It was Belarus towards the end of the 19th century and Jewish-run inns dotted the rural areas like poppy seeds on a bagel. Rabbi Shmuel Weinberg didn't frequent inns; he preferred the comfort of his straw bed at home and his wife's cooking. But he was the Slonimer Rebbe and his people needed him, so from time to time he set out on the road and stayed for a few days at different inns in his area.
On the first night of his stay in this particular inn, Rabbi Shmuel noticed an interesting stranger. Rabbi Shmuel couldn't help but analyze him: "He's stately, well dressed. He has an inner calm that I don't see often." Rabbi Shmuel was even most impressed by the man's glow; he sensed a holiness in the man. He wanted to know the source of the man's aura, yet he didn't feel it appropriate to approach him right away.
Night two at the inn found the Slonimer tired from a long day of activities on behalf of the Jewish community. Weary, he opened the tractate of Talmud he had brought with him to study a certain passage in depth before he retired. "Why would the defendant be obligated to take an oath in this case and not...?"
Then he noticed the man was present again. He was sorting through documents in his attache case, his appearance illuminated by contentment.
"I must approach him tonight," Rabbi Shmuel decided. But he didn't because he wanted to finish his committed time for learning, and by the time he was done, the man had gone back to his room. "Tomorrow night," he promised himself. That is when he would discover the source of this man's holiness.
The third night the haze in the common room was even thicker than usual, a mixture of cigarette and furnace smoke, and it was difficult to see clearly, but the Rebbe had no trouble finding the man. "My dear fellow Yid! Vos macht du? (How are you doing?)" Rabbi Shmuel asked, approaching the man with slow determination.
The man looked up. He was eating soup. "I'm doing well, Rabbi."
"Can I ask you something?" Rabbi Shmuel asked.
"Of course!"
"Who are you?"
The man wasn't perturbed by the rabbi's forwardness. "I'm a simple man. I sell shoes for a living. I'm doing well, thank G d."
"I mean, what do you do spiritually?" Like, he was concerned with the man's holiness, not his income. "How long do you pray? How much Torah do you study?"
"I don't pray. I mean, I try to but I don't know how to read, so I'm able to say the three paragraphs of the Sh'ma Yisrael prayer by heart every morning and evening, but nothing else. Same goes for learning."
The man cast his gaze downward.
Of course, the Rebbe didn't judge the man. How could he? Nevertheless, he pursued.
"I'm sorry to ask, but can you tell me about your day? I see something in you that I don't usually see."
"Of course, Rabbi. But I'm afraid that I'm quite ordinary. I wake up at 5 am every morning..." said the man as he launched into a detailed review of his day. He was nearing late afternoon and Rabbi Shmuel was still at a loss. Why did the man glow?
The man concluded, "And before I go to sleep, after I recite the Sh'ma, I say to G-d:
"Master of the world, I ask only one thing from You. If I don't have what it takes to fulfill the mission for which You created me, don't wake me up tomorrow. Wake me up only if You believe I can do everything You need me to do in the world."
Rabbi Shmuel Slonimer had his answer.
Reprinted from an email from KabbalaOnline.org.
