The Verse says “Esav was a man hunting with his mouth, a man of the field, whereas Yaakov was an innocent man [Tam], dwelling in tents.” [Bereishis 25:27]. Rashi defines the crucial term “Tam” as one who does not engage in treachery and deceit, one who speaks his heart. A person who is not astute at deceiving is called, innocent. The Chozeh of Lublin points out that later in his career, in refuting Lavan’s deceitfulness, Yaakov became actually quite shrewd and clever. How does this conform to Rashi’s characterization as being “Tam?” The Chozeh explains that the Torah writes an “extra” word in describing Yaakov: “an innocent man”, the word “Man” adds an additional dimension. This is someone of unspoiled innocence who can apply elements of shrewdness only when circumstances demand it. The Midrash cited by Rashi [29:12] informs us, as Yaakov, when first meeting Rachel said of himself, referring to Lavan “If he comes to deceive me, I am his brother in deception” We see that Yaakov could be “shrewd “ selectively. And yet he adhered overall to honesty and truth and was indeed a “wholesome man. It seems Yaakov was performing the commandment of “Tamim Tihyeh Im Hashem Elokecha,” “Be wholehearted with Hashem your God” [Devarim 18:13]. What exactly does this commandment requires of us? What are we to make of this requirement? How are we to fulfill this biblical commandment of being “wholehearted” with Hashem? The Alshich HaKadosh explains that the verse is referring to the way one acts when nobody is around. If one’s actions change when there is no longer an audience, then one can determine if he/she acts truly for The Almighty or if, Chas VeShalom, there are other motives involved. The Alshich HaKadosh writes that the Pasuk requires us to be wholehearted and sincere with Hashem. We must hold ourselves to the same standards wherever we are, and not serve Hashem in public merely to gain recognition or respect. Rav Mendel of Kotzk comments that not only must a person’s actions be consistent, but his/her motives must be unchanging as well. While the Alshich HaKadosh focuses on how a person’s actions change based on the setting, the Kotzker Rebbe highlights the fact that, in any setting, a person’s purpose for serving Hashem can be fragmented. If one sees that sometimes he/she guards the Mitzvos and keeps the Torah for reasons other than the fact that Hashem commanded him/her to do so, then he/she violates the commandment of “Tamim Tihyeh.” So, this commandment applies only to one’s relationship with Hashem but not toward people. Here’s a Powerful story that illustrate this very message. All the Jews of Berditchev, along with many visitors, streamed toward the home of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak, which had been a hub of activity for days. Baila, an orphan adopted by Rabbi Levi Yitzchak and his wife, was marrying an exceptional young man who was also parentless. Well-wishers kept the door swinging on its hinges and the wooden table strained under the weight of the gifts. Rabbi Levi Yitzchak and his wife struggled to properly thank the crowds. Even the renowned Rabbi Mendel of Vitebsk, a dear friend of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak, came to convey his blessings of mazal tov. It was a joyous occasion for all. Amid the din of the celebration, no one heard the faint clopping, which slowly grew louder and more aggressive, until the shelves and tables rattled and shook. A hysterical scream confirmed the worst. “Run! Hide! Bandits are coming!” The townspeople scattered. With an air of familiar resignation, doors slammed, locks slid shut, and the streets emptied. No one wanted to be the next Jewish martyr. Hired by the local duke, the bandits had come to collect a new Jewish bargaining chip. They were not picky; the first person they found would suffice. Amidst the panic and confusion, nobody bothered to check on the groom, who was swaying in deep prayer. It was his wedding day, his personal Yom Kippur, and the young man wanted to appropriately prepare for the moment. Engrossed in meditation, he didn’t hear the screams, the resultant clamor to escape, nor the bang of the door as the duke’s men burst into the synagogue. The men grabbed the groom-to-be, threw him onto a horse, and thundered triumphantly past the shuttered homes. Their reward was waiting at the estate. When the gallops faded and the dust had settled, people slowly emerged. Who was it this time? A nervous count was conducted, and the groom’s absence discovered. The bride sank into throes of despair. The townspeople watched the wailing young woman helplessly. Rabbi Levi Yitzchak, however, held up a reassuring hand, looking unruffled by the panic around him. “Please calm down,” he requested. “I promise we will get him back and you will still celebrate your wedding today.” His words managed to instill some quiet, and the bride sat to catch her breath. True to his word, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak immediately set out for the duke’s estate, accompanied by his friend Rabbi Mendel. Wearing their silk Shabbat finery, the rabbis strolled unperturbed, as though merely out for a pleasant walk. When they arrived at the handsome, gated estate, they strode past the guards without a second glance. No one attempted to stop them. Even the guard dogs didn’t bark. Through the corridors and past countless rooms, the rabbis walked until they found the duke himself, rolling on the

Rabbi Fridmann floor of his office, drunk. Unlike his staff, the duke greeted his unexpected company with the appropriate outrage. “What are you vile Jews doing here?” he roared. “How did you even get into my house?” Rabbi Levi Yitzchak did not flinch. “We’ve come to ask you to kindly return the young man you’ve kidnapped. Today is his wedding.” “A bribe?” the duke cackled. “Is this what it is? You have come to bribe me, but I won’t have it! Even if you offered five thousand rubles, I wouldn’t take the money!” Rabbi Levi Yitzchak leaned close to the duke. “What if we give you ten thousand?” he whispered. “Bring this sum,” said the duke, “and I’ll release him. But remember! Nothing less than ten thousand or you’ll be seeing the door instead of the young man.” The rabbis left the estate clinging to a sliver hope, but they had no idea how to procure such an immense amount sum. A coach suddenly appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and came to an abrupt stop near the rabbis. The door swung opened and a richly clad man held out his hand, inviting the rabbis to join him. Reb Gedaliah, who was just returning from the merchants’ fairs of Jaroslav, Poland, certainly was not expecting to see two of the country’s most prominent rabbis standing at the edge of the road. Of course, it was his pleasure to offer them a ride in his well-appointed coach. Settling into the upholstered leather seat, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak asked, “How were your affairs in Jaroslav?” “Thank G-d,” said Reb Gedaliah, grinning. “I’ve earned ten thousand rubles. Oh wait, here’s something for the poor…” He rummaged through his pockets and produced a heavy pouch. “Here’s ten percent of what I made. There should be a thousand inside.” “Bless you for your kindness,” said Rabbi Levi Yitzchak. “However, we need ten thousand rubles to redeem a prisoner. If you’re willing to provide that sum, I promise you’ll have a share of my World to Come.” Reb Gedaliah didn’t hesitate and immediately handed over the full sum. “Now,” said Rabbi Levi Yitzchak, “not only will you be rewarded in the World to Come, but you will be rewarded in this world as well. Please tell your driver to direct the coach to the duke’s estate.” The rabbis found the duke exactly where they’d left him, except this time he was sleeping. Rabbi Levi Yitzchak shook him awake. The duke greeted them with curses. “I have your money. Ten thousand rubles, as promised.” The duke cocked a bloodshot eye at the pouch. Scarcely believing his good fortune, he reached for the money and barked at his servants to free the young man. Escorted by a guard, the groom appeared shaken but otherwise unhurt. Tearfully, he thanked G-d with a small prayer. “We still have enough time for the chuppah,” said Rabbi Levi Yitzchak. And true to his word, the wedding proceeded without any further hitches, celebrated with utmost joy. As the festivities began to wind down, he called for Reb Gedaliah. “I promised you a reward in this world, so follow my instructions: Tomorrow, stop near the bridge spanning the river and wait by the bank.” And indeed, the next day Reb Gedaliah found some trees near the riverbank below the bridge and settled in to wait. Through the bridge’s wooden slats, his eyes followed some overloaded wagons rumbling overheard. Then something caught his eye. It was the duke pressed down on his horse, racing for the bridge. In a flurry of hooves—and it all happened so fast—the horse and its rider barely reached the bridge’s center when one of the wooden slats splintered into pieces. Horse and rider plunged into turbulent river and disappeared. Reb Gedaliah stood as close as he dared, waiting for the duke to reappear. But all he saw was a small wooden box, floating on the river’s currents. Reb Gedaliah opened it. Inside were his ten thousand rubles, along with jewelry—which he gifted to the newly married couple. When one hears the calling of Hashem, it is time to put excuses aside and to go along innocently. Hashem is testing us one last time before providing us great rewards!

By Rabbi Fridmann * [email protected] * 305.985.3461

Have A Question? Ask The Rabbi and he will Answer

990 NE 171 Street  –  North Miami Beach, Florida 33162  –  (786) 405-9692  –  www.badatzmiami.com