Reb Yosef, a tremendous talmid chacham and yerei Shamayim, lived in the city of Beshankovichy in the Vitebsk district of White Russia.
Reb Yosef was one of the eminent disciples of the Baal Hatanya, and he would visit the court often, first in Lyozna, and later in Liadi, both of which are in White Russia.
For many years, Reb Yosef sat and learned undisturbed. In time, he was widowed, leaving him alone, as they did not have children.
When Reb Yosef came to Liadi after his wife’s passing, the Rebbe asked him if he was proficient in Shishah Sidrei Mishnah by heart. Reb Yosef responding in the affirmative. Learning Mishnayos by heart was one of his regular sedarim. Upon hearing his response, the Rebbe raised his eyes, looked at Reb Yosef and said: “Mishnah has the same letters as neshamah... marry a wife and you will merit a son.” Then the Rebbe added something that was hard to understand: “For the sake of your neshamah, you would be better off being a wagon driver than a Rav.” He did not explain.
Reb Yosef returned home, and when a suitable shidduch was suggested, he hastened to agree, as his Rebbi had instructed. His joy was indescribable, when, as the Rebbe had promised, he merited to have a son.
About ten years passed, and the Rebbe passed away. One day, a delegation knocked at Reb Yosef’s door; they had come from the community of Lyepyel, and they bore a ksav rabbanus. At first, Reb Yosef was going to accept the offer, but suddenly the Rebbe’s words from the distant past began to hammer in his head: “For the sake of your soul, I advise you to be a wagon driver...” Without realizing it, he found himself murmuring to his visitors: “I don’t want to. I have to be a wagon driver.”
The guests opened their mouths in shock, and hurriedly departed. “Reb Yosef has lost his mind,” they said to one another worriedly and continued on their way.
A few days passed before Reb Yosef mustered up the courage to go from his house to the wagon driver market. He stood there, ashamed, in one of the corners, and was almost ready to go home, but with tremendous fortitude, he remained standing in his place. Suddenly, one of the wagon drivers noticed him. “Oh, Rebbi!” he called, “where would you like to go?”
Reb Yosef stammered weakly: “I don’t want to travel anywhere. I came here to learn how to be a wagon driver.”
The wagon driver gaped at him: “What do you mean, Rebbi?”
“I’ve decided to become a wagon driver,” Reb Yosef answered in a small voice.
“A wagon driver?” the man guffawed. “Hey everyone, have you heard? Reb Yosef wants to be a wagon driver!!”
Reb Yosef, who had never exchanged more than a few words with a wagon driver from the market, found himself standing in the middle of the group of rowdy drivers, who were joshing loudly about the best show in the city. Ultimately, after sustaining tremendous humiliation, Reb Yosef was able to find a quiet, older driver, who agreed to teach him the work. And so, he had to wallow in the mud, to dirty his hands with tar, to exert his meager energies in unsuccessful attempts at changing wheels, and bruising his body as he tended to the horses.
But Reb Yosef remained firm. In exchange for his pious wife’s string of pearls, he bought a wagon and a horse, and after he was able to hold the reins in a decent fashion, he set out on his new job.
Reb Yosef’s life changed drastically. Although he did not waste a moment of time, and even while driving he continued to learn Mishnayos by heart, still, he replaced his regular seat in the beis medrash with the seat of the wagon driver, and he spent his days plying the muddy roads.
The mouth that had never been used to idle speech had to talk about subjects relating to the ways, to the prices. His hands that had learned only to turn pages of holy seforim had to tend to animals. His ears, used to absorbing divrei Torah and deep Chassidic concepts, had to hear the nonsense of the passengers he carried.
One day, Reb Yosef happened upon an inn, where the owner connected him to a Jewish merchant staying at the inn who was heading to the same destination as Reb Yosef.
“Tomorrow morning, I will depart after Shacharis,” the wagon driver, Reb Yosef, said to the merchant. The man ignored him. “What time?” he asked, and meant to allude: I don’t daven and your tefillah is not my business. “I have to know what time you want to leave so that I should have time to eat and drink beforehand,” he added.
Reb Yosef, who sensed the mockery of the merchant, asked: “And davening?”
“I leave the davening to you,” the man answered indifferently. “I manage fine without it.” Reb Yosef looked at him in reproof. “How is that possible? A Jew who does not daven?”
The merchant pointedly ignored his question. “Wake me up an hour before we have to leave,” he asked the innkeeper and headed for bed. His sleep did not last long... At midnight, he woke up from cries heard in the next room. The cries gave him no peace, and he got up and went to check what the issue was. The cries came from behind the door to the wagon driver’s room.
The light of a small candle danced in the corridor, and through the door, he could hear the words of Tikkun Chatzos. The elderly wagon driver was weeping over the galus of the Shechinah...Understanding dawned in the merchant’s mind.
The merchant stood rooted to his place. The pleasant voice penetrated the depths of his heart, and awakened dormant memories of his father’s house. He did not move from his place until the morning, and even after alos hashachar, he remained standing behind the door, listening to the Birchos Hashachar and the fiery tefillas Shacharis.
When the innkeeper awoke early in the morning, he was stunned to see his guest standing in the corridor, his hair mussed, and his eyes filled with tears. After the davening, the merchant abandoned his plans. “Show me the path to teshuvah!” he fell at Reb Yosef’s feet pleadingly.
From there, the two traveled to Lubavitch, to Rav Duber, the older son and successor of the Baal Hatanya. The Rebbe spoke with the fresh baal teshuvah for many hours, and then called Reb Yosef and said to him: “You merited to bring back an errant Jewish soul to its Source, and you have fulfilled your role as a wagon driver. Now you can go back to the beis medrash...”
Hachozrim B’Teshuvah [Rav Y. Klapholtz] p. 345
