We know that the Chazon Ish was a great man. He was a talmid chochom whose brilliance and originality were noted even by the gedolim of his generation. He was a tzaddik whose advice and blessings were sought by Jews of all stripes.
What is perhaps not as well known is that he lived a life of extreme hardship. He had a very weak constitution and often had no strength to stand — or even sit. He was poor virtually his entire life. Rav Moshe Blau of Yerushalayim once visited the Chazon Ish when he still lived in Vilna. The Chazon Ish offered his guest a drink. Rav Blau later recorded his shock upon realizing that the only glass the Chazon Ish possessed was actually the bottom half of a used glass bottle whose top had been broken off, and whose edges had been smoothed out to allow for drinking without getting cut.
The Chazon Ish never merited having children.
Yet, Rav Chaim Brim, who was extremely close to the Chazon Ish and would quote from him for the rest of his life, would often stress that in his entire life, he had never met anyone who was as happy a person as was the Chazon Ish. “I never knew a person who suffered as much throughout his life,” Rav Brim would say, “and I never knew anyone who was such a happy person as was the Chazon Ish.”
The Chazon Ish was always very careful to wash netilas yodayim with a full cup of water. His sister, who was the wife of the Steipler, once asked him how it could be that he was so poor, since it is brought down that one who is careful to always wash from a full cup will merit a “full cup” of parnassah.
The Chazon Ish responded, “Mir zenen heimishe,” we’re bnei bayis, always welcome guests, of Hashem.
He explained with a moshol: Two men did a great favor for the king and the king wishes to reward them. Upon inquiry, the king learns that one of the men lives locally, a short walk from the palace. The other lives a distance of more than a few days away.
For the second person, the king packs up numerous wagonloads of goods and sends them home with the man. People look at him and are impressed. “Wow! Look how much he has!”
The other man, the one who lives locally, is called in by the king, who tells him, “My palace is always open to you. Anytime you want, anything you need, just come and I’ll take care of it.”
The nimshol was self-explanatory. The Chazon Ish saw himself as a true ben bayis of Hashem. Anything he will need, Hashem will take care of. He didn’t need money put away to have for whenever he might need to buy something. One who has an open invitation to the palace has no need for his own bank account or his own money. Anything he’ll need will be available when he needs it.
I Love You vs. I Serve You
Suppose we were that person in the moshol with an open invitation to the king’s palace. Would we be excited? Ecstatic? Joyous and always happy?
Surely, we would be.
Does that mean that we will be able to live a pressure-free, unrestrained life?
It does not.
Being present in a king’s palace certainly comes with certain responsibilities. One must maintain a proper decorum. One must show respect and heed the directives of those in positions of power at the palace.
Would any of us give up a 24/7 access pass to the king’s palace because of the responsibilities with which it is bundled? Doubtful. We’d hardly be any less ecstatic and thrilled at our fortune, inherent responsibilities notwithstanding.
We’d go on and on to family and friends about how every room, every meeting, every luxury is open to us. True, we have to behave ourselves, and be on constant guard and our best behavior, but look at the benefits! Who wouldn’t envy us?
This thought came to mind when I came upon a simple but stunning piece in sefer Mishnas Rav Aharon (Vol. 2, Sha’ar 4, Imru Lefonai Malchiyos). Perhaps this writer is not the only one who has often wondered why the near-constant focus on Hashem’s love for us and our bitachon in Him — which has become so widespread over the past decade or so — doesn’t seem to have brought with it a simultaneous abandonment of our pursuit of gashmiyus and pleasure, of our non-stop obsession with food, fashion and luxurious living. It seems almost puzzling. On the one hand, our cars, our music, and our social interactions are suffused with expressions of “Thank You, Hashem,” “Boruch Hashem,” “Hashem loves me,” “I love Hashem,” and so much more. At the same time, can anyone say that our focus is no longer on the non-stop pursuit of meaningless worldly stimuli and has been replaced by a constant desire to instead bring pleasure to this Hashem, Whom we so love and Whom we feel so loves us?
How can we be so involved with Hashem our Father and Hashem our King, while hardly seeming to change our focus to living for our Father and King?
Rav Aharon makes a simple observation. In speaking of the Malchiyos of Rosh Hashanah, he explains that “zeh kollel shnei inyanim,” Malchiyos is comprised of two components. One, “hahakara b’malchuso ubememshalto,” recognizing that Hashem, indeed, is our beloved King and Father. “V’sheinis, kabbolas ha’avodah k’eved shel Melech,” secondly, is our acceptance of our position as servants of the King. “Umishum zeh nikrah Ohl Malchus Shomayim,” and this is why it is called the yoke of the Kingdom of Shomayim.
Yes, it comes with responsibilities.
Perhaps we have indeed done a great job on the first part of Malchiyos. We proclaim, over and over, the greatness of Hashem in so many different ways.
What about the second part? Where is the bumper sticker stating, “TYH for Everything! I Am Now At Your Service!”
We dance to Hashem Melech, but do we dance to Anu Avodecha?
I Have To?
I once heard Rabbi Dovid Orlofsky speaking at length about mitzvos — which are tzivuyim, commandments, rather than “suggestions” — and about how Yiddishkeit indeed comes with a list of “I Have Tos.”
A single, unattached, person may be able to go where, when and how he or she pleases. When one is married, however, we “have to” work with our spouse, of course. It’s part of having a close relationship. We ask, we notify, we work with each other.
The closer the relationship, the more “I have tos” will be involved. Is that a pressure? Perhaps so. Would anyone rather remain unmarried so as to have none of those responsibilities? Highly doubtful.
Today, we find a great emphasis, in chinuch and elsewhere, on making sure that Yiddishkeit is “fun.” There is so much else competing for our attention, we are told, that we must ensure that Yiddishkeit is no less fun or exciting.
The problem with this approach, however, is that Yiddishkeit isn’t all fun and games with no responsibilities. When we serve Hashem only because it has been made so enjoyable, what happens when we are faced with a situation that requires us to give something up, something we want and would enjoy and would be so much fun?
“Thank You, Hashem” very quickly turns into “Thanks, but no thanks.” We find it so difficult to give up things we enjoy — be it the styles we follow, the culinary excesses in which we indulge, the reading material or media we allow ourselves or our children — because we’ve never been taught how, or why, to be a Yid even when it’s not just fun and partying.
So what’s the eitzah? To teach that Yiddishkeit sometimes demands sacrifice? Nah. Sacrifice is way above the level of the average person. Sacrificing is for great people, not for me or you.
The eitzah is for us to try and internalize the lesson of the Chazon Ish. Yes, Hashem loves us, and we are heimish in His Palace, so to speak. That is an amazing treat! It’s something that the umos ha’olam can only envy. We have an open line to Him. We have a life suffused with meaning and eternal s’char.
Does this come with certain responsibilities? Sure. Still, which of us would give up a 24/7 pass to the White House, to the tower containing all the Royal British wealth and jewels, or lehavdil to the homes of the greatest gedolim, roshei yeshivos and rebbes, simply because such a pass would come with certain inherent rules, regulations, responsibilities and “I have tos”?
We must learn, and teach our children, how to be thrilled with our Yiddishkeit even though it comes with an Ohl Malchus Shomayim. Teaching the malchus and ignoring the ohl won’t work. They go hand in hand, and we should still be ecstatic at our good fortune!
We Have a VIP Pass
On Sukkos, we enter the tzeila demehemnusa. We are in Hashem’s Home. It is perhaps the only mitzvah in which one can actually immerse his or her entire body. It is not a coincidence that Sukkos is the special Yom Tov of joy and of simcha. Being so heimish and welcome in Hashem’s House is awesome! It’s a thrill like no other.
True, we may not feel that thrill automatically, but we understand that the more we learn about how we are indeed uniquely close to Hashem and privileged to live a life to which none other can compare, we will feel the excitement of it more and more and exult in the fact that we have a VIP pass to the One true Source of all brocha, success, health and happiness!
