Nine Gifts – Part 2
The average person relates to his or her soul like a spendthrift with a wallet full of credit cards, thinking he can sign for whatever he wants...
The average person relates to his or her soul like a spendthrift with a wallet full of credit cards, thinking he can sign for whatever he wants without ever having to pay.
Gift number four: Absolution of wrongdoing, using a minor form of anguish as a substitute for major suffering.
God, in His infinite love for His children on earth, oftentimes converts a severe punishment incurred by a wrongdoing to some form of minor grief. Consequently, if a person has accrued heavy spiritual debits that have soiled and damaged his or her soul, God often sends that person a cheap substitute for the painful suffering that would otherwise be required to purify a blemished soul. A minor measure of suffering – embarrassment, insult, or the like – is considered adequate penance, and the person's debt is erased for a bargain-basement price.
Despite our best efforts at good behavior, each one of us harbors a burden of major spiritual debts. The average person relates to his or her soul like a spendthrift with a wallet full of credit cards, thinking he can sign for whatever he wants without ever having to pay. Suddenly, our spendthrift wakes up to an overflowing mailbox of overdue bills, and no cash to cover them. That's when the big trouble starts.
Maintaining a spiritual account that's free of debt is literally impossible while living in this world. Who can sign an oath that they did no harm to their fellow man in the last twenty-four hours? Who can testify that they made no unauthorized use of a telephone or a ballpoint pen without the boss's permission? A penny's worth of stealing is enough to severely blemish the soul. Who can say that their thoughts, speech, and deeds around the clock are completely according to Almighty's will?
The worst thing imaginable is to complete our tour of duty in this world, only to enter the Heavenly court of justice with an accumulation of unpaid debts that have blemished our divine souls. That's like going to a White House reception with muddy shoes and soft-boiled-egg stains on your collar. What an embarrassment!
Nothing in the world cleanses a person so completely and quickly as a bit of minor suffering, such as insult, shame, and embarrassment.
The following parable elaborates on the principle of minor anguish as a substitute for major suffering:
Cooper's negotiation with an Angel of mercy[1]
An angel of mercy appeared before Jerry Cooper, the successful owner of a popular gourmet deli in Long Island, respected member of the community and vice president of the local Lions Club, age 47, a superb golfer with a 6-stroke handicap, and at the prime of his life.
Angel: Mr. Cooper, dear friend, I'm sorry to inform you that your account in Heaven is severely overdrawn. Your spiritual checks are bouncing, and your debts are way past due. The Accusing Angel in charge of spiritual banking is demanding that the Almighty call in your markers. You're in very big trouble. Since The Almighty loves you so much, he sent me to arrange a consolidation of debts and a payback schedule for you. Your credit is no longer good upstairs. You either come to a debt arrangement with me or deal with a representative of the credit bureau from the severe judgement side. Those guys are rough.
Mr. Cooper: How acute is the situation?
Angel: Deferring payment is impossible. The Heavenly Bank has already granted you more than sufficient grace time. Instead of working on your praying and your good deeds, you've been working on your putting. The golf may be good for your body, but it's not helping your soul. The Heavenly Bank demands severe repentance and 713 fast days, in order to get your soul cleaned up of the excess spiritual fat. If sin were cholesterol, you'd have been pushing up daisies long ago. Starting immediately, you have five years to pay.
Mr. Cooper (making a quick calculation in his head): Hey wait a minute – that's more than 140 fasts in a year! How can I fast three times a week? Without Sabbath and holidays, that's fasting every other day! I'll look like a piece of spaghetti! Not even an angel is capable of fasting if he were standing behind the counter, serving smoked whitefish, onion bagels, and steamed corned beef all day long. Where'll I have the strength to work, to function on a normal basis? Hey, you're called an angel of mercy? What's going on here?
Angel: No problem. No need to give up the golf or to fast. I can exchange the 713 fast days for 713 days of a severely bleeding ulcer. Either way, you won't have the desire to eat.
Mr. Cooper: Heaven forbid! A bleeding ulcer! Have mercy on me!
Angel: I am an angel of mercy, Mr. Cooper. Okay, I can shorten the period of suffering, yet get your debts paid for. How about a massive heart attack? You'll spend 713 hours in an intensive-care unit. That's only a month.
Mr. Cooper: Oh no! Who'll handle my business? I'm smack in the middle of wedding season. Look at this pad full of orders for platters and catering. Who's gonna prepare all that? How can there be a Long Island wedding without Cooper's chopped liver and chicken schnitzel? What about my family?
Angel: You're worried about your family? I see here in your file that you have six kids. You know, I can get your account cleared and establish a new credit rating for you in exchange for one of your children. That way, no suffering for you and the wedding platters get completed on schedule. No need for the bride and groom to go without Cooper's chicken schnitzel. A deal?
Mr. Cooper (speechless, tears of fear choking his throat, finally beginning to realize the seriousness of his predicament): Please, I beg you in the Name of our compassionate Father in Heaven, not my kids…oh please, dear angel, not in my lifetime…
Angel (passes a clean pearly white silk hanky to Cooper): Sure, dear friend, I understand. I'll tell you what – let's examine your financial profile (the angel opens up another portfolio). According to the latest printout, The Almighty has been good to you. Your assets – the business, your investments, the land in south Jersey, the bungalow in the Catskills, your home, the three cars, the savings accounts, together with all the insurance equity – Perfect! Exactly seven million, one-hundred-thirty thousand dollars… Each required day of fast can be redeemed for ten thousand dollars. How tidy! You lose all your assets and you're clean as a whistle – no heart attacks, no ulcers, and good health for the wife and children. Fair enough?
Mr. Cooper: What are you talking about – my home, my business, my savings and investments, all down the drain? Out on the pavement at my age, with no roof over my head? What about the kids? You know how expensive tuition is at Brandeis? How's my big girl going to finish her degree? Who'll pay med-school tuition for my son at Johns Hopkins? Do you expect me to set up a tent on the front lawn of the synagogue? With all the Divine wisdom in Heaven, can't you come up with a better suggestion?
Angel: Excuse me, Mr. Cooper, but your reactions are quite irrational. Haven't you realized how grave your situation is? For 47 years, you've ignored your soul. Do you know what 47 years of spiritual neglect does to a soul? Do you know how difficult it is to cleanse a badly tarnished soul? I have one more proposal for you, but I'm sure you won't want that either…
Mr. Cooper: No, wait! Let me hear it! Anything's better than losing my health, my children, or my livelihood. I don't have the willpower or the strength for fasts and self-torture.
Angel: This is my last offer. This coming Sunday morning, the Deli will be jammed with people. The Governor's wife will be waiting for her weekly order of smoked fish, and half of Giants' starting lineup will be there for their traditional coffee and Danish, getting fired up for the Redskins game. The financial editor of the Times, the anchorman from Fox news, and the chairman of Chase Manhattan will be at an adjacent table with their bagels and lox. People will be out on the pavement waiting to get in.
All of a sudden, an irate lady – whom you've never seen in your life – will charge into the deli like an insane buffalo, with a wormy pint container of potato salad that she claims was purchased in Cooper's deli. She'll be yelling at the top of her lungs, cursing you and your deli, with a barrage of insults in three languages. Your face will turn bright red, then completely pale. Your pulse will rise to 150, and your blood pressure will almost blow a gasket. You will undergo seven minutes and thirteen seconds of the worst humiliation you've ever known. Now, if you so much as emit a peep from your mouth – if you display the slightest sign of anger – you fail the test.
On the other hand, if you're smart enough to accept seven minutes and thirteen seconds of insult and embarrassment with patience and humility, realizing that The Almighty is doing you a major favor by sending this deranged lady with her venomous mouth to the deli, all your sins shall be atoned. Your slate in Heaven shall be wiped free, and your soul will be whiter than a snowflake. You get continued good health, a healthy family, and a more-than-substantial livelihood.
I'll fill you in on a little secret: By accepting the anguish with a smile, at exactly seven minutes and fourteen seconds after the beginning of the test, the guys in the white coats will appear punctually on the premises to remove the mad lady with the wormy potato salad. All the suffering will do an about face in your favor. People will have tremendous respect for your self-control and strength of character. Best of all, the embarrassment will completely cleanse your soul, and your spiritual deficit will disappear. But don't forget – the seven minutes and thirteen seconds will feel like a fiery furnace. Not a peep of protest, complaint, or anger. Agreed?
Mr. Cooper: Yes! Of course! Bring on the insults! Welcome embarrassment! Hurray for humiliation! Let's get the show on the road! I hope she throws the wormy potato salad in my face!
Aftermath of the Cooper story: The deranged lady did throw the wormy potato salad in Jerry Cooper's face. Cooper winced, but gave a whispered thanks to The Almighty for His lovingkindness. The test was tough, but he passed.
Cooper's domestic life took a major turn for the better. His wife felt a new flame in her heart for her patient and loving husband. Even the Brandeis daughter and the medschool son, who used to look down on their deli-peddling daddy's short fuse, shared new respect for their father's tranquil deportment. The customers adored him as much as they savored his triple-decker hot pastrami on rye. The deli became the in-place on Long Island.
Once a year, on the anniversary of the wormy potato-salad episode, Cooper would give free coffee and donuts for anyone who agreed to insult him. That's what he called, "soultime – my annual cleanup day".
The moral of the "Cooper and the Angel" story: Whenever you suffer aggravation, insult, embarrassment, or humiliation, don't lose your temper! Close your eyes and smile. Imagine that you've just competed plea bargaining with an Angel of Mercy, and that your ever-loving compassionate Father in Heaven has agreed to waive a decree of cancer, a major car accident, or bankruptcy in lieu of a few minutes of aggravation. Now, breathe deeply, exhale, open your eyes and smile. Don't let anyone or anything rob you of your tranquility. Be happy. Realize in your heart that you've just made the deal of your life. All your spiritual debts have been paid for a bargain-basement price. The Almighty is superbly proud of you.
Gift number five: To qualify a person for a special blessing.
Our bodies operate on the principle of contraction and expansion. By contracting and expanding, the heart pumps blood to all parts of the body. By contracting and expanding, the lungs breathe air. The same holds true for the spiritual: Our "ups" and "downs" in life are none other than spiritual expansions and contractions. Just as the lungs or the heart cannot be in a perpetual state of expansion, a person can't expect a trouble-free life of "ups", or continuous success.
"The world is round, and rotates. So, if you're on top of the world, don't be arrogant, because soon you might be down. If you're on the bottom, don't be sad, because you've got nowhere to go but up." — The Melitzer Rebbe
Our "downs" in life correspond to the contraction mode of our heart and lungs. We can always encourage ourselves with the knowledge that contraction leads to expansion, that our beloved Father in Heaven never disappoints us. Every mother knows that the happiest occasion of her life – the birth of her child – follows labor contractions, which are the sharpest pains imaginable. Sometimes, the Almighty sends difficult "contractions", or troubles in life, before a tremendous "expansion", a gift of some sort. The following case is a living example of this principle:
Alan and Sue Sharff[2]: Al and Sue are a Sunday magazine's cover-photograph couple: Attractive, successful in their respective careers, popular in the community, good athletes, and compassionate to their fellow man. They love each other like a pair of turtledoves. Yet, seven years after their wedding, they hadn't yet been blessed with children.
The Sharffs spent thousands of dollars on medical treatments, with no success. The doctors called them, "enigma of the year". Apparently, they should have been healthy candidates for parenthood, but month after month continued to suffer bitter disappointment.
The Sharff''s eighth wedding anniversary was a few weeks away. Al came across a magazine article about fertility problems, and one particular point of advice caught his eye: A change of environment and a total relaxation situation enhances fertilization.
Al thought for a moment: What's a drastic change from the boring plains of Winnipeg, Manitoba? The Swiss Alps! He dialed Swissair, booked two round trip tickets to Zurich, and started planning the surprise trip of Sue's life. That afternoon, he came home with a dozen white carnations, Sue's favorite carryout Chinese food, and a legal size envelope sealed with a yellow ribbon – airline tickets to Switzerland – date of departure, September 30, 2001.
* * *
Less than three weeks after the tragic "Nine-eleven", the heinous destruction of the Twin Towers in New York and the attack on the Pentagon in Washington, D.C., the entire intelligence community of the free world was preoccupied with hunting the heinous El Qaida terrorists. On the morning of October 1, 2001, the highest security hotlines between Mossad headquarters in Tel Aviv, Scotland Yard, the CIA, Canadian Intelligence, and Swiss Intelligence were humming nonstop. Bin Ladin's right-hand man, the second most dangerous terrorist in the world, had succeeded in slipping out of the United States by foot, over the Canadian border.
According to Mossad intelligence, El Qaida's number-two man reached an Arab embassy in Ottawa, and was outfitted with a fresh identity, a new cover, and a Canadian passport. The elusive terrorist even looked like a Canadian – light complexion, blue eyes, rusty brown hair, and six feet one inch tall. To further baffle his pursuers, the Mossad communiqué wrote, he was purported to be traveling with a female companion with blond hair, Scandinavian features, tall and slim, under the cover of husband and wife. "Their suspected destination is a safe house in London or Zurich. Zero-hour," the communiqué concluded, "act immediately."
The skeptical desk-jockeying bureaucrats of Canadian Intelligence treated the Mossad's communiqué like a shuttlecock, tossing it back and forth from office to office, as if hunting terrorists was a Sunday afternoon game of badminton in the backyard. By the time somebody took the initiative to tighten security at Canada's international airports, the terrorist and his female companion were more than halfway across the Atlantic Ocean.
* * *
Al and Sue Sharff descended the steps of the Swissair 747 that flew them from Toronto to Zurich. They filled their lungs with a deep breath of the invigorating Swiss air. A shuttle bus carried them to passport control. They looked at each other, filled with excitement and anticipation about their upcoming trip. This was their first trip together to Europe. Their thoughts were far away on snow-covered peaks and glacier-fed lakes.
Al and Sue reached the passport control window, and casually handed their two passports to the officer in charge.
The Swiss are surgically efficient. The passport control officer examined the Sharff's passports and then looked at them with a well-trained expressionless poker face. He pressed a red button under his desk. Within seconds, a dozen Swiss plainclothesmen pounced on the Sharffs.
Three Swiss security agents knocked Alan to the floor. A fourth jammed a police-special .45 caliber pistol to Alan's temple, warning him in French and in Arabic, "One move and you're dead".
Alan could barely breathe. His face was smashed to the floor and close to four hundred pounds of Swiss Internal Security agents were sitting on his back, nearly ripping his arms out their sockets with a double hammerlock.
Out of instinct, Sue went berserk. Two agents grabbed her from behind, while a third handcuffed her. She screamed, "Alan, my God, they're killing my Alan!" One of the agents covered her mouth and yanked her head back. She bit his hand with the ferocity of a wounded she-bear. A hand came from nowhere and slapped her so hard that her ears rang. She screamed once more and fainted, falling like a dead weight in the agents' hands.
"Looks like our man", one of the agents said into a mini-transmitter. "He's got the blond with him. We're bringing them in".
Alan and Sue spent their next two hours on the cold metal floor of a windowless high-security van on the way to SIS headquarters, bound by the hands and feet like two slaves. Every bump in the road tormented them. Sue cried in pain with each additional jolt. Hot tears of frustration trickled down Alan's cheeks; he couldn't stand hearing his wife in such pain, yet there was nothing he could do to help her. Who could believe that such torture and degradation was happening in Europe, 2001, and to them! Who could imagine such a nightmare?
The journey seemed like an endless descent to purgatory. When they finally arrived at the Swiss Internal Security compound, they were shoved into separate, dark isolated cells for another hour. Finally, the interrogators arrived. For the next six hours, they were interrogated separately. Sue was so disoriented, that she began to believe the stories of her accusers. "Maybe I really am a terrorist accomplice?"
The Swiss sent in a fresh interrogator every thirty minutes, but the Sharff's were denied food, water, and even a visit to the toilet. They both suffered from excruciating headaches and exploding bladders, victims of Swiss penal efficiency and white-collar torture.
Alan denied repeatedly that he doesn't understand a word of Arabic, only French and English. "My name is Alan Sharff, born and raised in Winnipeg, Manitoba," he insisted.
Swiss Internal Security wasn't convinced; Al's height, weight, blue eyes, and reddish brown hair fit the terrorist's description perfectly. The El Qaida terrorist's name, which appeared near the top of every Interpol wanted list in the Western world, was none other than – Ali Sharif! It seemed obvious to the Swiss that a terrorist mastermind like Ali Sharif would choose an easily-remembered cover name such as Alan Sharff.
Another hour transpired. A black Mercedes with a diplomatic license plate pulled up in front of SIS headquarters. The Security Liaison officer from the Canadian embassy arrived with the dossier of former Flight Lieutenant Alan Sharff, RCAF. As a former navigator in the Canadian Air Force, Alan's identity could be verified quickly, by a mere comparison of fingerprints. The Canadian SLO threatened to make an international issue out of the SIS fiasco, treating two innocent Canadian tourists like convicted terrorists without even making even a third grade identity check. "Lucky that you didn't shoot the Sharffs," growled the incensed Canadian security liaison. An embarrassed team of SIS officers released the Sharffs within the next thirty minutes.
The Swiss government tried their best to placate the Sharff family, and reimbursed them for the plane tickets. Neither Alan nor Sue had any desire to remain in Switzerland for one unnecessary minute. They spent the night gratis in the grand suite of the Zurich Airport hotel, and flew home to Canada the next morning.
Alan took Sue on a wonderful consolation vacation to the Canadian Rockies. Nine months later, Sue gave birth to a healthy, eight-pound baby boy.
The Sharffs revisited: If Alan and Sue hadn't suffered the thorny experience of Switzerland, they might have continued for years in parentless frustration. Their own cuts and scratches were a necessary prerequisite before receiving their own rare mountain rose, the birth of their son.
At the time of this writing, little Joey Sharff is a plump, rosy-cheeked toddler of two. Sue is now expecting again. Ask the members of the Sharff family if they're still angry about the Swiss trauma. They just laugh and look at each other lovingly. "Are you kidding," they exclaim, "our little Joey is worth a hundred Swiss traumas!"
To be continued…
(The Trail to Tranquility is available in the Breslev Store.)
[1] This allegory is a dramatization of a principle taught by the great 16th Century Kabbalist, Rabbi Moses Cordovero, from Safed, Israel.
[2] Names and places changed to insure privacy.
Tell us what you think!
Thank you for your comment!
It will be published after approval by the Editor.