The Tchebiner Rav’s One Small Kabbalah

A talmid of the Tchebiner Rav, Harav Dov Berish Weidenfeld, had weakened spiritually. He was planning to enlist in the Israeli army, and there was great concern that army life would finish off whatever Yiddishkeit was still left within him.

Before leaving, the talmid came to the Rav to bid farewell. The  Tchebiner Rav understood the situation. He felt the responsibility deeply, but he also understood that direct words of mussar would not help. They might even push the young man further away.

“Listen, Avremel,” he told him. “You are not just a regular Avremel. You are an einikel of the royal house of Ziditchov. A descendant of royalty is a prince. That is not only a zechus; it is also a responsibility.

“In Ziditchov,” the Tchebiner Rav continued, “there was a special minhag. On Friday morning, by Shacharis, they did not say Tachanun. You, as a prince of that royal family, must guard this family tradition with pride.”

The young man was moved by the way the Tchebiner Rav spoke to him. He accepted upon himself to keep this minhag: on Friday morning, he would not say Tachanun.

A week passed. Friday morning arrived, and the young man remembered his promise. He was determined: whatever happened, he would not say Tachanun.

But then he realized something almost ridiculous. He was not davening at all. If he did not daven, then he was not “skipping Tachanun.” He simply was not davening.

So he began davening on Fridays, in order to keep his kabbalah properly and not say Tachanun after Shacharis.

But soon another thought struck him. The whole week, he was also not saying Tachanun. What kind of royal minhag was it to avoid saying Tachanun on Friday, if he was not saying Tachanun on Monday and Thursday either?

So he began to daven during the week as well. During the week he said Tachanun after davening, so that when Friday came, his not saying Tachanun would actually mean something.

One small kabbalah led to another step, and then to another. He began fighting to daven with a minyan. He began waking up early. He began taking tefillah seriously.

And once he was fighting all week for davening and minyan, he felt that it would be impossible to continue treating Shabbos and mitzvos lightly. A person who is working so hard for his tefillah cannot simply turn around and make a joke out of the rest of Yiddishkeit.

In the end, that young man came back. The source relates that he later became a respected avreich and marbitz Torah.

The Tchebiner Rav had saved him — not by crushing him with rebuke, but by showing him the dignity of who he really was.