The young man stood in the middle of the teeming thoroughfare contemplating the scene. His life in the city was exciting - how could he ever have lived in the town of Berdichev? Ha! Why now, he was a man of the world-nothing was barred to him. He turned right and continued down the tree-lined street, heading for his favorite cafe. Here, he could be with people of his own intelligence and wit. How good it was not to be living in that little village steeped as it was in ancient Jewish rituals.
As so, his days and nights passed in political discussions and drinking. In the morning he would frequent the usual cafe and peruse the morning newspaper, looking for some articles of interest with which he could regale his companions. By afternoon he would stroll the ever-fascinating streets, and by evening, he would again head for the cafe where he and his friends would meet and compare lofty, intellectual concepts.
The mitzvot (commandments) so carefully taught him by his parents never surfaced in his mind, so enthralled was he with the sights and sounds of the big city. Many, if not most of his new acquaintances were also Jewish, and had also managed to "escape" the narrow confines of towns and villages like Berdichev. They had also forsaken the teachings of their parents, grandparents and countless generations of ancestors who had clung against all odds to the same Torah.
One morning, as he lay in bed planning his day's activities, he was startled by his landlady's knock at the door. What could she want? he thought, as he clambered out of bed and into a dressing gown. She looked uneasy as she stood there holding a telegram in her outstretched hand.
"From home," she said. As he took it, the young man felt queasy. His parents would never send a telegram if there was no desperate need. The words confirmed his worst fears. Through the blur of his tears he read again and again the words, "Father has passed away. Come home. Mamma."
He sunk down in his chair. Father is gone. Oh, no. Within the hour he was on his way home to Berdichev.
The funeral passed and the seven days of shiva were over, yet he lingered on with his widowed mother, enveloped in his own gray bereavement. The month of Elul had arrived and the holiday feeling was almost palpable. He wasn't sure why, but for some reason, he derived comfort from the familiar sights and sounds of his old home town.
The young man walked aimlessly through Berdichev, lost in thought, when suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was the Rebbe, Levi Yitzchak, who was known for the great love he had for his fellow Jews.
"You know, young man, I am really very envious of you," remarked the Rebbe, smiling.
The young man was unsure of what was coming next. He waited for the punch line. Reb Levi Yitzchak continued, "During these days of repentance, every Jew has the opportunity, by truly returning to G-d, to turn his sins into merits."
The young man laughed. "Well, if that's the case, you'll be even more jealous next year. For then I'll have a whole new pile of sins to work on!"
"Let me tell you a story," said the Rebbe. "Once a landlord was travelling through his property and a terrible rainstorm came up. He stopped at an inn which he rented out, hoping to find respite from the elements. But, when he brought his horses into the stables the rain cascaded in torrents through the holes in the roof. "Well," he thought, "at least in the inn I'll be able to dry out." But when he entered the inn, the situation was not much better. Puddles like small lakes dotted the floor and a raw dampness pervaded the room.
"The angry landlord approached the innkeeper and said, 'When I rented this inn to you it was in excellent condition. How have you allowed it to deteriorate this way!?'
"'Your Excellency,' stammered the embarrassed innkeeper, 'I knew you would stop in some time, but I didn't think it would be so soon.'"
With that, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak turned and walked away, but his little story had planted a seed in the young man's mind.
A few days after Rosh Hashana had passed, the young man fell ill. The illness worsened and many specialists were called in, but no cure could be found. Within weeks, it seemed apparent to the young man that his end was quickly approaching. He recalled the rabbi's story and was consumed by regret at how he had wasted his precious life which was ebbing away.
He sent a messenger to Reb Levi Yitzchak begging him to come to his bedside and guide him back to the right path, for his Jewish soul pulled at him and gave him no rest. Reb Levi Yitzchak came at once. He sat at the young man's bedside day after day instructing and encouraging him until he achieved a true and complete repentance.
