This wondrous story was preserved thanks to one simple thing—a fur coat. The coat sustained the memory of the miracle for the old villager. His life was intertwined with that coat: until his last day, he wore it, and after he bore witness to its essence and origin, he departed this world, having fulfilled his purpose. What is the message we can learn from the making of the coat, and why was it important for Rabbi Yisrael of Ruzhin, who was named after the Baal Shem Tov, to ascertain the source of the name of the village?
The killing of the wolf occurred in a unique manner—it remained standing yet had no life within it. Why was its vitality taken in such a way? When the soul departs so quietly, without struggle, almost without anyone noticing, it becomes evident that life and death are in the hands of God alone. The wolf could have been killed in other, more externally impressive ways—lightning, thunderous noise, a direct curse, and so on. But if we delve deeper and reflect, we see that the way the wolf died revealed something entirely different—a higher reality, a supreme force with absolute control over the life of all creatures. Killing in the heat of battle could give the impression that the slayer had a vested interest, as if he felt endangered by the wolf and therefore mustered all his strength and courage to overcome it. But the Ba’al Shem Tov sought to reveal the existence of the Creator of all, the Master of souls. He wanted to show that even what appears to the eye as living and threatening has no real substance apart from the word of God that animates it. Indeed, in an instant, its vitality vanished. And the real amazement of the villagers was their recognition that Srul (the Ba’al Shem Tov) was a holy man of God, and that everything he touched became sanctified.
Thus, the villagers did not perceive the Ba’al Shem Tov as a mighty warrior or a hunter but understood that they were encountering something far more exalted. Even when confronting evil within a person, the Ba’al Shem Tov adopted a similar approach. Chasidut teaches that “he who wrestles with a vile person becomes defiled.”
We do not fight each negative trait individually; rather, we direct all our forces toward a singular, overarching battle—the question of whether “God is my rock and portion forever,” or, God forbid, not. If this is the case, then the vitality of the forces of impurity and negative traits will naturally diminish on their own, without the need to struggle with them directly. If not, then the work of the tzaddik (righteous person), as described in the Tanya, is to continue awakening the essence of the soul through Torah and prayer until it desires to do good, rather than waging an endless and futile battle to force the body and soul to follow the path of goodness in every detail, as it stands on its own. This contrasts with the beinoni—the intermediate person—whose constant struggle is, in fact, his defining task and brings great delight Above, as the Tanya explains in detail: “When the other side [forces of evil] is subdued below, the glory of the Holy One, blessed be He, rises above all.”
There is a saying that if a person breaks his evil inclination, he has not gained anything; instead of one inclination, he now has two. In a similar vein, if the Ba’al Shem Tov had killed the wolf in another manner, the villagers might have believed that he did so through his own power. They would have been saved from that particular wolf but would continue to fear other wolves—especially in the absence of the Ba’al Shem Tov. However, in the way that the Ba’al Shem Tov acted, he illuminated the situation with the light of truth, revealing that the wolf had no power to harm at all. Evil has no inherent power; it only gains strength from the fear and belief that people invest in it. If you know not to fear anything in this world, except the Almighty alone, you will see that “the wicked, even in their lifetimes, are considered dead,” and “soon the wicked will be no more; you will look for them, but they will not be found.”
