Parshas Bamidbar 5786
- Torah Tavlin
- 2 days ago
- 3 min read
ולקחו את כל כלי השרת אשר ישרתו בם בקדש ונתנו אל בגד תכלת וכסו אותם במכסה עור תחש ... (ד-יב)
When the Torah describes how the holiest keilim of the Mishkan had to be carefully covered before Bnei K’has could approach them, it reveals a profound truth about human nature. Even those entrusted with carrying the Aron and Menorah needed protective layers so they wouldn’t come too close and endanger themselves. Holiness demands boundaries. If the Levi’im, righteous and sanctified, required safeguards to avoid missteps, how much more must we build protective fences in our own lives. Boundaries don’t restrict us; they preserve us, allowing us to carry holiness without falling under its weight.
R’ Yitzchok Zilberstein shlita once related a remarkable incident that occurred a number of years ago. A poor widow had approached R’ Michel Yehuda Lefkowitz zt”l with a heavy heart. She had several children at home who were of marriageable age, and she had no means to marry them off. Her situation was well known in her neighborhood: a home filled with good children, each one waiting for their turn to get married and build a Jewish home, and a mother who simply did not have the resources to help them take that step. Seeing her distress, R’ Michel Yehuda took up her cause. He wrote a heartfelt letter of recommendation on her behalf, describing her situation and urging generous Jews to assist her.
Once the letter was written, he handed it to a meshulach he knew who would travel abroad to collect funds for worthy causes. This emissary took the letter with him on his next trip. When he arrived in Jewish communities overseas, he presented the letter, and the response was overwhelming. Jews opened their hearts and gave generously. Through the funds collected with that letter, the widow succeeded, with Hashem’s help, in marrying off one child after another. In time, five children were married - each wedding made possible through the power of that single letter written by R’ Michel Yehuda.
Years passed. R’ Michel Yehuda Lefkowitz eventually left this world. After his passing, a dispute suddenly arose between the widow and the meshulach regarding the ownership of the letter. The meshulach claimed that since the letter had been entrusted to him for the purpose of fundraising, it belonged to him. The widow argued that since the letter had been written for her benefit, it was rightfully hers. Each one held the letter and insisted, “It is mine.”
Ordinarily, such a disagreement might have been resolved through standard halachic principles. But this case had a unique complication. Although the letter had already completed its function - the widow had married off all her children - it now possessed a new kind of value. R’ Michel Yehuda’s handwriting, after his passing, had become extremely valuable as Judaica. Collectors would pay significant sums for even a small handwritten note from such a revered Torah sage. The letter, therefore, was no longer merely a fundraising tool; it had become a valuable item in its own right.
Faced with this unusual situation, R’ Zilberstein turned to his father-in-law, the great posek, R’ Yosef Shalom Elyashiv zt”l. He presented the question: two people were holding the letter, each claiming full ownership. How should the matter be ruled?
R’ Elyashiv’s response was immediate and unequivocal. “There is no question here,” he said. “The letter does not belong to either this one or that one. It is forbidden to leave it with either the meshulach or the widow. Rather, it must be burned.”
R’ Elyashiv explained his reasoning. Although the letter had already fulfilled its purpose, its continued existence posed a danger. Because R’ Michel Yehuda’s handwriting was now worth a fortune, the letter could easily become an obstacle in the future. Someone might use it to collect money unlawfully, presenting it as a legitimate fundraising document even though its purpose had long since ended. The temptation would be too great, the opportunity too inviting. By destroying the letter, they would fulfill the Torah’s command, “U’biarta hara mikirbecha” - remove the potential for wrongdoing from your midst.
In R’ Elyashiv’s view, the letter, though precious, had the capacity to become a stumbling block. Eliminating it was the only way to ensure that no one could ever misuse it. The letter that had once brought blessing to a struggling widow and her children was respectfully destroyed out of deep concern for the integrity of the community and the avoidance of future sin.