The following was shared by
Benji Levin - a great educator at
Gesher. He shared this story about a lesson he learned from the renowned
Reb Aryeh Levin. Aside from the wonderful inspirational story - I share this on today's fast day to serve as a reminder that the very little things we do can make a strong impact to heal society. Further, it is a very powerful lesson, for each of us to choose one specific
mitzvah to do perfectly and with style - to leave a legacy and to help others.
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In the summer of 1970, I was studying in a yeshiva in
Jerusalem. My parents had come back to Israel after living in the States for
thirty years. My father was serving as the rabbi of a town called Pardes Hanna,
near the Coastal Road, not far from Caesaria.
One Friday morning as I got on the bus in Jerusalem to spend the
Shabbat with my family, someone called to me, “Hey, Benji! Did you see the
Yediot newspaper today? There are wonderful stories about your grandfather.”
My grandfather, Reb Aryeh Levin, was known as the “Tzaddik of Jerusalem.” He
was one of modern Israel's most saintly and beloved icons, known for his great
acts of kindness as he tended to prisoners, lepers, the meek and the
downtrodden. He passed away in Jerusalem in 1969—a legend in his time.
When I changed buses in Tel Aviv, I bought a copy of the weekend newspaper and
read the article about my grandfather. There were stories of how he would
always escort people on the streets of Jerusalem. Many famous people spoke
about their visits with him in his simple, little room in downtown Jerusalem,
on the street that today bears his name. They all mentioned how he would escort
them to the main road when they took leave of him, quoting to them from
Maimonides on the importance of this mitzvah.
Later at the Shabbat meal at my parents’ house, I asked my father, “Where did
your father, Reb Aryeh, learn to fulfill this mitzvah?”
“Well,” my father said, “Reb Aryeh was a great scholar in his own right, and he
knew of this mitzvah, but there is a story attached to it.”
Reb Aryeh was known throughout Israel as “The Father of the Prisoners,” because
he tended to young men and women who were incarcerated or were fighting to free
Palestine from British rule and declare an independent Jewish state. Many of
these young boys who were sentenced to the gallows asked for him to be with
them at their last moments.
“One Friday morning,” my father said, “Reb Aryeh visited a prison
outside of Jerusalem. There in a cell sat a man imprisoned for a daring raid
against the British. This man had heard that Reb Aryeh was visiting the prison
and asked to speak to the rabbi. Even the British had great respect for Reb
Aryeh and granted the prisoner’s request.
“The man said to Reb Aryeh, ‘My wife and I both lost our families in the Holocaust.
We met in Cyprus on our way to Israel. We married and had a child, and now we
live in Jerusalem. My friends in the under-ground are afraid to visit my wife
because they fear they may be caught by the British. Rabbi, please visit my
wife and tell her you saw me. Tell her I’m OK.’
“Reb Aryeh took the address and promised to relay the message, if at all
possible.
“He went back to Jerusalem and set out to find the prisoner’s wife. It was
getting close to Shabbat, and he couldn't find the address. People were in
their homes preparing for Shabbat. As he walked by a small street, Reb Aryeh saw
a woman in a window preparing the Shabbat meal. He asked her if she knew the
place he was seeking.
“She said, ‘Please wait a moment.’
“She took off her apron, walked outside, and said, ‘Please follow me.’
“She led him through the street to a small house and said, ‘This is the place!’
“‘Why did you have to come all this way?’ asked Reb Aryeh. ‘You must be in a
hurry before Shabbat. You could have simply given me directions.’
“Oh, I thought about doing that,’ she said, ‘but then I remembered that this is
my special mitzvah.’
“‘What do you mean?’ asked Reb Aryeh.
“‘My father was a very pious man,’ she said. ‘Before he passed away, he called
me and my siblings to his bedside and said, “What do people take with them when
they leave this world? Their honor, money, position, status? No! The only thing
they take with them are the good deeds they performed during their lifetime.’”
“‘My father said to each of us, “Of all the mitzvahs you perform, choose one
mitzvah and make it your special one. Whenever the opportunity comes along to
perform this mitzvah, however difficult it may be, do it in its entirety.” My
father then helped me choose my mitzvah of escorting a person on their way.
“‘When you approached me today I said, “This is my special mitzvah I’m going to
perform it in its entirety.”’
“Reb Aryeh thanked the young woman. He visited the prisoner’s wife and brought
her regards from her husband in jail. When Reb Aryeh came home just before
candle lighting he wrote in his little notebook: ‘Today I learned from a young
woman the importance of fulfilling this commandment, and from today on, I’m
going to be careful to always perform this mitzvah.’”
When I heard this story, I said, “Wow! What a beautiful mitzvah.” There and
then I decided to make this mitzvah mine as well.Saturday night I went
back to Jerusalem. Two days later, on Monday night, I was walking in
the street in the early evening when I noticed an elderly man across the road,
walking back and forth as if he had lost something.
I crossed the street and said, “Excuse me. I couldn't help noticing you walking
back and forth. Did you lose something?”
“Well, actually,” he said, “I got a little confused here in the dark. I’m looking
for Portzim Street.”
I said to myself, “God, I promised two days ago to make this mitzvah of
escorting another person mine. God, are you testing me already?”
“Come,” I said to the old man. “Let me perform the mitzvah of escorting you.”
I brought him to the street—to the house he sought—and said: “Here it is!
Shalom!”
“Just a minute,” he said. “Why did you stop and ask me if I’m looking for
something? Why did you escort me? Young people don’t do these things today.”
“Well, I probably wouldn't have done this,” I said, “but my grandfather used to
do this.”
“Who was your grandfather?”
“Oh, you wouldn't know,” I said.
“What was his name?”
“Levin,” I said.
“Which Levin?”
“Aryeh Levin.”
“The famous tzaddik, Reb Aryeh Levin?” he asked.
“Yes,” I replied.
The old man took hold of the lapels on my jacket and started to cry. I saw the
tears roll down his cheeks, and I was at a total loss of what to do.
I waited.
Finally, he looked up at me and said: “Do you know who I am?”
“No,” I replied, “I never had the pleasure.”
“My name is Menachem Ro-iy,” he said.“I am a reporter for Yediot. Last week I
wrote a number of stories about how your grandfather would escort people on the
streets of Jerusalem. And here a few days later, I lose my way and who escorts
me? None other than Reb Aryeh’s own grandson.”
I looked at the old man and said, “And do you know why? Because Reb Aryeh’s
grandson read your stories and learned how important and beautiful it is to
escort another person on his or her way.”
Provenance Note: This is a true story that happened to me regarding this
mitzvah in the summer of 1970, in Jerusalem.
