Years ago, there was a fierce public campaign against the late Torah giant, Rabbi Aharon Leib Shteinman zt”l. The campaign lasted for years. It was relentless—ads were plastered across newspapers and public walls. The attacks were personal, humiliating, and deeply painful.
The individual who spearheaded this campaign eventually got married, but found himself struggling with infertility for several years. In a moment of introspection, he began to suspect its cause. “I publicly humiliated one of the greatest sages of the generation,” he thought. “Surely that has consequences.”
Determined to make amends, he went to Rabbi Shteinman in person. "Rabbi," he said, "I’ve come to ask for your forgiveness."
Rabbi Shteinman looked at him and said gently, “Forgiveness? What for?”
The man replied, “I don’t know if you’re aware, but for the past several years there’s been a public campaign against you. I was the one behind it. I got married, and we haven’t been able to have children. I believe it’s connected. Please, Rabbi, forgive me.”
Rabbi Shteinman responded, “Don’t worry about it. It’s okay.”
“No, Rabbi,” the man pleaded, “Please, say you forgive me.”
“I don’t think I need to forgive you,” Rav Shteinman said calmly. “In fact, I think I should give you a Yashar Koach. I should thank you.”
“Give me a Yashar Koach?” the man asked in shock. “I publicly embarrassed you for years. I disgraced the honor of Torah. Why would you thank me?”
Rabbi Shteinman then reached for a volume of Shaarei Kedusha (Gates of Holiness), authored by Rabbi Chaim Vital, the primary disciple of the Arizal. He opened to Shaar Aleph (Section one), paragraph six.
There, Rabbi Chaim Vital writes: “If you had any measure of spiritual insight,” he says, “you would rise each morning and pray, ‘Master of the Universe, please send me one or two humiliations today.’”
Why? Because, he explains, humiliation and emotional suffering cleanse a person of sin.
Would you rather lose an arm, Heaven forbid? A child? Watch your business collapse overnight? Wouldn’t you rather just be embarrassed? It purifies the soul. It awakens a person to return to Hashem.
Rabbi Moshe Cordovero, in his Tomer Devorah, teaches the same idea: if a person is destined to endure suffering, let it come in the form of public shame. It is the gentlest and most redemptive form of pain.
“So you see,” said Rabbi Shteinman, “I think I owe you a thank you. You gave me something incredibly valuable.”
Still stunned, the man asked again, “But Rabbi... even so... please say that you forgive me.”
Rabbi Shteinman smiled. “I truly don’t believe I need to forgive you. You deserve a heartfelt yashar koach.”
The man stood silently, absorbing the moment, then began to smile. “Wow,” he said quietly. “Thank you, Rebbe.” He turned to leave.
But just as he reached the door, Rabbi Shteinman called out after him.
“Wait—one more thing,” he said. “I really do thank you. But please... don’t do this favor for anyone else.”
