was set to begin, he left his hotel and arrived at the mikvah before anyone else, and all was going according to plan until he felt a tickle on his arm while getting dressed. He reached into his sleeve and sure enough, a sheretz (impure insect) had made its way in while his clothes hung on the hook. He shrieked and threw it to the floor – it was a dead lizard. He now had to wait until the next nightfall and morning to be pure once again. What can he do now? Can he approach Mr. Katz, who is scheduled to serve right after him, and ask to trade places? No. עָבַר יוֹמוֹ בָּטֵל עֲבוֹדָ תוֹ – his day passed, and his service is negated. All that’s left for him to do is to catch the next #982 bus back to Tzefat and plan again for nine months later where there was an opening. When he arrived back home, he was met at the door with enthusiastic questions of “Nu? How was it?” All he could answer was, “It wasn’t.”
Fast-forward nine months, and the same kohen returned to Yerushalayim, this time foregoing the fancy hotel and opting for a shared living space with more modest amenities. When he woke up before sunrise, he knew better than to visit the same lizard-infested mikvah and chose one with better ratings and reviews. Upon leaving his building though, he noticed an ambulance at the door and asked the driver why it was there. To his dismay, he was told that a woman on the floor just above him had died minutes earlier. He listened closely and could hear them still crying out Shema Yisrael above his head. So, he joined them! Once again, he was pasul and unable to serve. Then the same story at home, with the same dejected response, and the same postponement of his shift.
Months later he came back again on a holiday, where anyone can serve even without a pre-arranged shift. This time, he not only changed his mikvah but also his accommodations – he took no chances. But again, he was vulnerable to conditions out of his control, and just as quickly lost his opportunity once again. Such a person, says the Ishbitzer, has a serious grievance with Hakadosh Baruch Hu. There is nothing wrong with him and he did nothing wrong, yet years can go by without him having the opportunity to fulfill his duties. He spends extended time away from home, closes his business entirely, and yet has nothing to show for it. He has a legitimate claim.
The above case is that of a kohen, but the same can easily happen to anyone who prepares themselves for a particular moment of holiness in their Avodat Hashem but is met with an unexpected surprise that derails everything. Take, for example, one who prepares for Pesach with extra care given to each aspect of work. Matza is purchased direct from the factory and gingerly transported step by step so it shouldn’t break. The house is cleaned, and every last corner scrubbed with a toothbrush then inspected with a magnifying glass. When Erev Pesach arrives, every last crumb of chametz is burned, together with the lulav and every morsel of leaf that might have fallen off during the previous half year. It’s then time to check the romaine lettuce leaves for marror, and leaf by leaf is inspected despite having been pre-checked before being vacuum-sealed. When it’s time to grate the horseradish and make chrein, the strongest root vegetable is selected, one that make you cry three times: when you buy it, when you grate it, and when you eat it.
This brings back memories of the Gulf War some 30-plus years ago, when we were handed those gas masks with the shnurkelim sticking out. We all dressed up as aliens with antennas coming from our heads. We, of course, dressed the kids up first – לְהַ זְהִ יר הַ ְ טַ נִּ ים ק עַל הַ ְדוֹלִים ג – and only then ourselves. Despite being required to hand them back to הג"א [the civilian authority in charge of protecting the population] because none of them actually worked, some people held onto a few masks, both as a souvenir and for the chrein on Erev Pesach. It may not have worked on the Iraqi’s chemical weapons, but it was perfect for the chrein! The masks we collected during the Coronavirus [Covid] also came in quite handy for the job!
Back to getting ready for Pesach, everything is completed and in order for the Seder night, including the eggs, the z’roah and the charoset. Not having slept all night while preparing, you notice there’s a couple of hours until candle-lighting and decide to just rest your head for a bit and grab a quick nap before heading off to your kids for the chag. When you next open your eyes though, it’s half past eleven! All is fine though, because chatzot is only at half past twelve, so you rush through everything and get to the afikomen with time to spare. You did the entire Seder in under an hour but then turn to Hakadosh Baruch Hu and ask, “Why? I scrubbed every tile and every shelf. I tiptoed with the matzah. I cried over the chrein. Why did you make me fall asleep and miss nearly the entire night? All I needed was a 20-minute power nap and you let me sleep the whole night!” This is but one example of many where the intent and actions are there, but everything blows up in your face at the last moment. And often, there’s not a single thing you could have done to prevent it. Just like the kohen had no way to prevent a lizard from jumping into his sleeve at the mikvah and just like he had no way to keep the elderly lady alive an extra hour.
The Ishbitzer says, those experiences are ones that leave us feeling as though our Avodat Hashem is not desired. It’s thrown back in our face at the last minute, and there’s nothing we could have done to prevent it. Just like when we enter the succah on the first night and feel the rain pouring down on us like the master pouring a jug of water on in his servant’s face. It’s a total letdown and we have a genuine grievance. The same is true when an animal is brought for a korban but is determined to have an invalidating internal blemish which could be spotted by the naked eye.
