Parshas Vaera 5786
- Torah Tavlin
- 4 days ago
- 4 min read
וגם אני שמעתי את נאקת בני ישראל אשר מצרים מעבדים אתם ואזכר את בריתי ... (ו-ה)
Chazal tell us that the first stage of Geulah is not the fall of Egypt. It’s the moment when Hashem turns to His people and says: “I hear you.” Before any redemption, there is connection. Hashem doesn’t erase Bnei Yisroel’s suffering instantly. Instead, He acknowledges it, and begins the slow, compassionate process of lifting them out. Redemption begins with empathy.
There was once a Jewish widower, a quiet and sincere man who lost his beloved wife a few years earlier to the horrid disease. He did his best to move on in life and carried the weight of life’s challenges with dignity. After years of raising his only son alone, the day finally arrived when that son was to be married. In keeping with tradition, the father traveled to receive a blessing from the Vizhnitzer Rebbe shlita before the wedding. The Rebbe greeted him warmly, offered heartfelt blessings for the young couple, and spoke with him for several minutes. As the man prepared to leave, the Rebbe suddenly paused and said gently, “I would like to ask you for a favor. After the wedding tonight, no matter how late it is, please come back to see me.”
The man hesitated. “Rebbe ... the wedding will end very late. Perhaps it would be better if I came tomorrow?”
“No, not tomorrow,” said the Rebbe. “Tonight. I will be waiting for you, at any hour.” The widower promised to return.
That night, the wedding was beautiful. The hall was filled with music, dancing, and the joyful energy that surrounds a young couple beginning their life together. The father stood proudly, watching his son under the chuppah, feeling both the sweetness of the moment and the quiet ache of the one person who was missing - his late wife, who had not lived to see this day.
By the time the last guests departed and the final chairs were stacked, it was well past midnight. Exhausted but faithful to his word, the widower made his way back to home of the Vizhnitzer Rebbe. He knocked softly, expecting to be told that the Rebbe had gone to sleep. Instead, the door opened immediately, as though someone had been listening for his arrival.
He was ushered in. The Rebbe, still fully awake, motioned for him to sit. “So,” the Rebbe began with genuine interest, “tell me - how was the wedding?” The widower blinked in surprise. “The wedding? Rebbe ... it was very nice.”
But the Rebbe didn’t stop there. He leaned forward, asking question after question: “What time did you leave the house? Who was mesader kiddushin? Who came from out of town? How was the food? Who was honored with bentching? What songs did the musicians play? Who danced the mitzvah tantz? Was there a badchan? What did he say? Tell me everything.”
The man sat there, astonished. He had expected perhaps a post-simcha beracha, or some profound guidance. Instead, the Rebbe wanted to know every minute detail of the wedding, details that seemed trivial, almost mundane. But of course he answered every question, describing the evening from beginning to end. As he spoke, something unexpected happened: the tension in his shoulders eased, his voice grew lighter, and the joy of the wedding began to settle into his heart. He found himself smiling as he recounted the small moments, the laughter, the music, the pride he felt watching his son.
When he finished, the Rebbe clasped his hand warmly, offered a final beracha, and wished him a good night.
After the alman left, the gabbaim of the Vizhnitzer Rebbe, who had witnessed the entire exchange, could not contain their curiosity. Even at that very late hour, they approached him and asked, “Forgive us, but why did the Rebbe ask him all those questions? Since when is the heilige Rebbe concerned with the menu or the musicians at a wedding?”
The Rebbe looked at them with gentle eyes and explained. “When a husband and wife return home after marrying off a child, they sit together and relive the entire wedding. They share every detail, who came, what happened, how the music sounded, how the food tasted. It is part of their joy. But this man - he has no wife waiting for him at home. He has no one to share his nachas with. I wanted him to have someone to talk to, someone who would listen with interest, so that he would not walk home alone with his happiness locked inside.” The gabbaim fell silent, moved by the Rebbe’s sensitivity.
For the Rebbe, holiness was not only in grand lessons or miracles. Sometimes it was in noticing the quiet loneliness of a good man on the happiest night of his life - and choosing to sit with him, simply so he would not rejoice alone. (Noam Siach - Shemos)