A yungerman related the following incredible story:
When I was a bachur, I had a friend who was slipping badly in his Yiddishkeit, spiraling steadily downward. A long time went by in which I hadn't seen him, and one day I encountered him—and he was unrecognizable... he was dressed like a regular chassidisher yungerman, indistinguishable from everyone else in the community.
I had to ask for the background, and this is what he told me.
"One Shabbos at the seduah, I got the urge to smoke a cigarette. I went out to the porch and I smoked a cigarette. Returning to the table, I reeked of cigarette smoke—but my father said not one word about it. Instead, he passed me a plate of soup and said, 'You must be dried out... have some soup.'
"That gesture of love stunned me so deeply that on the spot I decided that I could never hurt my father ever again—and I immediately turned my life around."
