A Time Of Unity
A Time Of Unity
After days of soul-searching and heartfelt prayer, we are given a priceless gift: the opportunity to cleanse ourselves of our sins and begin anew. This not only transforms our relationship with Hashem; it also has a profound effect on our relationships with one another.
The Sfas Emes teaches that, in truth, the souls of Klal Yisrael are naturally close and connected. It is our sins that create distance and separation—both between ourselves and Hashem, and between one person and another. Therefore, the work of Yom Kippur is not complete until we repair both forms of separation. When we seek forgiveness from those we have hurt and return to caring and loving one another, the barriers created by our mistakes begin to fall away.
On Yom Kippur, as our sins are forgiven, Klal Yisrael can once again become one. The Sfas Emes explains that this is why we merited receiving the second Luchos on Yom Kippur. The sin of the Golden Calf had damaged our unity, but through forgiveness that unity was restored, preparing us to receive the Torah once again. With this renewed closeness to Hashem and to one another, we can then enter Sukkos together—a Yom Tov with a particularly powerful message of unity.27
This message of unity should accompany us throughout Sukkos. There are many beautiful hiddurim and stringencies through which we can strive to perform the mitzvos of Sukkos in the finest possible way. Yet, at the same time, we must never lose sight of the special spirit of these days—a time when Klal Yisrael comes together as one. Part of preserving that unity is being sensitive to the feelings of those around us. Even when we are striving for the highest standards in our own mitzvah observance, we should be careful that this never creates distance between ourselves and another Jew.
Sukkos reminds us that alongside our desire to beautify each mitzvah, we should cherish the precious bond that connects every member of Klal Yisrael. Sometimes, a little thoughtfulness, understanding and sensitivity can help preserve that sense of togetherness.
Rav Yankele of Pshevorsk was a revered Chassidic Rebbe who led the Pshevorsk community in Antwerp. His life had taken him through extraordinarily difficult times. During the war years, he suffered imprisonment and forced labor in Siberia, where even under the harshest conditions he remained deeply devoted to the mitzvos. That same devotion remained with him throughout his life.
Many years later, during Chol HaMo’eid Sukkos, the Rebbe went to visit an elderly Chasid who lived with his wife on a high floor of an assisted-living facility. His declining health had made it very difficult for him to leave the apartment.
When the Rebbe arrived, the Chasid’s wife quietly asked him for a favor. “Please, Rebbe, don’t tell him that it is Sukkos. If he knows, he will insist on going downstairs to the Succah, and it is simply too difficult for him.” The Rebbe agreed and entered without revealing the reason for the visit.
The Chasid was overjoyed to see the Rebbe. After warmly greeting him, he immediately turned to his wife and asked her to bring the Rebbe some fruit. Soon, a beautiful platter was brought into the room. The Chasid then turned to the Rebbe another request: “Please make a brachah on a fruit. It would be a great zechus for me.”
The Rebbe was now faced with a difficult dilemma. Throughout his life, he had been extremely careful never to eat or drink outside the Succah during Sukkos. This was no ordinary stringency for him. Even during those challenging years in Siberia, he had refused to give it up. In the bitter conditions of the labor camp, he would preserve his meager food until he could enter a tiny makeshift Succah that he had fashioned in a pit in the frozen ground and covered with twigs.
The Rebbe took an apple and began peeling it. He passed it from one hand to the other while continuing to speak with the Chasid, hoping to postpone the moment. The elderly man, however, continued waiting patiently and then pleaded, “Please, Rebbe. I need the Zechus of your Brachah.”
Finally, the Rebbe took a very small piece of the apple, which was Halachically permissible, and recited the Brachah aloud. The Chasid immediately responded with a powerful “Amen!”
Afterward, the Rebbe’s attendant asked him how he could have eaten outside the Succah when even the hardships of Siberia had not caused him to compromise on this practice. The Rebbe replied, “In Siberia, I was willing to sacrifice myself for the Mitzvah of Succah. Yet, to sacrifice another Yid? That I simply cannot do.”
The Rebbe understood that there are times when one must be willing to give up even a cherished stringency for the sake of another Jew. His Mesiras Nefesh was not only for the Mitzvah of Succah; it was also for the dignity and feelings of a fellow Jew.
Unity is also a key message of the precious mitzvah of Arba Minim. Chazal explain that each of the four species represents a different type of Jew. The Esrog has both taste and fragrance, representing those who possess both Torah and good deeds. The Lulav, which comes from the date palm, has taste but no fragrance, representing those who possess Torah but are lacking in good deeds. The hadas has fragrance but no taste, representing those who possess good deeds but are lacking in Torah, while the aravah has neither taste nor fragrance, representing those who are lacking in both.
Yet, Hashem does not tell us to take only the esrog. Every one of the four species is needed. Chazal teach, “Let them all be bound together as one agudah, and they will bring atonement for one another.”28
The mitzvah itself teaches us that Klal Yisrael is made up of different people, each on a different level and with different strengths, yet everyone has an important place within the whole. We are not expected to be identical. Just as each of the Four Minim has its own unique qualities, every Jew has his own strengths and qualities that he brings to Klal Yisrael.
This is an important perspective when we think about our relationships with other people. It is easy to notice someone’s mistakes or weaknesses, especially when they are very different from our own. The mitzvah of the Four Minim reminds us to look deeper and appreciate the good within each person. A remarkable story about Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev brings this idea to life.
Sukkos was approaching, and the Jews of Berditchev were facing a serious problem. That year, bringing esrogim to Ukraine had been especially difficult. The roads were dangerous, the weather was poor, and the high costs of transporting the precious fruit made it almost impossible to obtain one. By the time Yom Tov arrived, the entire city of Berditchev had managed to obtain only one esrog.
The precious esrog was brought to the home of the city’s beloved Rebbe, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev, where it was kept safely. The plan was that on the first day of Sukkos, the Rebbe would be the first to make the brachah, and afterwards the esrog would be passed around so that the Jews of the city could each have a turn performing the mitzvah.
One of the Rebbe’s attendants knew that he would probably be among the last people to get a chance to use the esrog. As he thought about it, he became disappointed. He also wanted to perform the mitzvah as early as possible. Then an idea came to him. On the morning of the first day of Sukkos, while the Rebbe was in the mikvah, he would quietly take the lulav and esrog and make the brachah himself. He knew it was not the right thing to do, but his excitement about performing the mitzvah was so great that he decided he could not wait.
Early that morning, he entered the Rebbe’s room and carefully picked up the lulav and esrog. His heart was beating quickly as he prepared to make the brachah. Suddenly, however, the esrog slipped from his hands and fell to the floor. When he picked it up, he saw to his horror that the pitom had broken off. The one esrog that the entire city had been relying on was now no longer fit to use.
He was devastated. He had really wanted to perform a mitzvah, and instead he had ruined the only esrog in Berditchev. He could hardly imagine telling Rabbi Levi Yitzchak what had happened. What would the Rebbe say? How would the people of the city react when they discovered that there was no longer an esrog for them to use?
When the Rebbe returned, his attendant finally gathered enough courage to tell him what had happened. He stood before him with his head lowered, expecting to be reprimanded for what he had done. Rabbi Levi Yitzchak listened carefully. Then, instead of becoming angry, his face lit up with emotion. He raised his eyes toward Heaven and exclaimed, “Ribbono Shel Olam, look at Your precious children! Look how much they love Your mitzvos! This simple Jew was so eager to fulfill Your will that he could not even wait for his turn!”
The broken esrog was certainly disappointing, but Rabbi Levi Yitzchak looked beyond the mistake. He saw the love for a mitzvah that had caused the man to act as he did. He was able to recognize the good within this Jew even at a moment when the man’s actions had caused a serious problem for the entire community.
