We are rarely moved by a halachic teshuvah. Halacha is by nature legalistic, objective, and often somewhat dry. However, over Yom Tov, I was deeply moved by a recent responsum, to the point that I shared it publicly, not just as an insight into Jewish law, but even more so as a glimpse into the soul of a Jew. Furthermore, it seemed to me an ideal vehicle for contemplating our goal of personal growth during these days of Sefirah.
Rav Yitzchok Zilberstein, rov of Ramat Elchonon and rosh kollel of Kollel Bais Dovid, is one of the acknowledged poskei hador and among the most prolific authors of practical and popular seforim. In the most recent issue of a Torah journal (Kol HaTorah, Nissan 5785, Issue No. 101), he recounts the story of a visitor who came years ago to Rav Shlomo Shtentzel. A recent arrival in Eretz Yisroel from the Soviet Union approached him, clearly distraught. He related that he had been incarcerated in the Siberian Gulag and was miraculously freed, even granted permission to emigrate to Eretz Yisroel. As word of his departure spread through the prison camp, a female doctor requested that he visit her clinic before he left.
When he arrived for the mysterious meeting, the doctor left for a moment and returned with her hand bandaged. She handed him a glass jar containing something floating in water. Her extraordinary explanation shook him to his core. “It seems,” she began softly, “that unlike you, I will never be released from this evil place. I will not merit to move to Eretz Yisroel. However, I have always dreamed of being buried in the Holy Land. I now know that this will not happen. I have therefore amputated my finger, which is in this flask. I beg of you: When you arrive in Yerushalayim, please bury it for me on Har Hazeisim. In this way, at least a part of me will be interred in our Holy Land.”
The man revealed that he had just returned from fulfilling this act of chesed.
Rav Zilberstein proceeds to address the halachic questions raised by this dramatic story. Was the doctor permitted to amputate her finger, or was this a forbidden act of self-mutilation? Furthermore, now that the deed was done and the finger buried, is it appropriate to mark the site as a tribute to her incredible love of Eretz Yisroel, or, since it may have been a prohibited act, should no such recognition be given?
Rav Zilberstein responds unequivocally: Generally, self-injury is forbidden by the Torah. He cites the Rambam (Hilchos Chovel Umazik 5:1) and other sources that we have no permission to wound ourselves, let alone permanently mutilate our bodies. Even for medical reasons, there are strict guidelines, requiring a tzorech gadol—an extremely significant necessity. He concludes that the desire to bury part of oneself in Eretz Yisroel does not meet this definition. Additionally, there is a dispute among the poskim whether an amputated limb even requires burial (see Shvus Yaakov 2:101, who says no, and Igros Moshe, Yoreh Deah 1:231, who says yes). However, no posek would sanction such an act if consulted beforehand.
Nevertheless, Rav Zilberstein emphasizes that the woman clearly did not know the halacha and did not intend to undermine the laws of the Torah. Her request stemmed from a profound love for Eretz Yisroel, reflecting acts praised in Chazal (Yoma 38a; Yalkut Shimoni, Tehillim 884; Kesubos 103b). He quotes his father-in-law, Rav Yosef Shalom Elyashiv (in his Sefer He’aros to Yoma), who defends Nikanor, who was willing to risk his life to bring doors to the Bais Hamikdosh. While ordinarily risking one’s life for a mitzvah is limited to avoiding the three cardinal sins, when an act constitutes a kiddush Hashem, it can be considered praiseworthy. Since this woman acted with noble intentions, Rav Zilberstein rules that a monument should be erected at the burial site, noting that while the act itself was not halachically sanctioned, her profound middah should be recognized as an aliyah for her neshomah. She will be rewarded for her emunah in the kedusha of Eretz Yisroel and its power to offer kapparah to those buried there.
Rav Zilberstein concludes with the words of the Chofetz Chaim, who said that although many Soviet Jews violated Shabbos, they resisted converting to other religions and thus made a kiddush Hashem. This woman, too, created a kiddush Hashem and deserves to be remembered positively.
I felt that this mi ke’amcha Yisroel moment could help us with our avodah during Sefirah. Although we are in no position to judge the 24,000 talmidim of Rabi Akiva who perished during this period, Chazal (Yevamos 62b) reveal that they failed to adequately honor one another. Even if we cannot fully comprehend this failing—Rav Eliyahu Eliezer Dessler (Michtav M’Eliyahu 1:100) describes it as “microscopic”—we can certainly work on our own level to strengthen the middah of ahavas Yisroel. Perhaps the best place to begin is with the famous words, now a song, of Rav Elimelech of Lizhensk: “shenireh kol echad maalas chaveireinu velo chesronam”—that we should see only the good in our friends and not their shortcomings. Just as Rav Zilberstein taught us that we can recognize that the doctor acted incorrectly yet still appreciate her greatness, so must we see the good in every member of Klal Yisroel.
This mandate to consider the feelings of every Jew can be seen at the highest level in the actions of our gedolim. Rav Dov Landau, rosh yeshiva of Yeshivas Slabodka, tells the story of the birth of the Ponovezher Rov’s first grandson. At the time, the Rov was in the United States fundraising and, given the difficulties of travel in those days, missed the bris by a day. As the halacha mandates that a bris must not be delayed, the ceremony took place on the eighth day, with the Chazon Ish serving as sandek. Strangely, after the bris, the Chazon Ish requested that the mother return to the hospital with the baby. Surprised, the family asked, “For how long?” His terse reply: “For a day.” They complied, but wanted to understand the reasoning.
The Chazon Ish explained: “The Ponovezher Rov lost his entire family in the recent churban. All he has left is this one son, and now he has a grandson, a symbol of triumph after the Holocaust. It would be painful for him to arrive and find the baby already at home. He should have the privilege of carrying his grandson home himself.”
Rav Landau added that although the Chazon Ish had no children of his own, his empathy allowed him to understand and anticipate the needs of others, even those experiences he had not personally lived through.
The Gemara (Taanis 20a) relates a story that is difficult to understand literally. Rav Elazar, the son of Rav Shimon, was returning from his rebbi’s house, filled with the joy of Torah study. He encountered an extremely ugly man who greeted him warmly. Rav Elazar did not return the greeting. Instead, he commented, “You are ugly. Are all the people in your city as ugly as you?” The man responded, “I don’t know, but go tell the Craftsman Who made me that ‘You have made such an ugly vessel.’” Rav Elazar immediately descended from his donkey and begged for forgiveness, but the man initially refused. Only after the townspeople intervened did he forgive Rav Elazar.
Rav Yosef Leib Bloch, in Shiur Daas, explains that the man was not physically ugly, since Rav Elazar would never have insulted someone for something beyond their control. Rather, he perceived spiritual ugliness due to the man’s deeds. Yet, the man’s response implied that his flaws were part of his divine design. Rav Elazar countered that everyone has free will. However, on some level, the man was correct—not everyone struggles equally against the yeitzer hara. Rav Bloch teaches that every Jew has a holy neshomah and should not be denigrated, even when they have stumbled. Indeed, many meforshim teach that the seven weeks of Sefirah correspond to the verse in Koheles which states, “A tzaddik falls seven times and rises.” We must focus on helping others rise rather than judging their falls. Rav Elazar, at his lofty spiritual level, initially failed to look past external flaws, but ultimately learned to see the pintele Yid—the divine spark within every Jewish soul.
We know that if we miss an entire day of counting Sefirah, we lose the ability to continue counting with a brocha. This teaches us that each day is a unique opportunity to grow in bein adam lachaveiro and refine our middos. Let us seize these precious days to accept the Torah with unity, born of genuine love for every Jew. Let us allow that special finger to point the way to appreciating the hidden greatness within every Yiddishe soul.
