On the words in Shemoneh Esrei: את צמח דוד עבדך מהרה תצמיח – “May You speedily cause the outgrowth of David Your servant to sprout forth”, Rav Shimon Schwab writes: “Mashiach is called ‘the sprout’ of David because, like a seed germinating in the ground, the process of bi’as haMashiach is a slow but steady one. Just as a tiny seed gradually grows, bit by bit, until it breaks through the ground and then develops into a fully grown tree, so is the coming of Mashiach an ongoing and slowly developing process, which will not stop until the actual arrival of Mashiach becomes a reality.”
He then adds perceptively, “And just as one would water a plant to make it grow, so is the tzemach David watered by the tears of those who mourn over Tzion and Yerushalayim, who pray for binyan Yerushalayim and bi’as haMashiach.”
Many of us have cried while reciting Shemonah Esrei blessings of רפאנו, heal us, and ברך עלינו, bless us [with prosperity]. However, have we similarly cried for the rebuilding of Yerushalayim and the coming of Mashiach? Could it be that “the sprout” has not yet blossomed because we have not nurtured it sufficiently with out tears?
The following story related by Rav Sholom Schwadron may give us some insight into the timing of one’s tears:
When Rav Michoel Ber Weissmandl (1903-1957) was in America, two business partners came to him and told him of their terrible problem. Each of them had a son who was planning to marry a non-Jewish girl. The fathers were devastated by this turn of events and were beside themselves with grief.
Rav Weissmandl began asking them about the chinuch they had given their children, which schools they had attended, how much time the fathers had studied with them, and so on. Both men told the same story. They had come from Europe, settling in cities where there were no yeshivos, and sent their children to public schools. There, the children became part of the secular society and eventually lost their Yiddishkeit.
Rav Weissmandl listened to their problem and told them that he would tell them a story. After World War 1, new territorial borders were drawn between the newly independent Poland and Russia. The new boundaries cut through many regions that had previously been under one government. In one city where many Jews lived, the new lines separated the Jewish cemetery from the community; thus, Jews who lived in Poland now had to bury their dead in Russia.
Whenever Jews had to bury someone, they had to obtain a special visa from the Russian consulate, granting permission to cross the border. At times the red tape would take days to complete. In the interim the deceased person would remain unburied, a transgression of Jewish law.
After a number of such occurrences, the Jews appealed to the Russian government to allow the chevra kedisha [burial society] special permission to bypass the border formalities. Permission was granted. Now, every time there was a burial, the chevrah Kadisha were waved through by the border guards.
Some unscrupulous smugglers decided to take advantage of this leniency. They filled a coffin with contraband and, posing as mourners, smuggled goods into Russia. Once on the other side, they would meet their previously arranged contact, who would buy the goods from them and then sell it for a nice profit. Thus a thriving black market was established.
This went on for months as these border runners enjoyed a lucrative business. One morning, as they walked across the border, a young soldier called over to them. “Where are you going?” he inquired.
“To bury a fellow Jew in the cemetery,” they replied.
“You don’t look very sad to me,” the soldier said. “You’ve been laughing and joking the entire time. I’ve been watching you and I don’t think you’re going to bury anyone.”
The impostors realized they were in trouble, so they tried to make an excuse. However, they were unable to allay the young soldier’s suspicions. Finally, he demanded, “Open the coffin and let me see what’s inside!”
“We can’t,” the group insisted. “That would be a lack of respect for the deceased. We have a religious law that once a coffin is closed, it may not be opened.”
The soldier would not let them proceed any further, and when they refused to obey his orders, he called for a higher official, a lieutenant, to pursue the matter further. The lieutenant had little patience with these people and demanded that they open the casket at once, but once again the “pallbearers” claimed it would be a humiliation to the deceased and against their religious beliefs. When the lieutenant finally threatened them with jail, they realized that they had no choice but to open the coffin. They began to plead for forgiveness. Ignoring their please, the lieutenant had the casket opened and there, to the utter humiliation of the “mourners” in the group, was the merchandise, ready to be delivered. They had been caught red-handed.
The culprits broke down and cried, pleading for mercy and promising they would never do it again.
The lieutenant turned slowly, looked at them, and said, “If you had cried before, then you would not have to cry now.”
“And this is what I say to you,” continued Rav Weissmandl, looking at each of the two men in front of him. “If you had cried years ago and been concerned for your children’s chinuch earlier, then you would not have to cry now!”
Sincere tears can bring the ultimate salvation – the sprout of David, Melech HaMashiach. May it happen in our day! (Based on R’ Paysach Krohn’s, From Sorrow to Celebration)
