Permission has been granted to reprint the following article that was published in the L'Chaim Weekly, a Lubavitch Youth Organization publication.
March 15, 2002 - 2 Nisan, 5762
711: Vayikra

There was once a poor melamed (teacher) who was a follower of Rabbi Yechezkel Landau of Prague. Unable to provide a dowry for his daughter, he decided to look for a job in Hungary. He found a teaching position in a small village, where most of the town's income came from the production of wine. The melamed stayed there for several years, until he saved up what he hoped was enough money.
Now, at that time a wealthy wine merchant from Prague had just arrived in town to buy wine for Passover. He agreed to take the melamed back to Prague, provided he supervised the wine barrels along the way (to make sure they weren't tampered with, which would render them not kosher). The melamed was grateful for the offer and they set out.

That Friday afternoon they stopped at an inn. The melamed, who was carrying a large bundle of money and was afraid to entrust it to just anyone, decided to hide it among the wine barrels for the duration of the Sabbath, after which he would retrieve it after sundown on Saturday night. Satisfied that his money was secure, he went off to prepare for the holy Sabbath.

The following evening he was shocked to discover that the bundle was gone. It did not take him long to figure out that the only person who could have stolen it was the wine merchant, who must have seen him hiding the money and was unable to withstand the temptation. Although his first impulse was to directly confront him, he decided to appeal to the man's conscience instead.

Explaining that he had worked hard to provide a dowry for his daughter, the melamed asked the merchant if he had perhaps hidden the money in a more secure location. But the merchant made a show of being insulted by the very idea. He denied the theft, and even blamed the melamed for having been foolish enough to leave his money where it was unsafe. When the melamed came right out and begged, the merchant threatened to leave him and continue on to Prague by himself if he did not stop "all that nonsense." He was perfectly willing, however, to make a donation toward the girl's wedding expenses.

"I'm not looking for charity," the melamed replied. "If you didn't take my money, I apologize." Seeing that there was nothing to gain by pursuing the matter, he resolved to consult with Rabbi Landau upon returning to Prague.

After listening to the melamed's sad tale, Rabbi Yechezkel Landau promised to intervene. The wine merchant, he revealed, was due to arrive shortly to ask for his rabbinical approval that the wine was "kosher for Passover." In the meantime, he suggested that the melamed go into an adjoining room and rest.

A few minutes later the wine merchant showed up at the Rabbi's house. "As in years past," he explained, "I have just returned from Hungary with a large quantity of wine for Passover. I can assure you that it was completely supervised throughout all stages of its production, from the crushing of the grapes until its arrival in Prague in sealed barrels. And as one of your own disciples acted as supervisor, may I assume that you will approve it?"

"Yes, well," the Rabbi hesitated, "there seems to be a slight problem ..."

"What kind of problem?" the merchant asked nervously.

"Your supervisor has told me that he hid some money among the barrels and it disappeared."

"But surely you don't suspect me of having stolen it!" the merchant said.

"G-d forbid that I would accuse you," the Rabbi assured him. "But if you didn't take it, or let us say 'borrow,' then someone else did. And if a stranger had access to the wine, well, then there's no way to ensure that it wasn't tampered with. In a case like this, I just couldn't vouch for it..."

The merchant paled when he realized that the money he would lose from the potential sale of the wine was far more than the amount he had stolen. He immediately admitted the theft and promised to make restitution.

But the Rabbi wasn't finished. "It's more complicated than that. If you stole on Shabbat, the kashrut of the wine is still in question." The merchant insisted that the theft had occurred before sundown, but the Rabbi refused to believe him. "How do I know that you aren't admitting to something you didn't do, and are willing to pay the melamed to receive my authorization?"

At that point the merchant broke down in tears and declared that he was willing to swear he spoke the truth. "I will do anything you say," he cried.

"All right," the Rabbi replied. "I can see that you are sincere. However, this is what you must do: In addition to returning the money, you must make a large contribution towards the girl's dowry. This will partially atone for your transgression and the aggravation you caused an innocent man. Provided, of course, that he is willing to forgive you."

Needless to say, both parties were more than happy with the decision. And the wine merchant learned a valuable lesson.

Permission has been granted by Rabbi Lederman to reprint the following article which was originally published by Kehilas Torah.

D'Var Torah - Yisro (5762)
By Rabbi Baruch Lederman

The generation that stood at Har Sinai was the greatest generation of all time. Their leader was the greatest leader of all time. This was not a coincidence. Hashem gives us leaders in proportion to the generation. The greater the generation, the greater the leader.


Young Rabbi Yechezkel Landau, who would eventually become world famous as the Nodeh B'Yehuda, had a challenging beginning to his illustrious Rabbinic career. After being appointed Rabbi of the great city of Prague, there were men who sneered at the idea of having such a young man hold the mantle of spiritual leadership. They never stopped seeking ways to undermine him.

They once sent a woman to ask the Rabbi a question about the kashrus of a chicken. In those days, stores did not stock prepackaged pre-inspected chickens with a kosher seal. A woman would buy a live chicken and bring it to a shochet (trained butcher) who would slaughter it for her. If there was some question as to the kashrus of the chicken, she would bring the chicken to show it to the Rabbi.

Rabbi Landau ruled that the chicken in question was kosher. There was however, a very obscure commentary which discussed this exact case and ruled that such a chicken was rendered unkosher by this particular blemish. Since in those days printed sefarim (books) were very expensive and rare, Rabbi Landau was unaware of that particular ruling. His detractors did have a copy.

The men now used this incident as a springboard to publicly humiliate the Rabbi. They confronted the Rabbi with the printed ruling in a most condescending manner. Arrogantly pointing out that it contradicted Rabbi Landau's decision, all the while intimating that perhaps the venerable Prague community would be better served with a more experienced Rabbi at the helm. Everyone present waited for the Rabbi to respond.

The Nodeh B'Yehuda thought about the issue and replied, "When a Rabbi, who is a competent Torah authority, issues a ruling on a shailah (inquiry), Hashem (G-d) gives him Divine assistance in the merit of the Jewish community which he serves, so that even if he errs in his reasoning, his ruling will wind up being correct. This did not happen with the case at hand. The only logical conclusion is that the shailah was not a real shailah at all, but rather an invented case made up in an attempt to simply vex me. That is why I had no special Siyata D'Shmaya (Divine assistance) - it is only sent from Heaven when the question is real."

The schemers were stunned that the Rabbi had seen right through them, and they shamefacedly admitted to their ploy. As a result, Rabbi Landau's public esteem was increased, not decreased, by this spiteful plot.

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