Reb Yaakov Krantz—the great Maggid of Dubno—related a timely anecdote: “There was a day laborer working as a porter who made his parnassa doing odd jobs, helping travelers load and unload their wares. When a visiting business man arrived, he would schlep his merchandise from the carriage to the inn, and take payment in relation to the size or difficulty of the load.
One day, he struggled under the extreme weight of a wealthy merchant’s trunks and bags that he had picked up at the curb. Krechtzing heavily and pouring with sweat, he slowly navigated the staircase, the unwieldy bags almost toppling him. After completing the job, he limped weakly back to the entrance of the inn and met the visitor. When the affluent businessman handed him just a couple of small coins, he was incredulous, ‘How dare you? After I schlepped so many heavy bags for you, how could you short-change me like this?’
The gvir replied, “My good man, I am traveling with one small, light suitcase. If you schlepped many heavy bags, I’m afraid you were carrying someone else’s baggage … not mine.””
The Dubner Maggid explained by darshening on the pasuk: ולֹא־אֹתִי קָרָאתָ יַעֲקֹב כִּי־יָגַעְתָּ בִּי יִשְׂרָאֵל—“You did not call upon Me, Yaakov, for you grew weary of ‘Me,’” (Yeshayahu, 43:22). The Ribbono Shel Olam is assuring us: if we are feeling weary under the yoke of Torah and mitzvos, it indicates something is awry in our approach, for it wasn’t really Hashem that we were calling on. If our Yiddishkeit is making us krechtz or kvetch—or if it seems to detract from our love and joy in being a Jew—it means that we are not following the Torah’s directives, but rather schlepping some other set of rules that we inadvertently picked up somewhere.
Serving God is all-encompassing and can feel demanding; we are entrusted and obligated with a myriad of mitzvos, and halachic details, and encouraged to continually stretch our capacity in depth of intentionality and full-heartedness. Yet, the underlying divine motivation—so to speak—behind this, however, is empowering: רצה הקב”ה לזכות את ישראל לפיכך הרבה להם תורה ומצוות—“HaKadosh Baruch Hu wished to confer merit upon Yisrael, therefore, He increased for them Torah and mitzvos.” If our observances don’t shine with “merit” or empowerment, if we have “grown weary” of them, we are most likely not carrying Hashem’s Torah and mitzvos, in a most precise sense. They are “someone else’s”—there is, perhaps, the taint of an ulterior motive.
All of this is vitally relevant to this auspicious time of year and these days of heightened merit, when we are given an opportunity to embrace the mitzvah of teshuva, returning to Hashem out of love and joy.
Rav Avraham Yitzchak HaKohen Kook writes: עיקר הנפילות באות מפני שאינו מאמין בקלותה של תשו—“The primary reason for our failure is a result of not believing that making teshuva is easy,” (Oros HaTeshuva, 14). Many of us have become prey to a “conceptzia” of the difficulty in successfully engaging teshuva. We prefer to remain in a fossilized state of self-imposed stuckness, paralyzed by the fear of failure. Entrapped in a reactive, defeatist mentality, blinded from seeing our personal and collective spiritual potential, we submit to faintheartedness. Believing, tragically, that our baggage is just too heavy for our teshuva to be effective, we give up.
The truth is, teshuva involves unburdening ourselves of our heavy past, and letting go of toxic baggage. If we would keep this in mind, teshuva would be easy, joyful and invigorating.
Rebbe Simcha Bunim of Peshischa taught that it is understandable that people do aveiros—after all, we are human beings and are all subject to the various temptations that surround us. What is much worse than any aveira, however, is that Hashem gives us the ability to do teshuva at any moment, but we don’t avail ourselves of it and repair our relationship with Him. “In the beis din shel Maalah,” he said, “we won’t be asked why we made mistakes and did aveiros, for that is how Hashem made the world. Rather, we’ll be held accountable for why we didn’t do teshuva and fix what we had broken.”
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When Rebbe Yosef Yitzchok—the Frierdiker Rebbe of Lubavitch—would travel, large crowds would gather to greet and escort him, or simply to catch a glimpse of the tzadik. Once, throngs gathered to see the rebbe departing from a European train station. He greeted the assembled with a few inspiring words. As the Rebbe was giving brachos to eager chasidim and admirers, the conductor signaled that the train was about to depart.
The rebbe’s personal gabbai exclaimed, “Rebbe! We have to move quickly … there is just a minute left!” The Frierdiker Rebbe closed his eyes and seemed lost in thought, experiencing a moment of deep dveykus. “A minute! A minute! In just one minute, I could do teshuva!” Overcome with emotion, the rebbe stood immobilized until his assistant managed to finesse him onto the train.
Following his miraculous escape from the Nazis, Rebbe Yosef Yitzchok arrived in the United States and spearheaded a revolution of Jewish growth and engagement. The Friediker issued an urgent call to world Jewry, crying out from the depths of his soul: לאלתר לתשובה, לאלתר לגאולה!—“Immediately to repentance—immediately to Redemption!” This direct confrontation with exile, National and personal, is relevant today as ever.
May we seize the moment … “L’alter l’teshuva, l’alter l’Geula,” by taking the right “suitcase”—increasing in Torah and mitzvos with the ease borne of love and joy!
Rabbi Judah Mischel is executive director of Camp HASC, the Hebrew Academy for Special Children. He is the mashpiah of OU-NCSY, founder of Tzama Nafshi and the author of “Baderech: Along the Path of Teshuva.” Rav Judah lives in Ramat Beit Shemesh with his wife Ora and their family.
