The Chasid stood in his inn pouring drinks and dishing out fare to his customers. Today Ivan and Grisha had gotten into a fist fight once again, and he had thrown them out the door, telling them to take their business elsewhere. Stasha had refused to pay up his bill which had mounted to a whopping five rubles. The noise, the swearing and constant drunken arguments were more than the Chasid could stand. Some days he could hardly force himself to open the tavern door to patrons. "Malka," he would tell his wife, "I just have to find some other livelihood, I can't stand it any longer." But, in truth, what else could he, a man with six growing children, find to do in the village?
"Every day and every night," the tavern keeper thought, "my whole week is spent in the company of these coarse peasants, whose hours are spent guzzling vodka, then sinking into drunken stupors or engaging in senseless, vulgar brawls. How can I help but decline in my service to G-d when I spend all my days in such a place?" Then he would once again weigh his options and fall into despair.
Finally, he decided that he would pay a visit to Rabbi Aryeh Leib, the Shpoler Zeide. The tzadik would certainly have some words of advice for him and help him to extricate himself from his terrible situation. Arriving at the home of the tzadik, he was admitted into his study and soon launched into an explanation of his problem. The Chasid explained that he stood in a tavern all day, dispensing drinks to all manner of low folks, and he was concerned that he might fall into their ways, simply by virtue of the constant contact. On the other hand, he had a family, many obligations to his children, his wife, his elderly parents; he felt trapped. There must be a way out for him...
The rabbi listened quietly to his complaints, allowing the poor, distraught man to vent his feelings. Then the tzadik said with an understanding smile, "From what you have told me, I understand you'd prefer to fulfill your obligations to your Creator in a different way. Perhaps, by being awarded a bag full of gold coins, living in an elaborate palace, filled with holy books, being clothed in the finest silken garb, with a fur hat atop your head it would be easier to be a good Jew! Were all of those conditions to be met, you'd surely be able to learn Torah and perform mitzvot with a clear mind, with a complete heart, without being burdened with every care in the world. Well, my dear friend, you have it completely wrong. No, that's not how it is at all. That's not the Divine plan. G-d wants that you, burdened with all the problems that stalk you through your days- lack of money to meet your bills at the end of the month, children to marry off, vulgar peasants yelling at you to hurry up with their drink - with all of that, He wants you to be a good Jew. My friend, it is His will that you take all of these distractions and put them aside in order to perform His will, even when you feel that you will shatter into pieces. When you cleave to Him, in the face of all these hardships and long for the rare moments of solitude when you might fulfill the desire of your heart to say a few precious words of prayer to Him, then G-d gets the greatest joy from your service. If all He desired was effortless praise, He would be satisfied with His myriad troops of angels who utter, "Holy! Holy! Holy!" without stop. No, He desires your heart, which you give Him in the face of your daily hardships - that is true service.
"I advise you, instead of complaining how difficult it is to make a living in your rough tavern atmosphere, give thanks to Him, for He has provided you with an opportunity to elevate yourself to a place of such sanctity that no other test would have afforded you. Indeed, G-d has given you a great gift, and you should cherish it."
