded by a sea of tallit-draped bodies. At his table in the southeast corner of the room stood his master, the Baal Shem Tov, his face aflame. An awed silence filled the room in anticipation of the climax of the day—the piercing blasts and sobs of the shofar.

Rabbi Ze’ev reached into his pocket, and his heart froze: the paper had disappeared! He distinctly remembered placing it there that morning, but now it was gone. Furiously, he searched his memory for what he had learned, but his distress over the lost notes seemed to have incapacitated his brain: his mind was a total blank. Tears of frustration filled his eyes. He had disappointed his master, who had entrusted him with this most sacred task. Now he must blow thes hofar like a simple horn, without any kavanot. With a despairing heart, Rabbi Ze’ev blew the litany of sounds required by law and, avoiding his master’s eye, resumed his place.

At the conclusion of the day’s prayers, the Baal Shem Tov made his way to the corner where Rabbi Ze’ev sat sobbing under his tallit. “Gut Yom Tov, RebZe’ev!” he called. “That was a most extraordinary shofar-blowing we heard today!”

“But Rebbe . . . I . . .”

“In the king’s palace,” said the Baal Shem Tov, “there are many gates and doors, leading to many halls and chambers. The palace-keepers have great rings holding many keys, each of which opens a different door. But there is one key that fits all the locks, a master key that opens all the doors.

“The kavanot are keys, each unlocking another door in our souls, each accessing another chamber in the supernal worlds. But there is one key that unlocks all doors, that opens up for us the innermost chambers of the divine palace. That master key is a broken heart.”

From Chabad.org

How Don Fernando Aguilar Blew The Shofar During The inquisition

An awesome event occurred once in Spain after the Expulsion. Many of the Jews had accepted Christianity under duress. Having held high government offices and having attained great wealth, they found it difficult to forsake all they had toiled for, and the prospect of wandering great distances in famine and destitution struck terror into their hearts. They therefore publicly abjured their faith, but remained inwardly loyal to the G-d of their fathers -- whose precepts they secretly strove to fulfill to their utmost capacity.
There was one among them by the name of Don Fernando Aguilar, who was conductor of the royal orchestra in Barcelona. The days of Elul arrived; the days of judgment were approaching and Don Fernando's soul yearned to hear the sound of the shofar on Rosh Hashana. His yearning was shared by many of his brethren.

What did he do? He announced that on a certain day (the date of Rosh Hashana), he would present a concert featuring instrumental music of various peoples.

Many of the Marranos came to hear the sound of the shofar and they did! Many varied compositions were played by the performers, among them also the shofar sounds: tekiah, shvarim and truah, in full keeping with the prescribed order of the mitzva of shofar, under the very direction of Don Aguilar himself without any of the clergy aware of it.

It has been said: No one ever succeeded in confounding the Satan through shofar sounds as did Don Aguilar. All the emissaries of the Satan were present; the leading figures in the hierarchy and the Inquisition -- they all heard and saw, but knew nothing.

How The Tzemach Tzedek Remained In Lubavitch

In the little town of Lubavitch, the month of Elul was drawing to a close. The wind of teshuva (repentance) had blown through the village for thirty days, aiding everyone in perfecting their spiritual service. More Tehilim (Psalms), more charity, more Torah study. The frenzied preparation reached its climax.

The setting sun signaled the beginning of a new year. Many thousands of Chasidim poured into the town, eager to spend Rosh Hashana with the Tzemach Tzedek, Rabbi Menachem Mendel, the third Rebbe of Chabad-Lubavitch. They crammed into the Rebbe's shul. A hush fell on the room as the Tzemach Tzedek entered. A path miraculously appeared, the Rebbe made his way to his place, and Maariv, the evening service, began.

It was an unusual Maariv. The Tzemach Tzedek appeared drawn, worried. His prayers were imbued with extraordinary fervor, as though - if it were possible - they were more fervent than an ordinary Rosh Hashana. Fear and dread gripped every heart. This is the time when "the angels tremble, terror seizes them, and they exclaim: 'the Day of Judgment is here.' " The Chasidim redoubled their concentration, desperately trying to arouse Divine mercy. Everyone felt that something unusual was in the air.

That night after the prayers, the Rebbe joined his family in the holiday meal. Though the Rebbes generally minimized all talk on Rosh Hashana, the Tzemach Tzedek made it a point to speak during the meal. He discussed current events in the capital, the names and ranks of different ministers and the political situation in general. Reb Yehuda Leib, one of the Rebbe's sons, would remark, "He is performing wonders in Petersburg right now."

This year was no different. The Tzemach Tzedek related all the goings-on in the capital and focused on certain ministers and their roles. In fact, he seemed more detailed than in other years.

The day of Rosh Hashana dawned and throngs of Chasidim streamed to the Rebbe's shul. Again the Rebbe's prayers were permeated with emotion. After the morning prayer was completed and the Torah reading was finished, everyone prepared themselves for the mitzva (commandment) of shofar.

A feeling of awe enveloped the large shul as the sons of the Tzemach Tzedek took their places around the bima, each in his designated place. The Tzemach Tzedek himself finished his preparations, readying himself to blow the tekiyos. His face burned brightly as he sang softly to himself, his eyes closed in deep concentration. Suddenly his voice resonated throughout the shul, "Woe! My heart! A Psalm..."

Panic gripped the congregation and tears flowed freely. Some evil decree prompted the Rebbe's unusual outburst, no doubt, and a great wailing filled the shul. Everyone's heart was open, raw and receptive. The congregation recited the Psalm seven times as required and the Rebbe began the shofar blasts...

Minister Suvorin, minister of Petersburg, the capital, studied his reflection in the mirror gracing the walls of the czar's antechamber. He was waiting for his scheduled appointment with His Majesty. In his hand was the document in which he had invested so much work. It concerned the great rabbi, the one they called the "Tzemach Tzedek."

It was intolerable that a rabbi should have all that power, what with all his followers spread across White Russia. His power lay in his choice of residence, a small village far away from prying eyes and government informers.

No more. The rabbi would now be forced to move to either Petersburg or Kiev. His followers would think twice before visiting their rabbi in such a large city. They would be too easily followed, easily questioned, easily inspected. He had the official document in his hand now: all it needed was the czar's signature.

Suvorin stared out the window. There had been some trouble lately - anger was brewing among the populace, and he was mostly to blame. Two new decrees had raised the ire of Petersburg's residents, but they were just a mob of common folk anyway. After all, his intentions had been pure.

He turned from the window and paced the room, smiling as he recalled the new decrees. No smoking was allowed on city streets; it was untidy. No more meat would be sold within the city; no longer would the beautiful capital carry the smell of rotting flesh. He, Minister Suvorin, would make Petersburg the most beautiful capital in the world.

A liveried servant entered the antechamber and bowed. "Minister Suvorin," he said. "His Majesty will see you now."

Suvorin followed the servant, beads of perspiration forming on his forehead. He entered the dazzling audience chamber and bowed low before the czar.

The czar was in a foul mood. "You passed two decrees banning the sale of meat and use of cigarettes. The population is angry; the decrees are unbearable."

The czar tore the document out of the minister's hand and hurled it angrily on the floor. Suvorin turned white, bowed low and quickly left.

The minister stood once again in the antechamber, his mind whirling. His dream had been shattered. Gone was his goal of restraining the great rabbi. For such was the accepted law: any document that had been thrown away by the czar was automatically negated and it was illegal to present the request again. The rabbi would stay in the village of Lubavitch after all.

Far away in the town of Lubavitch, the Tzemach Tzedek finished sounding the shofar. He returned to his place and the congregation resumed their prayers.

Reprinted from Beis Moshiach Magazine

R' Levi Yitzchak Of Berditchev's Shofar Blowing

The high holidays were approaching. Reb Levi Yitzchak of Berdichev and Reb Yisrael of Koznitz were planning their service in the upcoming days. Among the topics they discussed was who would blow the shofar first. They agreed that Reb Yisrael would be given that distinction since he would customarily begin his prayers early.

The morning of Rosh Hashana had just begun, and the Rebbe of Koznitz ascended the bima to blow the shofar. Concealed by his talit, he sensed a disturbing, negative response from preventing him from blowing the shofar. It was as if the gates of Heaven were impregnable. Try as he did, he could not breach the wall.

Suddenly, the gates swung wide open. All the obstacles disappeared and the heavens were prepared to receive the Jews' prayers.

"What brought about this change?" he inquired. It was revealed that the heavens were penetrated by the holy service of Reb Levi Yitzchak of Berdichev who was preparing to immerse in the mikva before blowing the shofar.

Reb Yisrael of Koznitz turned to his followers. "If the mere preparation of Reb Levi Yitzchak have such a pronounced effect, we must wait until he blows the shofar, and only afterwards will we proceed with our service."

R' Levi Yitzchak Of Berditchev & The Preacher

A well-known preacher once came to Berdichev before Rosh Hashana and requested permission from the head of the community to preach. "I am a widely-acclaimed preacher," he said, "and consider myself worthy of preaching in the shul of Reb Levi Yitzchak."

"I would gladly allow you to preach in any other shul. If, however, you wish to speak in Reb Levi Yitzchak's shul, you must ask him for permission."

The preacher went to the Rebbe and presented his request. "I will grant you permission on condition that I say a few words before your speech," said the Rebbe. Word spread quickly that a visiting preacher would be speaking in Reb Levi Yitzchak's shul on Rosh Hashana and that the Rebbe would speak to the people beforehand. Crowds of people flocked to the shul and listened attentively as the Rebbe made his introduction.

"Master in Heaven, today is the Day of Judgment. The Satan will come before You to accuse the Jewish people. Do not listen to him, for You have written in Your Torah, 'One witness shall not suffice to accuse in judgment.' "

This visiting preacher has come to preach in our city. Should his words contain accusations against Your people do not hearken to his words. Do not accept him as a second witness. He is unfit to pass testimony for he has a personal interest in the matter. He is preaching only because he is in need of funds to marry off his daughter.

"However, if his words are commendable to Your People, listen to them, though he is only one witness. Our Sages have taught us that while the testimony of a single witness is not sufficient to obligate a person, it is sufficient for a vow to be taken. And, you have made a vow to our forefathers..."

The preacher was at a loss for words. The talk he had prepared was filled with fire and brimstone, condemning the people for their many faults. He forfeited his chance to speak and the crowd dispersed.

After Rosh Hashana, Reb Levi Yitzchak himself collected money for the needy preacher and provided him with the funds necessary to marry off his daughter.

The Story Of Chana (Rosh Hashana)

The story of Chana, the Haftorah of Rosh Hashana, is a story of devotion and of love, of service and of sacrifice. It is the story of the woman who taught the world what it means to pray--that one prays not with one's lips, but from one's heart.
"Marry another woman that you may have children," Chana said to her husband, Elkana. "And when G-d sees my pain, perhaps I, too will be given a child." So, Elkana took a second wife, Penina. And she bore many children, but Chana had none.

With time, Chana might have resigned herself to her state, and found solace in her loving husband and her service of G-d. But Penina knew of the longing that burned deep within Chana and resolved that longing not be extinguished. And so, Penina tormented her endlessly.

In the morning, Penina rose early to prepare her children for school. "Chana," she called, "Why are you not up yet? Don't you have to wash and dress your children?"

At noon, Penina stood at the door, awaiting her children's return. "Chana, aren't you going to come too, to welcome your children home?"

At dinner, when Elkana served the main course, Penina once again called attention to her young.

There was not a day that Chana was not confronted with her barrenness. She sat silently at the table, the tears welling in her eyes, observing the lively tumult about her and the obvious pleasure Penina took in tending to her children, and she could not eat. Elkana, sensing her agony, served her the choicest portion, handing it to her lovingly, but it remained untouched.

Each year, Elkana and his family traveled to Shilo. Along the way, they stopped, and Chana and Elkana encouraged others to join them in their pilgrimage. Each year they took a different route, exhorting everyone they met to come along, until eventually, entire villages from all over the land of Israel journeyed with them to sacrifice and give thanks to G-d in Shilo.

It was autumn, they were in Shilo again. Elkana called his family together to share with them the sacrifice. As always, the best went to Chana. And she alone took no part in the joyous celebration. Gently, Elkana said to her: "Chana, why do you cry? Why is your heart saddened today? Does not my love mean more to you than the love of ten children?"

But the days when that love could have contented her were long past. In her mind, she saw only Penina, who made even the most mundane aspects of motherhood seem sublime. So, when everyone had finished the meal, she returned to the House of G-d, and standing before the Ark, she prayed.

"G-d, you have created everything in this world for a reason. You have given me eyes to see, ears to hear, a mouth to speak. Why have You given me a womb, if not to carry a child?

"Look at all the hundreds of people I have gathered to stand before you here. Shall I not have even one to call my own? Look at my despair, and give me a child, like other children, a happy child, a healthy child. No more do I ask for myself. But if it be Your will, then send me a child who will be a great leader, a sage and a holy man, as were Moses and Aaron, and I will dedicate his life to You."

For what seemed like an eternity, she stood before the wall, her body shaking and racked with tears, her lips moving but her voice hardly more than a whisper. In those days, prayers and supplications were said aloud, and Eli, the high priest, was suspicious of her behavior.

"Woman, are you drunk?" he called. "Go away from here, for it is improper to stand before G-d in a state of intoxication."

"No," she answered, "I have poured myself no wine today. It is my heart that I have poured out before G-d in my anguish."

"Then go in peace," Eli replied, "and may G-d grant you your prayer."

So they returned home. That year, Chana bore a son, and she named him Shmuel. When Shmuel was two, she took him with her to Shilo. She stood before Eli and said, "I am the woman who prayed to G-d in my sorrow. Beside me is my son, the answer to that prayer. And now may he be given into the service of G-d for the rest of his life."

And she sang a song of thanks to G-d, she returned home, and Shmuel remained with Eli in the House of G-d. Though she visited him again each year, from that day on he was no longer only hers. She sacrificed her son to G-d, as Abraham had done before her. She sacrificed him not on an altar of stone, but on the altar of her heart, and her sacrifice was forever.

She had other children later, two more sons and two daughters, but we know her only as the mother of Shmuel the Prophet, the son she gave away.