Tell Your Children: The Knock at the Door

A chassid once came to the great Maggid of Mezritch with a question that had long troubled him.

"Rebbe," he said, "I find myself constantly battling unwanted thoughts. They enter my mind without invitation, and no matter how hard I try, I cannot seem to rid myself of them. How can a person truly learn to control his thoughts?"

The Maggid looked at him thoughtfully. Instead of answering, he gave him an un-expected assignment. "I want you to trav-el to my disciple, Rabbi Zev of Zhitomir," he said. "He will teach you the answer."

Though puzzled, the chassid did not ques-tion his Rebbe. If Rabbi Zev held the an-swer, then to Rabbi Zev he would go.

After a good distance of travel, he finally reached the outskirts of Zhitomir. By then the sun had already set, and a fierce winter storm had descended upon the country-side. Thick snow covered the roads, the wind whipped through the trees with a mournful howl, and the icy air cut through his heavy coat as though it were paper. His boots were soaked, his fingers numb, and every step had become a struggle.

Arriving at the House

Then, through the darkness, he spotted a small house. Warm golden light spilled from its windows onto the snow. Smoke curled gently from the chimney, promising a blazing fire within. As he drew closer, he heard the muffled sound of cheerful voices and the clinking of dishes. His heart lifted. Soon he would be inside, warming himself by the fire after his long and exhausting journey. He climbed the steps and knocked gently on the door. No answer.

Perhaps no one had heard him over the lively conversation. He waited a moment and knocked again, this time more firmly. Still nothing.

He could clearly hear people inside. Sure-ly someone would come. He knocked a third time, louder than before, the sound echoing through the quiet winter night. Again, no response.

Confused, he walked around the side of the house and peered through one of the windows. Inside, he could see Rabbi Zev sitting with his family around the dinner table. They were eating, talking, and smil-ing together. The room glowed with warmth.

Certain they simply hadn't heard the knocking at the door. He rapped firmly on the window. No one looked up. He knocked again. Nothing.

It was impossible. They had to know he was there. The chassid stood in the snow, bewildered and hurt. Why would they ignore a weary traveler on such a bitter night?

The Long Night

With nowhere else to go, he returned to the front porch, wrapped his coat tightly around himself, and sat on the frozen doorstep.

Hour after hour passed as the wind howled around him and the cold crept deeper into his bones. He barely slept, wondering why his Rebbe had sent him to a man who would leave a fellow Jew outside in such cruel conditions.

At last, dawn broke. The door swung open. Rabbi Zev stood there with a broad smile. "Welcome!" he said warmly.

"Please come inside."

The chassid was grateful for the invitation to enter the warm home but was utterly confused.

"Rebbe," he asked respect-fully, "I don't understand. Last night I knocked again and again. I even knocked on the window. I know you heard me. Why didn't you let me in?"

Rabbi Zev looked at him calmly. "Because," he replied simply, "I did not want to."

Our Choice

In that instant, the chassid understood why the Maggid had sent him to Rabbi Zev.

The battle is not to stop every thought from knocking. The battle is fought at the door. Every person possesses the G-d giv-en ability to choose which thoughts are welcomed into the home of the mind—and which are left standing outside.

Thoughts are always knocking. Some de-serve to be welcomed. Others do not. We cannot always prevent a thought from arriving at the door of our mind, but we can decide whether to invite it inside and give it a place to stay.