A traveling merchant was once on the road when Shabbos was nearing. He suddenly found himself caught in a dilemma; where he should spend Shabbos? After inquiring of the locals, he was told to go to the house of the Saraf of Strilisk. He was known as the place to spend Shabbos. His wife was a well-known machneses orech, and the Saraf was known for his bren in mitzvos. Every part of Shabbos was done with bren and enthusiasm.
The merchant approached the wife of the Saraf and asked if he could spend Shabbos with them, and she happily welcomed him into the house. She set up comfortable quarters for him to stay and prepared for him a welcoming delicious snack.
After the Friday night seudah, she turned to the merchant and asked if all the accommodations were suitable. He confirmed that everything was well and fine, “But there one thing that bothers me!”
“What’s bothering you?” she asked in surprise. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
“Why does the Saraf scream when he davens? I also daven, yet when I do it, I don’t scream. Hashem hears and listens to me, even when I talk normally.”
“The Rebbe does that out of his excitement of talking to Hashem,” the rebbetzin replied.
But the merchant didn’t accept her answer. “I also daven with passion, and yet I don’t scream. Why does the Rebbe have to scream when he davens?”
The Saraf’s wife tried explaining a few times, but whatever she said fell on deaf ears.
After the Shabbos day seudah, again the Saraf’s wife asked their guest how he was doing. And again, the guest responded that while everything was fine, he still couldn’t get over the Rebbe’s screaming during davening. “I’m going zany over the loud noise!”
His wife went on to explain again how her husband’s davening was coming from his spirit, and that there was nothing to do in order to prevent it.
As the sun of Motzaei Shabbos set under, the guest inhaled a sigh of relief. He would no longer hear the screaming voice of the Saraf echoing in his ears anymore. He would be able to take his belongings and set off to the marketplace.
Before he left, he went back to retrieve his bag of savings that he’d given to the Saraf’s wife to watch over Shabbos. When he requested that she return the bag, she denied having every received it.
“When Shabbos was approaching,” he reminded her, “I handed you my personal belongings to protect over Shabbos. You happily agreed then, and now you’re denying it?”
“What belongings? she unassumingly replied. “You didn’t give me anything to watch!”
Raising his voice, he replied, “Before Shabbos, I gave you all my savings!” Seeing the ignorance in her eyes he raised his voice louder. “That was all money that I’d been saving for many years to finally take to the marketplace. I need that money to sustain my wife and kids, and now you’re robbing it from me! What cruelty!”
The Saraf’s wife went to explain, “You see for yourself, that when something affects you deeply you also get emotional. When something is of value, you don’t remain calm, you get worked up. It’s just a matter of what affects you. To my husband it’s a davening, and to you it’s your money.”
The Saraf’s wife calmly went to get the merchant’s money, but before she handed him the money, she sat him down and told him a story.
“Many years ago, late at night, my husband returned from learning and something seemingly moved him. After questioning him, he explained that he saw a goy take a torch and engrave a ‘cross’ in the lake. The lake had frozen over, and he took a torch to engrave what he wanted.
“Shocked at his response, I turned to my husband and asked, ‘What does it matter to you what the goy is doing? In the past you’ve never related to anything they do, so what happened now that caught your attention?’
“I’ll explain,” the Saraf said. “Had the lake not been frozen, there wouldn’t be anything to melt. He therefore wouldn’t be able to melt it; the negative imprint would fall on nothing. Now that it’s cold and the water is frozen, the cross can be engraved, and its negative effects are long-lasting.
“This taught me a profound lesson in avodas Hashem. When serving Hashem is done cold, then it’s much easier to have bad things engraved, but when it’s done with warmth and bren, you can’t place such things on it.
“This is the reason why bren in avodas Hashem is important. When it’s done with bren, there’s no room for distant influences. It’s when that is missing, then it turns into a problem.” With that, she returned the withheld wallet, and she got her point across. (L’romeim p. 19)
