When Greatness Makes a Person Tremble

When Rav Yisrael Salanter zt”l began spreading the study of mussar, not everyone accepted his approach.

There were great talmidei chachamim who felt that mussar was certainly part of Torah, but should not become its own organized movement. Why, they argued, should there be special sedarim for mussar, special batei mussar, and special efforts to promote it? A Yid must learn Torah, keep mitzvos, and work on his middos — but why turn mussar into a movement of its own?

Rav Yisrael Salanter saw it differently. He understood that without serious, focused work on yiras Shamayim and middos, a person could learn Torah and still remain far from what the Torah wanted him to become. Mussar was not a side point. It was the tool that helped Torah penetrate the heart.

But Rav Yisrael also understood the world he was trying to reach. If he wanted the lomdim to listen, they first had to know that he was not promoting mussar because he was weak in learning. He was not turning to mussar because he could not shine in the beis midrash. On the contrary, he was one of the great geonim of his generation.

So Rav Yisrael would travel from city to city. When he arrived, he would post a notice in the beis midrash announcing that in two days he would deliver a shiur on a certain sugya. Beneath the topic, he would list many marei mekomos — Gemaras, Rishonim, and Poskim — so that the lomdim could prepare.

For two days, the bnei Torah would review the marei mekomos and learn through the material. Then Rav Yisrael would rise to speak. With astonishing depth and clarity, he would weave all the sources together into one magnificent structure. The listeners would see his greatness in Torah. Only afterward would he speak to them about mussar.

Once, Rav Yisrael came to a certain city and posted his usual list of marei mekomos. There were two young men there who opposed his work. They knew that once Rav Yisrael would deliver his shiur, the lomdim would be moved by his greatness, and his words about mussar would be accepted.

So they decided to ruin it.

Quietly, they removed Rav Yisrael’s list and replaced it with another one. They left the title of the sugya the same, but they changed all the marei mekomos. Instead of the sources Rav Yisrael had prepared, they wrote down unrelated references from across Shas — places that had no clear connection to the sugya at all.

The lomdim saw the new list and were surprised. They knew the sugya, and the marei mekomos seemed strange. But perhaps, they thought, Rav Yisrael was such a genius that he had found a deep connection no one else could see. They prepared the sources and waited eagerly for the shiur.

When the time came, the beis midrash was packed.

Rav Yisrael went up to speak. The list of marei mekomos was brought to him. He looked at it and immediately realized what had happened.

For a couple of minutes, he was silent.

The crowd waited. The two young men looked on, sure that their plan had worked. They expected Rav Yisrael to be embarrassed and forced to step down.

But then Rav Yisrael began.

“Rabbosai,” he said, “the main sources of the sugya are well known, and therefore they were not written here. Let us first review them briefly.”

He laid out the foundation of the sugya. Then he began connecting it to the first unexpected mareh makom. From there he raised a question, answered it from the next source, developed a new approach from a third, and continued source after source.

For hours, Rav Yisrael stood there and built a brilliant shiur from the very marei mekomos that had been written to trap him. He connected all the scattered sources into one powerful and orderly structure. The listeners were amazed. They thought this was the shiur he had prepared all along.

But the two young men knew the truth.

As Rav Yisrael continued, their faces turned pale. They realized what they had done. They had tried to shame not only a tzaddik and baal mussar, but a gaon of towering greatness.

At last, Rav Yisrael reached the final mareh makom and tied the entire shiur together.

Then he fainted.

A commotion broke out in the beis midrash. The people rushed to revive him. Rav Yisrael explained, "If you think I fainted because of the strain, I want to calm you. It was not because of that.”

His talmid, later explained that Rav Yisrael’s brief silence at the beginning was not because he needed time to prepare the shiur. With his brilliance, he had seen the entire structure almost immediately. The pause was for something else entirely.

Rav Yisrael was deciding whether he was allowed to reveal such greatness in public. Would it be a display of kavod? Would there be even a trace of ga’avah? Or was it necessary for kavod Shamayim, so that the message of mussar would be accepted?

Only after weighing this in his heart did he begin to speak.

So why did he faint at the end?

Rav Yisrael explained that a person’s abilities are not gifts given for his own honor. They are tools given by Shamayim for a mission. If a person is given wealth, he must use it for avodas Hashem. If he is given a beautiful voice, he must use it for avodas Hashem. Every koach a person receives carries with it a responsibility.

“I knew,” Rav Yisrael said, “that I had been given abilities far beyond the average person. I knew I had kochos like a thousand avreichim, and that I was expected to accomplish like a thousand avreichim.

“But now I saw something I had never known before. I saw that I could take thirty marei mekomos that had no visible connection to the sugya, and in a moment understand them, connect them, and build from them a complete shiur. I had never before realized that such kochos were within me.

“If so,” Rav Yisrael said, “perhaps I was given kochos like ten thousand avreichim. And if I was given such kochos, then I will be asked in Shamayim whether I used them fully. What will I answer?”

That realization shook him so deeply that he fainted.

This was Rav Yisrael Salanter. Even his own greatness did not make him proud. It made him tremble.

Most people, after seeing their own brilliance, would think about what they had achieved. Rav Yisrael thought about what more he was obligated to achieve. To him, a talent was not a reason for honor. It was a responsibility. A koach from Shamayim was a call to serve Hashem more deeply, more honestly, and with everything a person has.